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“Goodnight,” I say and then I grab him by the tie, draw him into me and kiss him.
It’s better than I remember.
The kiss is brief. A taste of what could be. And his mouth tastes like Hudson—a mix of dark heat and promises that lie beneath the surface, and the sweet peat and malt of the Scotch.
His mouth is slightly open because I think he was going to speak, and he lets me taste him, a passive partner in whatever this is.
I go to break away. A different sort of heat that makes me want to slink away comes over me. But he doesn’t let me. One of his arms comes around me like a steel band, and he whirls me so I’m pressed against the smooth metal of the car and the heat and need of him.
His eyes glitter as he looks down at me, a predatory light, and it strikes me he let me explore. The passiveness not a rejection, but an invitation to see what it was I wanted.
I don’t know what I want.
Only I want more.
“If you’re going to play with fire, Scarlett, you’ll definitely get consumed by it.”
I swallow. “A goodnight kiss—”
“Is not what that was. That felt like an invitation. If you don’t want me to take it up, then let me know now.”
There’s a warning there and I can feel it, even as a reckless need pushes it aside. My fingers are still on his tie, making it pouf out from the waistcoat. It should look like he can’t dress himself. It doesn’t. It makes him look like a man who’s having an extremely good time.
“I thought if someone is watching, we should put on a show.”
He shifts, one of his legs sliding between my thighs, pushing lightly against my panties, against the heat and dampness that’s there from this. Him. “A show?”
“Yes.”
“For someone who might be watching?”
“Ye-e-ess…” The word hisses and hitches from me as he traces the shape of my lips with the finger of his free hand and I’m about to lose it.
I want to rub against his thigh. I want to get myself off on him. Lose myself in him.
His mouth lowers against my ear and his tongue draws patterns on my lobe, then traces my ear and I almost come from the little erotic thrills it rocks through me. “Like who?”
“Hypothetical someones. Spies?”
“Spies?”
His fingers dip down along my throat and tease the modest neckline of my dress. I’m shivering and I might be grinding against his leg. “Yesss.”
“Well, let’s give these hypothetical spies something to spy on. Don’t want them losing jobs.”
And before I can speak, he kisses me, soft, beguiling, the kind of kiss that draws me up and into him, makes me wrap my arms about him and press against the hardness of his body. It’s seduction with a dark edge, and as he slides his tongue into my mouth, it morphs into something more and every single part of me is alive and throbbing with need.
If I could, I’d do him right here.
The kiss changes again and I’m a willing participant. This is the kind of dance where each touch and slide and step is prelude to sex, better than most sex I’ve ever had. It’s a wild ride of hard and soft; aggression and gentle exploration; of absolute pleasure that has the promise of more.
And then it’s over.
My head is spinning as he steps away like nothing happened.
Hudson smooths his tie back in place, and his gaze is so dark I could fall into it and be lost forever.
“For the spies. Goodnight.”
