Pressing a kiss to her temple, he slid an arm under her boneless body and gathered her up. He held her tight against his chest as their bodies cooled and their breathing slowed.
When he finally spoke his voice was a hoarse whisper. “I believe we’ve settled the matter of the decorating competition.”
Allie nearly snorted. “Hardly.”
“How do you figure?”
“You had an unfair advantage decorating, um . . . nonedible items.”
A soft chuckle vibrated deep in his chest. “I beg to differ on the nonedible.”
She gave his shoulder a shove. “You know what I mean. I was limited to cookies.”
The words had no sooner left her mouth when a decidedly naughty thought crossed her mind. She reached for the tube of frosting and her gaze dropped to Hudson’s already hardening arousal. Slowly and deliberately she swept her tongue over her bottom lip. “Of course there’s one way to level the playing field, so to speak.” Shifting off of Hudson’s lap, she slid to the stair below. “If you’re game for a rematch, that is.”
He grinned as he repositioned himself against the stairs, bending a knee and dropping back on his elbows. “I’m not stopping you, baby.”
The doors to the walk-in closet stood open, and in the bathroom steam still hung in the air. On the bed a deep crimson silk tie lay strewn across a crisp dress shirt. At Allie’s insistence, formal had been ditched for comfort. So in a quick shift, Hudson ducked his head through the neck of a navy V-neck sweater and pulled the cashmere down his torso. He had offered to take her out to some fancy dinner, as was the thing among the Gold Coast crowd she ran with. Shit, and according to his address, so did he. But Allie had wanted to cook for the three of them. She’d had enough formal holidays to last a lifetime and wanted something small and intimate, the opposite of what her mother used to throw to please her whims and fancy.
On his way out of the room, Hudson paused in front of the full-length mirror for a quick check of his fly. He stared at his reflection and thought of the way his life had played out and an unfamiliar feeling took shape. He was happy. The two things that mattered most to him were coming together.
One was his brother, who he’d do . . . had done, the unimaginable for. The other was the woman who owned him and was probably making a damn mess of his kitchen. Like he gave a flying fuck. As it was, women’s clothes were multiplying by the day, and for some reason he didn’t care if tampons appeared next to the toilet paper. Then he thought of the time he’d spent shaving and arranging his hair. And the gel, he’d even used goddamn gel and it still looked like shit.
He hit the lights on his way out, laughing quietly at what a whipped sonofabitch he was, and set off for the kitchen. In front of him Mother Nature was delivering a white Christmas to Chicago and snow swirled outside the floor to ceiling windows. But it was the sound of the door slamming shut on a Viking oven and the clanging of pots and pans that drew his attention. The scents wafting through the living room teed off his hungry stomach as he closed in on the source of all the noise.
Allie, in his kitchen.
God, she was a sight.
He leaned against the wall just on the periphery of the room and watched her, absorbing her determination to make this dinner the best damn one in history.
She pirouetted to grab pot holders that were taking a nap in between two mixing bowls. When she pulled them up, two wooden spoons clattered to the floor. Allie was clearly in way over her head. His lips twitched on a suppressed laugh as he surveyed the damage. The granite counters were littered with bowls, spoons, knives, and cutting boards of every size, make, and model. The sink was piled high with colanders, more bowls, and what must have been his entire set of All-Clad. He wondered if there was still a clean dish left. If there was, it was only a matter of minutes before it would be used and abused.
She bent over to check the bird in the oven, giving him one hell of a view of her ass. As he watched her body move, he felt himself begin to harden. And knew just how long it would take him to get her out of those pants and be buried deep inside her.
“Looks good.” Hudson grinned. When she straightened, he saw she wore a white chef’s apron, the string wound twice around her waist and knotted in the front. He owned an apron? Who knew.
“You think so?” Allie bent down and looked through the window once again, then popped back up.
His head cocked to the side. “Absolutely.” He moved toward her like a predator, his shoulders rolling with his stride.
“The turkey should be done right on time. The potatoes are done, the stuffing . . .” she ticked each item off with a finger “. . . rolls, cranberry sauce . . . from the can, as requested.” As if reading his mind, she started to back away from him, only to bump into the counter.
He stopped in front of her, his arms coming around her and settling on the small of her back, urging her closer.
“Hudson.” Allie tilted her head to the side at the same time his lips made contact with her neck. “There’s still so much to do.”
“Numerous things,” he said, his hands slipping under her sweater and smoothing up the sides of her ribcage. His cock hardened between them and he sealed his mouth over hers.
“I want you,” he murmured.
