Cockney: A Stepbrother Romance (39 page)

"This isn't some sort of spy movie you know," I snap; “There isn't a terrorist outside about to crash through the window and murder or kidnap a
State
Senate candidate. The world is
not
all a terrible, dangerous place, Hudson.”

He turns to me, slowly munching on what may or may not be Chinese food from a week ago; "Do you really think of the world like that?" He shakes his head; "That's adorable."

"Damnit, Huds-"

"The world is
full
of bad people, Reagan." He says quietly. For the first time since he's let himself into my apartment - or my life, for that matter - he doesn't have that obnoxiously smug grin on his face and it's like I'm actually seeing the real him, with clarity and without armor, for the first time.

"Anyways," he says, breaking the moment and grinning as his armor goes right back up; "Go put some gym stuff on, let’s go."

I frown, finally reaching for the much needed espresso that’s
finally
stopped dripping from the machine; "Why? And where are we
going
?"

Hudson rolls his eyes; "To
the
gym
, dummy. Unless you wanna work out in those cute panties you had on earlier, in which case I'm
all
for it."

Yeah, moment of clarity shattered. 

I stare at Hudson like he's nuts before gesturing towards the icy-looking window with the wind whipping against it; "Are you kidding me? I'm not going to the
gym
, it's freezing outside!"

"Seems like it's a little cold in here too, toots." He smirks and nods at my chest, and I look down to realize my nipples are poking out through my thin t-shirt. I hastily cross my arms over my chest.

"What are you,
ten?
Seriously thought, I'm not going to-"

He cuts me off by tapping a piece of paper printed with what looks suspiciously like a time-table and shaking his has as he grins at me; "Donald's schedule, Princess; not to be ignored."

Something tells me arrogant, filthy rich, obnoxious and tattooed Hudson Conners doesn't give a flying shit about keeping schedules, and I know he's just doing this to get to me, which I am
determined
to not let happen.

"Fine, let’s go." I turn and start to march down the hall back to my room.

"Oh, panties it is then?" He calls after me, and I swear it’s almost as if I can feel his eyes on my butt, looking right through my pajamas. 

I slam the door to my room, shutting him off again.

P A S T

“I don’t understand why I need to wear this fucking monkey suit.” I grow, shifting uncomfortably as the tailor pats the inside of my leg and secures the expensive fabric with a pin from his mouth. I look up at the Old Man, and he’s grinning at me in this mix of amusement and something I can’t quite place- it could be pride, but I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever seen that emotion on someone’s face directed at me.

But, there’s a lot of new things in my world after meeting William Archer. New like being back in the States and working for his company, or like having more money than I know what to do with; new things like a new identity. “Hudson” is easy to keep, since it’s what the guys called me in the service after I got busted singing Billy Joel’s “New York State of Mind” in the shower one night when I thought I was the only one up, and I was all too happy to drop my Dad’s fuckin’ last name for my Mother’s maiden one.

“You wear that fucking monkey suit, Hudson, because it’s your costume; it’s your disguise. That fucking monkey suit will open doors for you that would otherwise be closed; doors you never even imagined existed. It’s the mark of a man at a certain place in the world, and it lets those around him know what that place is.” 

I raise an eyebrow at him, grinning; “Did you rehearse that?” He’s chuckling and I shake my head; “You rehearsed it, didn’t you.”

William shakes his head, exhaling slowly; “Shut up and turn around, Marine.”

I mock salute and roll my eyes as I turn; “Yes si-“

Well, shit.

The man who looks back at me in the tri-fold floor-length mirror is like a me from another alternate reality. It’s me - those are
my
eyes looking back at me, but that’s the only thing I could possibly guess is the same, and it’s not just the suit. It’s everything
about me
that I almost don’t recognize, and my brain can’t even begin to process how much of a good thing that is. I
need
the old me to not be recognized, even by me; hell,
especially
by me. The old me needs to be purged in the fires of what’s to come, and the new direction my life is going in faster than I can almost catch up with.

“So, what do you think.” The Old Man looks smug behind me as he looks at me through the mirror. 

“I think I- I look different?”

William tilts his head toward the tailor, who nods before ducking out of the room; “You look like a person again, Hudson. You look like a man ready to finally be one.”

I’m remembering that shitty dive in Kinshasa, when the first guy I’d seen in months that didn’t look like some kind of criminal or terrorist sat down next to me at the bar and introduced himself.

“You know I’d never let you down, Sir, but are you sure- I mean, just because we were in the Marin-“

“If you think I’m ‘hooking you up’ with a job like
this
just because we share a common military history-” He trails off, shaking his head; “I do
not
make decisions like this lightly, Hudson. You of all people should know that.”

I nod.

