Reclaim Me (11 page)

She’d barely seen Hudson since they returned from France, and when she did it was mostly as the billionaire mogul, dressed in designer suits and ready to conquer the world. But the man before her was younger and more dangerous, his stance predatory and his eyes dark. Dressed in jeans and a black sweater, he was sex personified. Allie licked her lips in anticipation because, for the moment at least, the only thing he looked ready to conquer was her.

*   *   *

Lights pulsed and shot down in laserlike beams of various hues to the beat of the pounding bass, while sweaty bodies undulated to the rhythm. High above in the VIP section, Hudson stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a tumbler of scotch in his hand. He repositioned his grip and the muscles in his forearm flexed as his fingers compressed the crystal against his palm. The glass protested, yet bore the weight of his choke hold. It was all he could do to keep from going wrecking ball through the crowd to tear that smarmy fuck’s hands off Allie.

Without ever taking his eyes off the scene below, Hudson brought the glass to his lips. He took a moment to savor the potent proof, letting it roll over his tongue before sliding in a comfortable burn down his throat. An ambient glow caressed Allie’s skin, and when she slid her hand up the back of her neck to lift her hair, he could see a sheen of sweat glistening on her flesh. Her head listed back, and as her hips swayed to the music, he became even more aware of the heavy pulse vibrating down the length of his cock.

As if on cue, Allie returned to her table. The waitress weaved through the dense crowd and delivered another round of drinks per his instructions. Hudson watched until she found his message, then turned and casually strode into the VIP lounge he’d reserved for the night. The curtains, thick enough to provide total privacy, dropped in a rush behind him. He downed the rest of his scotch and set the empty glass on the coffee table. When he straightened, Allie was standing there, her eyes glassy from cocktails and her skin flushed from dancing. His gaze traced up her athletic legs—which he was dying to have wrapped around his hips, his face; he didn’t give a fuck as long as he was buried inside her with either his tongue or his cock—to the hem of her dress that was way too fucking short for public consumption, yet perfect.

A heavy, inescapable lust permeated the air in the confined space, heightening their mutual desire. His hands fisted at his sides and the beast within the civilized shell awoke. A hunger for her slammed into him and reverberated through his body. Christ, he wanted her; craved her with a greed so acute he would take her any way he could get her.

Her lips parted and the delicate expanse of her shoulders began to tremble. Unable to wait any longer, he stalked toward her, void of thought or decision. She came at him in a rush and their bodies met in a head-on collision of hands and tongues and mouths. In spite of the stress they were under, in spite of the shit that was threatening their future, Allie was the love of his life.

And he wouldn’t change a goddamn thing.

It felt like an eternity since they’d been together, and he was starved for a taste of her. Hudson sifted both of his hands through the sweat-damp roots of her hair and his tongue pushed past her lips. “I can’t go this long without you,” he rasped. As he deepened the kiss, he felt a primal need to erase the lingering palm prints of the guy who had touched her.

He pulled back, his chest heaving as he looked down at her through hooded eyes. “I hated seeing him all over you.” His hand smoothed up the back of her thigh and under her dress. “Touching what’s mine.” He palmed her ass and yanked her hard against the erection straining the fly of his jeans.

“I was thinking about you.” Allie molded her soft curves against his hard edges. “I wanted it to be you touching me. I always want it to be you.” The surrender in her voice charged his desire. He wanted to claim her as his, right there.

Hudson dipped his head and caught her bottom lip between his teeth. “Prove it,” he challenged.

“A dare, Mr. Chase?” Mischievous intent, undoubtedly fueled by alcohol, glimmered in Allie’s eyes. He loved her like this, willing to abandon her inhibitions and unapologetic about what she wanted from him. Only him.

He smirked. “If you can handle it.”

Allie’s hands came up and landed dead center on his chest. She pushed him backward and he obliged, taking a load off as soon as his calves hit the double-wide couch. He reclined and his knees fell to the sides. But instead of climbing into his lap, Allie stood in front of him, slowly inching her dress up her thighs. Christ, she was going to draw this out, tease him relentlessly. And all he wanted right now was her dropping down hard on his cock, her damp skin against his, and his mouth moving with hers if only to breathe the same air.

