Cockney: A Stepbrother Romance (36 page)

“Fuck you, Reagan.” Quinn spits at me as she turns and storms out the front door.

I don’t know it yet, but me and my big mouth have a long, illustrious future ahead of us.

P R E S E N T

Hudson gets weird when I mention my Dad, which only drives the wedge that’s already between us even deeper; the wedge being that I didn’t know my own Father half as well as he did.

“Look, let’s go get a drink or something and I’ll explain.”

He can
not
be serious.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I remember the last time with him when drinks were involved, and immediately regret it as I feel my face grow hot.

“Will you fucking relax?” He snaps, looking irritated and still holding out his jacket to me even though we both know I’m not going to take it; “Look, this isn’t about us-“

“There
is
no ‘us’, Hudson,” I sneer. I know I’m covering for my own embarrassment with this bitchy act, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Besides, what other way is there to act towards Hudson?

“Yeah, no shit, babe.”

I glare at him.

“Listen, Red,” He scowls at me, his blue eyes somehow looking even hotter when they’re fierce like that. I make a conscious effort to look at his chin instead.

“Believe it or not, this is about your campaign, which people are actually interested in seeing work out for you.” He shakes his head at me, as if I’m some petulant child; “Get over it being your Father’s compan-“

“Are you shitting me?” I can feel the fury rising inside as I cut him off and stare at him in disbelief; “You think this is just about me trying to act out or snub my Dad? Do I look like I’m fucking
twelve
years old?”

“Twelve year olds are better behaved, Princess.” He grins at me.

“Don’t
call
me that!” I snap shrilly; “I don’t want the money because I am
not
taking campaign donations from a
gun
manufacturer!” Half my damn platform is about cleaning up the streets and keeping firearms out of the hands of kids; how the
hell
did Donald OK this?

Hudson purses his lips - those perfect, totally kissable- 

“We got out of all that, it’s nothing we do anymore.” He says evenly, his eyes staring into mine.

“Sure.”

He sighs loudly, rolling his eyes at me; “Jesus, have you always been this ridiculous? Look, just come have a fucking drink with me and I’ll explain everything.”

I know the sneering face I make at him plays
entirely
into his calling me childish but I just don’t care. I turn back to the doors and see Donald standing behind them back inside the museum, giving me a scowl and shaking his head, and I can practically feel his disapproval from here.

“
Fine
; let’s go.”

*****

“
This
is your car?”

He looks up from the passenger door he’s opened for me with a smug expression; “Yep”

Of course it is
; I roll my eyes, wondering for the ninth time since we walked out of my own fundraising event why on earth I said yes to this.

The sleek black vintage Charger is sexy as
hell
, but it’s just
so
overtly masculine and absurdly macho that I just shake my head as I slide into the passenger side of the bench seat.  A car like this, of course, usually says that you’re making up for something else. I instantly feel my face flush scarlet with the memory of that one moment and the size of that thickness pressing against me as he kissed me. 

Hudson Banks isn’t making up for
a thing
with this car.

I jump from my naughty daydream when his hand brushes my knee as he reaches for the shifter; “Easy there, hands-y,” I quip, shooting him a look.

“Oh, relax and put your seatbelt on,
Senator.
”

I’m about to respond when he roars away from the curb fast enough to take the breath from my lungs and send a surge of adrenaline right through my core as we tear off into the cold city night.

*****

The place we end up going is
way
fancy; like, the kind of bar that’s got so much class you can hardly get away with just calling it a “bar” anymore at all. As we’re ushered in, I’m suddenly glad we’re dressed the way we are, with him in a tuxedo and me in my gown. Although something tells me when I see the Benjamin that Hudson palms the maitre-d that he’d be seated wearing nothing at all.

Images of Hudson’s chiseled, shirtless torso, and the
big
hint of what’s hidden lower flood my mind as we take a seat at the far end of the elegant bar-top. 

“What are you drinking?”

“Huh?” I shake my head, feeling my cheeks burn as I try and clear my head of the dirty fantasies throbbing and undulating through my brain involving the man sitting next me. This is the man I need to loath and despise on pretty much every principal I have,
not
the man whos cock I should be fantasizing about. I don’t really drink much, and I can actually still feel the half-glass of champagne I had back at the fundraiser buzzing through me, but I shrug apologetically at the bartender anyways; “Oh, uh, wine I guess? Something white?”

He smiles and turns to Hudson with a curt nod before he moves down to the other end of the bar.

“He knows what I want,” Hudson says with a wink. He lets his eyes linger down the neck of my dress as he grins; the subtext that
I
should know what he wants
too
isn’t exactly lost on me. I clear my throat and look away. 

I let my eyes wander around the demurely lit, sleek and modern-looking room that reeks of money, taking the place in; “Come here often?” The place is full of gorgeous women; all young and hot and digging - and Hudson looks like he’s made out of solid gold.

“Often enough, sure.”

Yeah I bet
, I think, eyeing the trio of skanks giggling and batting their eyes in Hudson’s direction from the other end of the bar. The jealousy takes me by surprise, and find myself shaking my head; confused by it. Why on earth am I so heated about this? There
is
no “Hudson and I”; it was
one
night, five fucking years ago, and we basically just kissed.

Well, kissed with his shirt half undone and his hand on my skin, teasing across my hip and sliding down across the wetness at the front of my panties. I cough again to clear my throat and my thoughts as the bartender returns with my wine, and something that looks like it jumped off the kids menu at a chain restaurant that he sets down in front of Hudson.