“You just had me just a few hours ago.”
“Wasn’t enough. I feel like I can’t breathe unless I’m inside you.” He covered her mouth with his once more and she melted into his kiss. As she leaned into him, the pressure increased against his cock and he groaned into her mouth. “Fuck.” He drew the word out, his pecs tightening as his fingers flexed against her skin. He would have moved into position lighting-fucking-fast, but sweet hell there wasn’t an inch of counter that wasn’t covered with kitchen appliances he didn’t even know he owned or have shit spilled on it from her sojourn into Martha Stewartdom.
His palm cupped her breast and kneaded it through the thin lace of her bra, his fingertips brushing over her nipple. Then his tongue slipped into her mouth, lazily fucking it, before sucking her bottom lip between his teeth.
“God, yes,” Allie breathed against his lips. The sound she let out was part hum of approval and part moan. Screw the counter action, the floor would work just fine. He wanted his mouth on her, his tongue thrusting up inside her so he could taste her slick sex. He needed her naked skin against his, her breath hot and pleading in his ear. She was right, it had only been a couple hours but that length of time was a goddamn killer, making him more aware of the heartbeat pounding at the head of his cock.
Just as he was going to prove to himself how fast he could have her out of her clothes and flat on her back with his face between her thighs, the dull ding of the private elevator sounded in the distance.
“Your brother is here,” Allie mumbled against his mouth.
Hudson growled before dropping a kiss on her mouth and adjusting the hard-on in his pants.
Nick cleared his throat. “Yo, dude, you have eighty rooms in this joint. Get one.”
Hudson flipped his brother the bird over Allie’s shoulder.
“Nice. Real Christmas spirit.” Nick chuckled. “Where’s the fuckin’ love?”
Allie started to laugh. If it wasn’t snowing like a bitch outside, Hudson would’ve tossed his brother out on his ass and made him wait while he made love to his woman in every-single-mother-fucking-room.
Twice.
A sharp gust of wind rattled the windows. “Weather dude is predicting record snow and shit.” Nick shook out his jacket and tossed it on the back of the couch.
“What the hell, Nick? Get your wet coat off the couch.”
“Seriously? You going on all fancy schmancy on me?” Nick grabbed his jacket, stopping short at the sight of Allie’s version of Santa’s Village. “Holy shit.”
As expected, she really had overdone it. Hudson’s penthouse looked like one of the window displays at Macy’s on steroids. If there was free space she’d thrown garland and lights on it. Christ, there were enough tiny lightbulbs to land a 747 in his living room. But he knew her heart had been in the right place, and it gave her something to focus on besides it being the first holiday without her family. Plus, the expression on Nick’s face was priceless. Hudson hadn’t seen that look on him since they were kids. And seeing the two people he loved most in the world happy was all that mattered to him. Even if his house looked like Clark Griswold’s.
Allie had scored a winner. And in that moment he crashed even harder for her.
Nick’s eyes darted from the tree that rivaled the one standing front and center in the Walnut Room to the table set with red-and-white poinsettias and mosaic votives. The candles were lit, making the place smell like a potpourri of spices that sucked the coldness out of his highly stylized penthouse. It was the first time his place had felt like a home, and it had everything to do with the woman currently destroying his kitchen.
As if on cue, Allie appeared at Hudson’s side. He threw an arm around her shoulder, then kissed the crown of her head, watching as Nick zeroed in on the wooden pyramid. He reached out to give the thin wooden paddles a spin, but the moment his finger made contact the intricate contraption fell apart; angels fell from heaven, propellers hit the ground.
“Jesus Christ,” Hudson muttered under his breath. “Some things never change.”
Allie covered her mouth to hide her laugh as he strode over to the wooden carnage.
“I just wanted to make the little guys spin faster, dude.” Nick gathered the paddles that had flung in every direction while Hudson rescued a fallen angel from the ground.
“Does the concept of leaving shit alone ever enter your head?”
“Does chillin’ the fuck out ever enter yours?” Nick plugged one of the propellers into its designated hole, his hand hovering over the pyramid until he was sure it would stay put.
Hudson pushed Nick’s hand aside. “Give it to me.”
“Hey, leave the CEO at the office. I got it.” Nick popped another paddle into position, then another before wood took another trip to the ground. “Son of a bitch.”
“Move.” Hudson shoved Nick out of the way as his little brother played pick-up sticks.
“Have at it.” Nick dropped the propellers into a pile on the table and sauntered over to the tree. “Dude, that’s a mountain of boxes.” He squatted down and started rifling through the packages. “I see a ton of shit with my name on it. What’s the holdup?”