“Come here.” His voice was a guttural growl.

She straddled him and ran her hands down his chest. He sucked in a sharp breath when she lifted the hem of his shirt and ran her fingers lazily across his abdomen. And she didn’t stop there. Without trepidation she cupped him through his jeans and deliberately massaged his raging-hard cock.

“Take me, baby.”

Allie smiled in the darkness as she slowly lowered the zipper of his fly. Painfully fucking slow. She freed him from the confines of his boxers and his cock punched out, laying thick and heavy against his stomach and glistening at the tip.

With his patience pushed to the limit, Hudson took control of their game. He slid his hands up the inside of her thighs and shifted her panties to the side. She was drenched. Her head listed back and her lips parted on a silent gasp as he glided his fingers back and forth between her slick folds.

“Pay attention, Alessandra, I’m only going to say this once.” Her eyes opened, and when they met his, he knew he had her. Slowly, he slid one finger inside her, curling it forward. “This is mine.”

“Forever.” The word rushed out on a panting breath.

“You’re so greedy.” He eased out, then back in with a second finger, priming her as her hips circled and rocked into the heel of his hand. “I know you want to fuck me.”

“Yes . . .” A strobe of light flashed through the curtains, highlighting Allie’s face. He eased his fingers out, and with his eyes locked to hers he traced her lips, coating them with her arousal. He shifted a hand under the weight of her hair and curled his fingers around her neck. On a groan he pulled her to him and kissed her hard, his tongue licking the taste of her from her lips.

“Do it,” he rasped against her mouth. He lifted his hips to push his pants farther down his legs. “Take me. I want to watch you.”

The bastard in him wanted to tie her hands behind her back so all she had to take him with was her hot, soaking core. But he craved the soft, gentle touch of her hands, a dark paradox to her quest to be taken rough and hard. He watched intently as she wrapped her fingers around his achingly hard length and rubbed the head of his cock against her slick sex.

“Now, Allie,” Hudson hissed through clenched teeth. He was way past the point of asking nicely.

She rose up on her knees and positioned herself, the thick head of his cock parting her lips. He swallowed hard as she lowered herself onto him. “Fuck,” he bit out. “So tight.” His fingers flexed restlessly against her thighs as she took more of him inside her, until with a final shift, he was balls deep.

In the dim, filtered light he watched Allie’s back arch and her teeth sink into her lower lip. He moved his hands to her waist and squeezed. Her muscles flexed under his grip as she began to ride him in an easy, fluid movement, over and over. Outside the heavy curtains a sultry bass thumped throughout the jam-packed club. But inside that confined space, the world belonged to them, and before long, their slow teasing fuck turned into a raw, voracious need.

With a curse, Hudson’s head kicked back, pressing into the cushion behind him. His breathing became rough and more ragged. Allie braced her hands on his shoulders and her body undulated in waves over him, rolling her hips into each downward stroke—harder, faster, deeper.

Fuck, she didn’t stop. And he never wanted her to.

Panting, she leaned forward and her lips hovered over his. “Hudson . . .”

He took her mouth with a furious need, swallowing her cries. He could feel her impending orgasm pulsing around his shaft as his tongue thrust fast and hot over hers. His hips surged upward, pumping in and out of her with a perfect pounding glide that met her strokes with increasing force. Her fingers raked into his hair and clenched a handful of his dark waves, the sweet lick of pain a direct line to his groin.

His hand slipped between her thighs and his thumb circled the top of her sex, taking her higher and higher until her body exploded in an orgasm that had her fisting his cock like a vise. The sensation kicked off his own release in a razor-sharp flash of pleasure that shot straight down his spine. His hips locked against hers as he emptied himself inside her. And as he did, only one word came to mind. “Yours.”

The panoramic view from Hudson’s office displayed the urban sprawl of Chicago as a winter wonderland. Outside, snow swirled just beyond the thick glass in what must have been the coldest winter on record, at times nearly grinding the city to a halt. But inside it was business as usual. With his brow furrowed in concentration, Hudson’s fingers hammered against his laptop at a vicious pace. Work had always been his savior, and with him and Allie at negotiated opposite ends, he was relying on it once again to encapsulate him into his world.

