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I bound up the steps and run into someone.
He’s tall. Solid. Smells good. He makes me melt normally.
Hudson.
Shit.
I find a smile and aim it up at him, but he fails to smile back. His eyes are almost black.
“You’re early,” I say. “I just had to go grab something and—”
“Cut the fucking bullshit, Scarlett,” he says quietly, coolly. “I know you don’t live here. Explain.”
Chapter Nineteen
Hudson
She looks at me, wide eyed. And then smiles and tries to bluster her way out of it with healthy heapings of charm.
“What? Of course I do. Did you hit your head?” She bites her lip and takes hold of my arms and looks up at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, Scarlett, I had a long chat with the doorman and you don’t live here.”
“He’s new.”
I narrow my eyes, refusing to let the charm get to me as people give us strange looks as they go past into and out of the building and I really don’t give a flying fuck. This day got way too long the moment my brother dropped his little bombshell.
“To you, twenty-five years working at this building is classed as new?”
She smiles, but there’s a desperation there I don’t like. “In some cultures.”
“I don’t have time for this, Scarlett. Didn’t I tell you I don’t want lies?” I shake my head and pull free of her, regret bitter in my mouth and confusion in my veins. Why lie about something like this, that’s what I want to know, but it’s something she needs to share with me.
“I know. You did. But, after this morning…” She twists her hands in front of her and this isn’t the place for this.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Scarlett. Usual time.” I walk away from the entrance and cross the pavement to where my car waits and get in.
Once there, I lean back on the leather seat and close my eyes. My driver won’t go anywhere until I tell him to. And I need to think.
I want to get out and go back to Scarlett and put my hands on her. But if I do that, I know exactly where that will lead because she’s a fever in my blood. Last night and the very early hours of this morning weren’t enough.
But I want to grab hold and demand the truth.
That’s not going to work. I know that. If she wants to explain all this without trying to wiggle out of it, she needs to come to me.
It’s not that important in the grand scale of things, I suppose, but it does make me wonder… If she’s lied about this, what else has she lied about?
The door opens and the noise and warm air of New York invades the car, along with Scarlett.
I know it’s her. I can feel her there, a buzz in my blood, a heat on my skin. Her soft breathing is a call to me, too. And I gather my self-control, open my eyes, and look at her.
“I’m not lying, not really,” she says. “My family—”
“Scarlett.” She’s pretty, even in a panic, the color high on her cheeks, her hair still back but little wisps are like honeyed gold, dark and beautiful around her face. But I make myself ignore the physical attributes and push on. “You were there this morning. You know what’s riding on this.”
“I know.” Her hand is soft as she touches my arm and I like the feel of her, the connection. I shouldn’t, but I do.
I look at her hand and then at her and damn if I can’t smell those flowers again. But the look has the desired effect and she snatches her hand away.
