“I could take you here and you’d let me,” he growled. “Your body is ready for me.” His voice was tight with restraint, his breath harsh in her ear.
She heard the door to the next room close and shook her head. “I can’t, not here.”
Hudson’s teeth grazed her jaw. “But you want to. I can feel you getting closer.” His weight pressed against her as he pushed into her with a second finger. Allie whimpered. Her hips moved of their own accord, seeking friction against his hand. “Let me watch you come, give me that much.”
“I can’t,” she said, barely able to push the words out as her body responded to every movement, every skillful sweep of his relentless fingers.
“Yes, you can.” Hudson banded an arm around her waist, his erection digging into her hip as he buried his fingers deeper. The heel of his hand massaged her sex and everything inside her tightened. “Let go, Allie, I’ve got you. Come for me.”
The world fell away at his rough command and she shattered into a million pieces. Hudson’s mouth slanted over hers, absorbing her cries as she came apart in his hands. Panting, she melted into him, her body going lax as he held her close. He slipped a finger under her chin, taking her mouth in a bruising kiss that betrayed just how close to the edge he was.
His head lifted and he looked down at her with fiery blue eyes. “Tomorrow, then. After work. My penthouse.”
Spent and trembling, all she could manage was a nod before Hudson turned and strolled out of the dressing room.
Chapter Fourteen
Harper leaned against the wall as Allie unlocked the door to her brownstone apartment. “Tell me again why I’m being forced to go running before margaritas?”
Allie laughed. “Two words for you my friend: chips and salsa.” She tossed her purse and keys on the table by the door and flipped through a stack of mail. Bills, junk mail, Chinese takeout menu. Nothing that couldn’t wait.
When she turned around she found Harper sprawled out on the sofa. Clearly she was going to need a nudge if Allie had any hopes of getting a lakeside jog in before indulging in Mexican food. And it wasn’t just the impending calories that had her motivated to hit the pavement. After what happened at Macy’s, she needed a long, head-clearing run now more than ever. “You can go ahead and change if you want. I’m just going to check my messages real quick.”
Harper reached for the duffle bag at her feet and let out an exaggerated sigh as she pushed up from the couch. She paused on her way past the breakfast bar, raising a brow at the small electronic device on the granite countertop. “Expecting a call from the 90s asking for their answering machine back?”
Allie pressed the play button. “I’ll have you know I just bought this.” Granted it wasn’t voice mail, but it was still digital. Jeez, the way Harper reacted you’d have thought the messages were recorded on a little cassette tape. Allie was about to continue the defense of her household appliances when the first message began to play. Loud music and laughter were eventually followed by the sound of Julian’s voice.
“Alessandra, c’est Julian.” Allie’s brow creased. Why had he called her apartment in the middle of the day and not her office or cell phone? “I’ve arrived in Paris and am checking in, as you like to say.” The sound of a woman speaking fluent French could be heard along with Julian’s muffled reply. Although she listened intently, trying her best to recall the years she spent in high school French class, the loud music and covered mouthpiece made it impossible to decipher what had been said.
Julian spoke into the phone. “Seems there is more work than anticipated. I’ll call when . . .” His message was interrupted again, this time by a loud pop followed by squeals and a chorus of laughter. “Ne renversez pas le champagne tout le putain de tapis,” Julian shouted. “Elle vaut plus que ce que vous ferez au cours de votre vie, vous idiots!” He was still ranting about his precious rug when the recording ended, cutting him off with a shrill beep.
“End of messages,” the machine announced.
An awkward silence hung in the air for several moments before Harper chimed in with what was obviously an attempt to lighten the mood. “You know what? I vote drinks instead of jogging. In fact, screw the margaritas. I say martinis at Tavern instead.”
Allie tried her best to muster a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
***
Allie sank back against soft red velvet. Tavern on Rush was standing room only but she and Harper had arrived early enough to score one of the couches lining the club’s paneled walls. A distinguished-looking gentleman in a dark suit smiled when she glanced his way, but the last thing Allie needed or wanted was a conversation with a man. Any man. Not a French diplomat with a taste for expensive champagne and even more expensive rugs. Not a billionaire industrialist with serious boundary issues. And certainly not a George Clooney look-alike at a Rush Street bar. The only thing on her evening agenda was having a cocktail—make that cocktails, plural—with her best friend.
She gave the gentleman a tight smile and shifted her gaze to the main floor, where a circular mahogany bar sat bathed in gold-and-red lighting. As she scanned the room she realized her admirer wasn’t the only silver fox at Tavern. Everywhere she looked she saw gray-haired businessmen in designer suits mingling with young women in black dresses and red-soled pumps. Allie chuckled to herself. Ah yes, the Viagra Triangle. That was how locals referred to the high-priced restaurants that dotted the corners of three intersecting streets. As she took in her surroundings she realized the description was more than just an urban legend and made a mental note to tease Harper about how often she frequented the establishments.
Allie reached for her lemon drop martini, her second of the night, and licked a bit of sugar from the rim. The tangy beverages were going down much too smoothly. If she didn’t get some food in her stomach, she’d be paying the price come morning. The last thing she needed was to roll into work with a hangover. “We should order.”
Harper took a generous sip of something called a Strawberry Blonde and grabbed a menu off the marble tabletop. She flipped through the small leather binder, bypassing the extensive wine list in favor of colorful drinks with elaborate descriptions. “Oh!” Her eyes grew wide. “How about a Sucker Punch? Vodka, brandy, pomegranate liqueur, fresh orange juice, fresh pineapple juice, and grenadine.”
“I meant something more along the lines of dinner, but what the hell.”
Harper craned her neck, searching for the waiter she’d been flirting with all night. She startled when he was suddenly at her side.
“Can I bring you ladies another round?” he asked. Allie had to admit he was a bit of a doll. Big brown eyes with lashes that wouldn’t quit, dark hair a little longer than most, and a smile to make you forget what you were going to order. At least that was the effect he seemed to be having on Harper.
Allie came to her rescue. “Two Sucker Punches, please.” As soon as he was out of earshot she jumped on the chance to tease her tongue-tied friend. “Harper Hayes, speechless. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Oh, shut up,” Harper grumbled. Her cheeks were rosy pink as she reached for her glass. “He just caught me off guard, that’s all. They should tell him not to sneak up on people like that.” She finished off the rest of her cocktail and plucked the strawberry garnish from the edge of the glass. Allie could almost see the wheels turning as Harper regained her composure. “I’m going to give him my number,” she announced.
The waiter returned a few minutes later with two oversize hurricane glasses on his tray. The size alone assured Allie the drinks would live up to their name, but when she tried a sip she knew she was in trouble. The fruity concoction was far too delicious considering the pleasant buzz she was already feeling. She stirred the drink with her straw, watching in awe as Harper jotted her number on a napkin and slipped it into the waiter’s hand. Allie shook her head. She could never be as daring as Harper. Then again, she’d had a pretty daring afternoon.