Hudson blew out a breath as he hit send on a lengthy e-mail, then moved to the next item burning up his inbox. With any luck it would preoccupy him for the rest of the day. Although in reality there wasn’t a spreadsheet in the world that could keep his focus from shifting to the photo of Allie that sat framed on his desk.

Ever since Julian cornered her with his list of demands, they’d been sparring for public consumption while fucking each other senseless in private. Admittedly, the latter wasn’t so bad, but the former had him on edge. The seconds, minutes, and hours they stole in hidden corners, dark offices, or late-night covert ops seemed to be the only thing holding them both together. But it wasn’t enough. They needed a day—scratch that, a weekend—where Allie wasn’t constantly looking over her shoulder.

Hudson’s gaze fell to his calendar and an idea began to take hold. But as he reached for his cell phone, it vibrated against his desk. His little brother’s name flashed up on the screen along with some selfie reminiscent of
Easy Rider
that he’d snapped on the Fat Boy Hudson had given him for Christmas.

“For Fuck’s sake,” Hudson muttered. When in the hell had he had enough time or ingenuity to do that? At least he wasn’t flashing his ass . . . this time.

“Yeah, Nick.” He shifted to a pile on the corner of his desk, lifting a contract off the top and slashing a red
X
through the black and white.

“How did you know it was me?”

“Modern technology.”

“Whatcha up to?” Nick’s over-the-top enthusiasm had Hudson wishing he’d dropped the call into voice mail.

“Working.” Hudson flipped the page to annihilate another paragraph.

“You work too much. Get out, live a little.”

“What do you want, Nick?” Giving up on the documents in front of him, Hudson leaned back in his leather chair.

“I wanted to, ya know, see if you wanted to get some grub. Feel like a little Al’s Beef? Been craving that greasy goodness for days.”

“I already ate.”

“When?”

“I don’t know, earlier. What’s with the dietary interrogation?”

“What’s with the ’tude? Allie would school your ass for being such a grumpy prick.”

Hudson frowned into the phone. Nick had known Allie as long as he had and wasn’t far off with that assessment. Her presence—her smile, her laugh, all those soft feminine curves—would have straight-up given him an attitude adjustment. Not to mention her sharp tongue dropping the hammer on his shitty mood.

“Let’s hang.” Nick snorted into the phone. “You know, get outside the eighteen million rooms of your bachelor pad.”

Hudson breathed deep through his nose. “I have work I need to get done.”

“Come on, you’re the big wig at that joint. Spare a couple hours and go shopping with me or something. You’re always ragging on how I’m dressed. Thought you might get off on taking me to Banana Republic or some shit. Make me over into your mini-me.”

“What’s this about, Nick?”

“Nothing. Can’t a guy just want to spend time with his brother?”

A chuckle reverberated in Hudson’s chest. “Cut the bullshit, Nicky. What’s your angle?”

Nick exhaled in a rush. “I’m worried about you, bro. You’re isolating yourself back into your old habits. All work and no play make Hudson an asshole. Besides, you’ve always been lookin’ out for me; now it’s my turn.”

Hudson could barely stand his own company these days. The air in his penthouse had become suffocating and stale, and work wasn’t doing shit to smooth out his edges. Maybe an afternoon with Nick was what he needed. A grin curved his mouth. “I have an idea.”

“What?” Nick shot back.

“You’ll see.” Hudson started the shut-down process on his laptop.

“Shopping? Food? Ice skating?”

“None of the above.”

“What the fuck is better than you J.Crewing the hell out of me?”

“Pick you up in thirty.” Hudson hung up, cutting off a string of curses mixed with pleas for a hint.

*   *   *

Hudson curbed the DB9 outside the apartment he’d rented for his brother. After his stint in rehab, the dive of a neighborhood he’d been living in was a no-go. Nick had balked at taking a handout, but Hudson had finally convinced him. In hindsight he should have just moved him into the penthouse, since that’s where he was most nights anyway.

Nick was already waiting outside in some sweatpants and T-shirt ensemble that almost had Hudson rethinking the shopping idea.

Almost.