“After dinner.”
“After dinner? Hells no. I know when you’re hiding something. And when you do, it’s worth it.” Nick stood up. “C’mon, man. What’s the fuckin’ deal?”
“Hey, there’s no ‘fuck’ in Christmas.”
Allie leaned closer, whispering so only he could hear. “That’s not what I heard in the kitchen.”
“That was different.” Hudson brushed his lips against her temple.
“Now or later, bro, you’re still going to give me the prezzie. I know you and you can’t resist. So hand it over.”
“No. Later.”
“Oh, please.” Allie rolled her eyes. “You’ve been excited about this all day. Just give it to him.” She’d busted his balls on that one.
“Fine, you can open one.”
With that, Nick dove for the mass of boxes under the tree and began his own version of a scavenger hunt. He surfaced with a huge rectangular box that had his name scratched on it in Hudson’s handwriting.
“That’s your choice?”
Nick grinned. “Bigger is better.”
“Not necessarily.” Hudson strode toward the tree and closed in on a small red box with silver satin ribbon tied in an elaborate bow. All Allie’s doing, of course. He had no patience when it came to wrapping presents, always opting for a stick-on. Peel, slap, done.
“The little one?” Nick eyed it skeptically.
“Fine, if you would rather have the box with the cashmere sweater in it. Your choice.”
Allie looked on, unable to contain her smile as Nick’s eyes volleyed between the big box in his hands and the little one Hudson held in his palm. “You know what they say about big things coming in small packages,” she prompted.
Nick laughed. “That’s what she said.” He tossed the larger box aside and snatched the smaller one out of Hudson’s hand. After ripping off the ribbon, he lifted the lid to find a silver key nestled inside with a chain that read
HARLEY DAVIDSON
. Nick was speechless for about a nanosecond, then his head shot up. “No fuckin’ way.”
“There’s still a few minutes before dinner’s ready,” Allie said. “Why don’t you take him down to the garage and show him.”
“It’s here?”
“You want to go see it?”
“Uh, hell yeah.” Nick dropped the box and was on his feet, bouncing on the balls like he did when he was a kid.
Hudson crooked an elbow around his little brother’s neck and dragged him toward the foyer with a knuckle to the head. “Get the lead out, little man.” It was possible he was as excited as his brother was. They were hanging out again and Nick was flashing a smile that reminded him of when he was a kid opening up some POS present Hudson had managed to scrape enough money together to buy. But this time he was giving his brother something that made up for a childhood of crap cars with wheels that fell off after a week. This time his brother was getting the real-fucking-deal Hot Wheels.
Nick broke free and ran ahead. He punched the button for the elevator. “C’mon, old man. Ditch the walker and hurry up.”
Hudson had barely stepped onto the elevator when Nick thumb-punched the Door Close button. He thought his brother was going to bounce off the walls during what must’ve been the longest elevator ride of his life.
In three . . . two . . . one . . . the doors opened.
Parked next to Hudson’s gun-metal gray DB9 was Nick’s unicorn, a Harley Davidson Fat Boy, laid back and luxurious with the unmistakable nostalgic profile.
Hudson Chase didn’t fuck around when it came to motorcycles.
Nick moved toward the shiny black classic as if he got too close, the mirage would disappear. “Is this mine?”
Hudson chuckled. “Yeah, merry Christmas.”
His brother let his hand drift over the chrome badge emblazoned on the side of the leather strap tank, then threw his leg over the bike.
“It’s a Twin Cam 103 with six-speed cruise drive transmission. It’s got a chrome speedometer and ignition switch console.” Hudson pointed. “All the info you need at a quick glance.”
Nick’s hands darted to the handlebars that were set wide and made of stainless steel with bare-knuckle chrome risers. “This is one sick-ass bike.”
“If you don’t like the color or the make, we can trade it in.”
“No way. This is the best present in the world, bro. I love it.” Nick kicked back on the throne of metal, surveying the concrete wall in front of him like it was the open road. “When are we going riding?”
“Bike, snow, not a good combo.”
“Ah, come on, buzzkill.”
“No bike in this weather. Not to mention you’ll freeze your balls off.”
“Like I said. Buzz. Kill.” Nick cocked a grin.
“Common sense.” Hudson took two quick strides forward. “It has mirror chrome wheels and a NextGen security system that automatically arms and disarms the ride,” he said, pointing out the bells and whistles. “The thing is better than what’s on my bike.”
Nick was touching everything, skimming his hands over every inch. “I don’t know what to say.”