When he rounded the second turn into the recesses of the club, she was gone. The place was like a fucking labyrinth with sharks at the center. A door clapped shut. He flattened his palm against it and pushed, walking into a locker room and not giving a shit it was the one reserved for women. He closed the door behind him and flipped the lock in place.
Alessandra spun around, stunned. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.” He moved across the room in deliberate strides. “And I didn’t think you’d appreciate me strolling up to your parents’ table.”
“So you thought you’d follow me into the locker room?”
Hudson came to a stop in front of her. “Whatever it takes, Alessandra.” He inhaled. God, he loved her smell. Clean and fresh with a slight hint of flowers.
She blinked up at him. “For what?”
“For you to admit there’s something between us.” He hadn’t been able to get their kiss out of his mind. Her mouth had been unbelievably sweet, and so soft. Softer than he remembered.
Alessandra opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Her eyes narrowed. “How did you even get into the building? This is a private club.”
“I’m considering a membership.”
“Really? To a North Shore club?”
He smirked. “I heard they have a world-class golf course.”
“You golf?” She asked with a nervous laugh.
“Quite well. Smooth grip of the shaft, careful stroke.” His voice was deep and resonant. “Perhaps I can show you just how good I am, Alessandra.”
She glanced over his shoulder at the door, then back at him. “You need to leave, Hudson.”
“You can’t ignore what happened. Not this time.” He brushed his fingers against her cheek.
“It was a mistake, that’s all.”
“Your body says otherwise.” He stepped closer and heard the catch in her breath.
“This is hardly the time or place to discuss it,” she said, her voice wavering.
“Then when?”
“I don’t know.”
There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let her blow him off. “If you want me to leave you’re going to have to do better than that.” His mouth curved into a sensuous grin. “Unless, of course, you want me to stay?”
“Next week,” she blurted out.
“No. Try again.”
“Fine, tomorrow. Just go.”
“Where?”
“Lincoln Park Zoo,” she said, exasperated.
Hudson drew back a fraction and looked down at Allie with a whole lot of what-the-fuck on his face. “The zoo?”
“Yes, I’ll meet you at noon, just inside the main gate.”
“You’re afraid to be alone with me, aren’t you?” His index finger traced the vein pulsing wildly in her neck.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She looked over his shoulder again. “Now will you please go before someone walks in?” Allie’s gaze shifted back to him, but her stare didn’t match the icy tone of her voice.
Hudson’s mouth hovered inches from hers. Allie moistened her lips and as she did, he thought maybe she was right; maybe she shouldn’t be alone with him. With the way he was feeling he was liable to take advantage of her slightly parted mouth. He knew she wouldn’t stop him if he kissed her. And he wanted to, more than his next breath.
He had to stop.
Boy did he ever.
“Until tomorrow.” He brushed the pad of his thumb across Allie’s bottom lip before strolling out the door without a backward glance.
Hudson walked halfway down the corridor before he stopped. He ran a hand back over his unruly hair and buttoned his jacket to hide the erection threatening the front of his Tom Ford.
Yeah, he needed to get the hell out of there.
Falling back into stride, he headed for the exit. The powder room door swung open as he passed and out trotted the two women in head-to-toe Chanel. Hudson flashed them both a grin. “Ladies,” he said with a slight dip of his head.
His phone vibrated just as he handed the valet his ticket. Reaching into his breast pocket, he yanked his phone out and immediately recognized the number of a shithole on the other side of town. The guy who ran the place probably had him on speed dial.
“Chase,” Hudson barked into the phone.
“You better get over here,” a man rasped, his voice the product of sucking on cigarettes for thirty or forty years.
Hudson blew out a resigned breath. “I’m on my way.” He ended the call with a jab of his thumb and tucked the phone back into his pocket.
The valet pulled up with his car, a gunmetal gray Aston Martin DB9. At top speeds the thing looked like a bullet shot out of a gun. Hudson palmed the kid a tip, unbuttoned his jacket, and slid into the car.
As he pulled out into the Chicago traffic, he wondered what he’d find waiting for him this time.
***
Thirty minutes later, the DB9 rolled to a stop in front of Anchors. The dive was even shittier than Hudson remembered.
He knew who was waiting for him inside, what condition the “who” would be in, and how this shit was going to play out. The only thing that was ever a variable was the when.
The DB9’s cooling system ticked and hissed, cutting through the silence in the car.
Fuck.
This was the last place he wanted to be.
Hudson curled his fingers around the door handle, jerked the lever, and unfolded himself from the luxury craftsmanship. He shoved the key fob into his pocket, not bothering to activate the alarm. This would only take a minute. Besides, anyone who’d try to take his car for a joyride had to have balls of steel. The thing was fashioned with one hell of an antitheft system and GPS. The little blue light flashed “I dare ya.”
Hudson walked over to a door that looked like it had once been dark green, and cranked a knob for which he was going to need a tetanus shot .
At the bar the owner pulled his attention away from a long pour of something straight. He didn’t need to look to know when to stop; the guy just knew. Skills of someone who’d been slinging drinks as a career.
Setting the bottle back in its trough, the owner took out the cigarette that was pinched between his lips and exhaled. The smoke rocketed out of his nose in two streams before curling upward. Hudson kicked his chin at the guy, then did a fat sweep of the room, spotting Nick hunched over a table. Out cold.
Cursing under his breath he cut through the bar, skidding a couple chairs out of his way as he passed a jukebox bellowing some Johnny Cash tune. As he drew closer he could see the top of Nick’s wallet, the leather one he’d given him last Christmas, peeking out of his shirt pocket. At least someone had had enough decency to put it back and not rob the guy completely blind.
A soft snore greeted him. Shit, he was totally wasted.
“Hey, Nick.” Hudson’s palm clasped Nick’s shoulder and he gave him a gentle shake. “Come on, let’s go.”
Nick lifted his head, his eyes half-closed, and smiled. “Hudson, my favorite brother.”
“Your only brother. You’ve worn out your welcome.” He grabbed Nick by the armpit and hauled him out of the chair. “Time to go home.”
“One for the road?” Nick slurred as if his tongue was too big for his mouth. He tugged his arm out of Hudson’s grip.
“We’ll get one on the way.” Fucking hell they were.
Hudson’s face was drawn with grim lines as he watched his brother take a couple steps, then go tilt-a-whirl. He caught Nick by the bicep, his weight barely registering.
He guided Nick toward the front door, his legs pretty much gone to rubber, and somehow managed to keep him from face-planting. Pulling a Ben Franklin out of his pocket, Hudson slapped it on the bar and slid it toward the bartender. “Thanks, man. That should cover it.”
The owner dried his hands off on a rag, then dropped it on the counter and picked up the hundred. “Don’t mention it.”
Hudson pushed the door open with his hip and dragged Nick over to the DB9. He lowered him into the passenger side, stretched the seat belt across him, and clicked it in place.