His clothes looked to have been salvaged from the hamper and his hair was a frickin’ mess. As if someone had turned him upside down and mopped the floor.

Nick jerked the door open and plopped into the seat. “Oh yeah, the ass heaters are on,” he said as he slammed the thing shut.

“Hey, easy on the door.”

“Sorry, did I bruise your precious Assssston Martin?” Nick took a one-two at him. “You’re all designer, mixy-matchy.”

“I don’t look like I rolled out of bed.” Hudson’s jaw tightened as he put the car in gear and hit the gas. The pistons churned and the engine roared to the perfect pitch of a finely tuned automobile. “Get your seat belt on.”

Nick pulled the strap across his chest and the belt slid home with a soft click.

“So what’s the plan? Saks? Neiman’s?”

“No. Better.”

“Better?”

Hudson glanced at his brother and his mouth twitched into a slight grin. “Absolutely.” The cityscape streaked by as he maneuvered the car through traffic with laserlike precision. Beneath them the tires crunched over salt-crusted roads, and outside tree branches twisted and curled like arthritic hands, begging for the renewal of spring. They reminded Hudson of the skeleton of a man he was without his heart; without Allie, he was a shell.

But what better way to burn off steam from sins of the past and frustrations of the present than . . .

“Holy shit,” Nick said as the DB9 came to a stop in front of Chicago Fight Club. The sign on the North Elston gym read B
RING
Y
OUR
O
WN
W
EAPON
with double fists as bullet points. “I know you’ve wanted to kick the shit out of me for a while now, but are you serious?”

“Does Pinocchio have a wooden dick?” Hudson cut the engine and yanked on the door handle. “Get your ass out of the car.”

“Fuuuuuck,” Nick cursed under his breath. “Never mind kicking the shit out of me; you’re going to whoop me across the whole damn state.” He got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Again.

Hudson glared over his shoulder as he strode toward the gym. “That’s not working in your favor.”

Nick dragged his feet, then jogged a couple steps to catch up. “Wouldn’t you rather swaddle me in cashmere, then feast on Al’s Beef—greasy, hand-dipped, succulent meat n’ cheese? We’ll be like ladies who lunch.”

“No.” Hudson held the door open. “Come on, go inside like a big boy.”

“Ass.”

“Inside, princess.”

“You’re being a real jerk,” Nick said, shuffling into the fight club.

“Take it out on me in the ring.”

The second they walked in, Hudson heard the rhythmic sound of jump ropes slapping against concrete; the goading, shit-talking trainers shouting out drills; and the even-tempered thump-a-thump of gloved fists working well-worn, bloodred punching bags that dropped from the sky. Chicago Fight Club was hard core, and belts hung on the wall to prove it. This was the joint he sought out to silence the torment between his ears. Because when you were stuck indoors after mother nature decided to send the city into a deep freeze, beating the hell out of something seemed like a better energy burn than hamster wheeling it on a treadmill.

They moved deeper into the place, toward a roped-off ring in the back. Hudson gave tight nods to various trainers, and regulars like himself kicked a chin at him or grinned with mouth guards puffing out their cheeks and brightening their pearly whites.

When he’d started there six months ago, Hudson wasn’t into the formal training. He was a street fighter with defensive skills developed to survive one shitty neighborhood after another. But he quickly found sparring with an opponent channeled the simmering angst that always hummed in the background of his mind, endlessly shifting up and down like an equalizer. And working with a trainer honed his technique. His brother, however, was just as good, if not better, with the natural instinct. Despite the bitching and moaning, taking Nick into the ring had the potential to be one of his most challenging rounds yet.

“My brother the billionaire takes me to the nicest places. Couldn’t we have gone to Equinox or some fancy gym where they offer massages and women wear spandex?”

“What’s wrong with this place? You want to work up a sweat, you come here.” Hudson unzipped his jacket, then with a shrug of his shoulders tossed it off and to the side.

“What’s wrong? This is like some first-rule-of-Fight-Club place. And no, I don’t want to ‘work up a sweat.’ I want to chow down with my big bro picking up the tab while I leave the tip.” Nick looked up at the exposed support beams and the pipes that snaked around them, rattling and clanking from someone turning on the showers. The concrete was worn, the paint clean but peeling, and the walls bare. “At least they have hot water so I don’t have to ride home with your stench.”