“The company needs someone like you; someone like all
three
of you actually. We need men who can react-“ He steps closer to me, his eyes boring into mine; “And men who’ve looked the devil in the face like you have and lived to know what it takes to walk away; what it means to keep a piece of your humanity when it seems like you can’t.” He smiles suddenly at me, breaking the spell; “So that’s why you’re wearing that fucking monkey suit, Hudson.” He smirks and winks at me; “Think of it as a uniform. I’d think even a Marine could wrap his grunt head around that way of looking at it”.

I grin and look at myself in the mirror again, still amazed at the image looking back at me of the man I never imagined I could be.

“It’s a responsibility, Hudson; that’s something else I don’t take lightly.” His voice is quieter, and when I look up I can see the solemn and somber look in his eyes.

“Yes si-“

“You’ve come a long way, Hudson, but there are demons still on your back I’m going to need you to shake at some point.” I’m still drinking, and we both know that. I mean, I’m drinking less, but addiction is addiction no matter how you quantify it.

“I need you in
control
, Hudson.” His eyes flash as he looks at the visage of the new me in the mirror; “Are you in control?”

P R E S E N T

This is getting ridiculous. This girl is
way
too hot for me to be doing this whole pseudo-bodyguard thing, even though I can tell she's the type that doesn't even know it. I honestly don’t know what the fuck Logan and Bryce were thinking; hell I don’t know what
I
was thinking signing up for this, but this is too much. I mean a man can only take so much.

We’re at the gym, and she’s working out; in fucking
yoga
pants and the worlds tightest, clingiest tank top. I mean honestly, how am I supposed to fucking deal with that?

At least the place is secure. Reagan might eschew her father’s money, but she’s got enough of it herself along with some sense to pick a gym that caters to the those who don’t want their picture being taken while they’re grunting out a squat or puffing away on a treadmill. The fact that we’re entirely alone in the gym has a secondary bonus too, in that no one’s around to see that I’m rock hard inside my gym shorts as I watch her.

I mean, I’m trying to tear my eyes away from the ice queen herself here, except the ice queen happens to have a
fantastic
ass, and from where I’m sitting pretending to do arm curls on a bench behind her while she climbs the stair-master, it’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to grab her by the hips, yank those skin-tight yoga pants right off that ass, and bury my face between her legs.

Jesus Christ, get a hold of yourself, psycho.

She’s barely tolerating my being there, but she knows she’s stuck with me thanks to the board at Archer Holdings and thanks to Donald and his rigid schedule. I mean, I get it; she wants to be taken seriously as a real candidate and not just some pretty little rich girl with a killer smile (and a great rack, for that matter) who wants to play politics. But as annoying as he is, Donald
does
have a point; you gotta work those strong points, and Reagan's strong points
do
happen to include the fact that she's young and hot and fit. Give the people what they want, and all that.

Hence, the mandatory gym visit on today's schedule.

"Stare much?"

I shake my head and drag my eyes up, seeing that she's stopped the machine and is giving me a strange look over her shoulder. Her straight red hair is pulled up in this adorable little ponytail, and I just want to grab it and use it to guide my-

Jesus I need to get laid.

"Huh?"

She rolls her eyes; "I said, '
stare much
', as in, quit staring at my ass, perv."

Put on some fucking snow pants, or a burka or something and maybe I will
I grumble to myself, knowing I probably still would.

“Ray, your staff said you had a new bodyguard or someth-“

I turn at the sound of the door to the weight room opening and instantly lock eyes with a younger, blonde version of Reagan.

“Oh, it’s
you
.” She’s got the same look on her face Reagan had on this morning, without of course the distracting element of
being
Reagan; and of course, not standing there in just her panties.

“Lovely, another warm welcome.” I plaster on my biggest, most fake smile for the Old Man’s youngest daughter and Reagan’s little sister; “Hello, Chelsea.” 

“What are
you
doing here, Hudson?”

“Just waiting for smiles like yours, sweetheart.” I smirk at her. Jesus, do all these Archer girls walk around with chips on their shoulders all fucking day?

“
Don’t
call her that.” Reagan’s snapping at me as she gets off the machine. She breezes past me, shouldering me out of the way as she goes to hug her sister; “What’s up, Chels?”

I can see Chelsea’s stormy, guarded facade start to fall as her older sister hugs her, and then her face crumbles as the tears begin to drop.

“It’s Andrew, he- with
her!
“ 

I
hate
seeing girls cry. Seriously, no matter how bitchy Chelsea just was to me for a girl I’ve met all of like
once
, I instantly want to put my arms around them both and tell her that whatever it is, it’s going to be ok.

Just then though, Reagan looks up and sees me staring at them. Her face curls into a snarl; “Do you
mind
?”

I shrug, not ready to get bounced that easily; “What’s the problem?”

Chelsea whirls on me with a sneer on her lips; “Oh what, billionaire womanizer Hudson Banks has some magical advice on cheating boyfriends I suppose?”