“Uh, what the hell is that?”

Hudson shrugs as he takes a sip out of the straw; well, after he pushes aside the ridiculous little bouquet of thin orange slices and maraschino cherries adorning the top of it; “It’s a Shirley Temple.” He says matter-of-factly.

I snort, a grin teasing my lips; “Are you serious?”

He looks at me like I’m an idiot; “Of course I am, they’re delicious.”

I grin in spite of myself, seeing the glimmer of his own in return as his blue eyes flash at me; “Right, if you’re seven years old.” 

“I don’t really drink anymore.” 

I laugh, and it comes out harsher than intended; “Since when?”

“Since-“ He wags his head side to side as if weighing something; “I just don’t anymore.”

I stare at him and then the glass of wine I didn’t really want anyways; “Well why are we at a
bar
to talk then if you don’t drink?”

He turns and winks at me, that smug smile totally back and spread across his face; “Because you looked like
you
needed one.”

I take a big slug from my glass, certainly as an excuse to tear my eyes away from him, but also because the way he looks at me really
does
make me need a drink.

“You know you’re sunk without the money, right?” It’s hard to take the guy seriously - no matter how fucking sexy he looks in that tux with the tattoos peeking out - with that stupid straw in between his lips and the cherry stems tickling his nose, but his words jolt me back to our reason for being here just the same.

“Fine.”

He looks surprised; “Fine?”

“I said
fine
, OK?” As much as I
hate
to admit it, I know he’s right. I know the whole run is over without the campaign money from Archer Holdings, I just hate giving him the satisfaction of hearing me tell him he’s right. He looks impressed with himself; like he’s “won” and I’m submitting to him, and not in the way that just
won’t
get out of my thoughts being this close to him. “I just don’t see why
you
had to be here though,” I glare at him; “Don’t you have interns, or fucking servants or whatever to do this sort of thing for you?”

He smirks at the ‘servants’ line; “Well, there’s a
bit
more to it than that.” I raise an eyebrow and his eyes sparkle as he winks at me; “It’s not just the money.”

Oh really.

“Well, what then.” I’m getting tired of feeling like he’s playing with me, especially since in my head he’s playing with me in a
very
different way and it’s distracting me to the point of anxious.

“You’re pissing a lot of people off with your platform.” He says the words carefully, as if choosing them as he utters them.

“I’m making a lot of people
happy
with my platform, which is why I’m way ahead in the polls, actually.” Now it’s my turn to be smug as I sit back and sip on my wine. 

He turns to face me fully, his face the most serious I’ve seen from him yet; “Let’s just say that there are things out there that you don’t see that I do,” His eyes drop to the front of my gown and he grins for
just
a hair of a second; just long enough to tell me he can see how erect my nipples are before he drags his eyes back up to mine

I roll my eyes; “You know, those of us who don’t make a buck selling
guns
to third-world war-zones have a
slightly
more positive outlook on the world.” Ok I’ll admit I need my father’s company’s money, but I don’t need Hudson’s negativity packaged along with it.

He wraps his soft lips around his straw and sucks gently, his eyes never leaving mine as he sips on his Shirley Temple, and it’s probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen involving grenadine. I feel an aching pull deep inside that brings a fresh flush to my cheeks, and I can feel my nipples hardening beneath my gown even more despite the warmth of the room. God
damn
you, Hudson Banks.

“Well, those of us who
have
been around those third-world war zones don’t have the luxury of that fantasy, which is why I’ll be sticking around to make sure you’re ok.”

I frown; “Excuse me?”

“Me; around. I’m going to be watching you during the campaign.” He grins, and the motion pulls the skin of his neck
just
enough that I catch another glimpse of the dark ink there just under his collar, and I’m instantly fascinated with knowing what else is under that shirt before I shake the thought from my head. “Maybe you should think of it as less someone watching you and more just Archer Holdings looking after its investment,” He arches his brow as he sips at his Shirley Temple; “Which is you, in this scenario.”

I can feel my blood begin to boil as I struggle to keep my temper in check; “You can’t be serious,” I mutter to him through gritted teeth; “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

Hudson shrugs nonchalantly, that smug look never leaving his face; “Well, agree to disagree then.”

I can feel the heat rising in my face to match the growing volume of my voice; “I’m serious, Hudson, I’m not doing this. I’ll call Dona-“

“Donald agrees with me, actually.” 

Dammit
; this is a setup. Donald’s not worried about something
happening
to me, he’s worried about me going off his by-the-book script and doing something to shake up the campaign in a way he can’t control. Hudson might think he needs to “protect me” or whatever, but I know the real reason for all this is so Donald can have someone
babysit
me.

Fuck that.

I’m out of my seat and storming across the room before Hudson can put down his stupid kids drink. At the front door, I feel his strong hand grab my arm, pulling me around. “
Relax
, Reag-“

“Do
not
tell me to ‘relax’!” I
hate
when people say that to me.”

“Fine, don’t relax then;” His voice is stoney, even though he’s still got that stupid smug look on his chiseled jaw. “Look, where are you going?”

God, the nannying starts already.

“
Home
, Hudson. I’m going home.” I yank my arm out of his grasp and turn back towards the door.

“I’ll drive yo-“

“I’m taking the train or a cab like a
normal
person.” I spit at him.

“
Fine
, I’ll meet you there then I guess.”

I freeze; “What do you mean?”