“I shower at home.” Hudson fisted a hand behind his neck, pulling his T-shirt over his head and throwing it on top of his jacket.

“Oh, fuck me. No way.” Nick balled up his hoodie and dropped it onto a chair. “I’ll cab it, take the bus, walk through the sn—”

“Shut up and get your gloves on.” Hudson chucked his brother a set of gloves, derailing the next smart-ass comment that was without question about to fire out of Nick’s mouth. With his own pair in hand, Hudson parted the ropes and ducked into the ring. He shoved his left hand into a glove, then his right. Going head-to-head with his fists, he knocked the padded gloves together. “I’m waiting.”

Nick ducked into the ring with a glove on his left hand. “Violence isn’t the answer, bro.”

“Stop whining like a little girl.” Hudson rolled his head from side to side, giving his neck a crack to loosen it up.

Nick stabbed his right hand into the glove, then shook the hair out of his face. “Fine. If taking a couple swings at me makes you feel better, let’s do it,” he said, squaring off. Hudson immediately recognized the reckless gleam in his eyes. It was a trait they both shared, one that pushed them to their own respective extremes.

“If I only wanted to swing my fists at you for a couple hours, I wouldn’t need a boxing ring to do it.”

“True that.” Nick fanned his arms out to shoulder level. “So come on then, you thread-humping, designer-whoring pussy.” He flashed a smug grin. “Give it your best shot.”

Hudson chuckled as he watched his brother bounce on the balls of his feet. “Let’s see if your jab is as quick as your smart-ass mouth.” He stepped forward and raised his fists, keeping them tight to his chin. He knew his brother had game, but that didn’t stop him from . . . “Trigger shy?” . . . taunting, antagonizing, firing him up to strike.

Nick snapped out a couple of punches that were met with a forearm block. Hudson was quick to retaliate and nailed a clear shot to his brother’s ribs.

“Fuck, that hurt.” A swift kick to the other side of Nick’s torso had him ducking out of the way. “I thought we were going to just play around some, then go get you a fancy latte or some shit.”

“Says the fancy-ass coffee slinger.” Hudson was already balancing out his weight. He was like a bomb attached to an ignition switch and that bitch-ass bastard Julian was cranking the key. This was what he needed to level him out, to dull his mood into a tolerable state. Raw fucking would have worked, too, but one had to work with what one had. Besides, Allie had elevated the physical act into another dimension. There was no going back from that. She owned him—heart, body, and soul. Man, did he sound like a whipped son-of-a-bitch. As if he gave a flying fuck.

“All right, game on, bro. We’re goin’ to get scruffy now.” Nick threw out a left jab and something hot ripped through Hudson’s gut. He refocused, and with tremendous strength his muscles coalesced into the perfect uppercut that made his brother stagger as though he were drunk.

Hudson gave him a second to recover. “You good?”

“Yeah man, but who the hell pissed you off?”

“Clears my head.” Hudson spun and kicked his leg in the air, and his brother dropped low, dodging what would have been a direct hit. “Come on, Nicky, you’ve been in barroom brawls that rival the Octagon.”

“Hey, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Hudson thought about what it would feel like to live a life short on responsibility, and for a brief moment he envied his brother’s freedom. “You must have some shit to work out.”

“Evidently you do.” Nick moved in fast with a hard punch forward, then threw out a combination that made Hudson step up his efforts with a left-right.

“I was dumped, Nick.” As the words left his mouth a pain rolled through his chest and twisted down to his gut. And to top it off it was a lie, a total fucking lie that cinched up his stomach hard core. The devil knew his closet was full of skeletons, but secrets between brothers was something he’d never subscribed to. Nick knew his past; hell, they’d lived it together, and the cause and effect of it had bonded them tighter than most. But some lies were spun out of necessity.

“I know. It’s a first for you. Shit, wait, third. Same girl, but still.”

“Not funny.” Hudson went at him in a meet-and-greet in the middle of the ring, force against force, with each of them trying to toss the other off like a set of magnets. Their biceps strained and the muscles in their forearms flexed.