Allie’s eyes shot up to his and softened. “I love that you surprised me with these tickets, that you remembered . . .” Her voice trailed off. “It was very thoughtful of you.”
“We can leave if you’d like.”
“No, I want to be here.”
“Would you rather I leave? I can pick you up after the show if that—”
She placed her hand on his forearm. “I want to be here with you.”
The contact was casual, but the intimacy made his chest hurt as she if she was squeezing his heart. He lowered his head and everything around them faded. The clanking of glasses, the murmurs of conversation, the sounds of the orchestra warming up. All of it disappeared. In that moment she was his whole world.
His lips inched closer to hers, and at the same time she lifted onto her toes.
The overhead lights began to flicker the five-minute warning, and all sound returned to the room. Allie dropped smoothly back on her heels and Hudson straightened. What the fuck was he doing? They were in public, for Christ’s sake. Yet with her, everything around him evaporated.
“We better get to our seats,” Hudson said. He waved in the direction of the box but refrained from laying his hand on her back. Once inside the private box, he pulled the door closed and ducked around the red velvet curtain to join Allie at their seats.
Hudson walked up behind her plush red chair, the vantage point affording him a spectacular view. She crossed her legs and the slit of her dress fell open. Sweet Jesus, those legs. The next three hours were going to be one helluva practice in self-control.
He dropped his mouth to her ear. The movement was innocuous enough, someone attempting to speak to another over the sound of bows warming over strings in the orchestra pit. His lips brushed against her ear as he whispered, “I can’t wait to get you home. And naked.” He took his seat and flashed her a salacious grin. “Then again, all manner of things happen in the dark.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Allie’s mouth gaped open as the lights of the CSO dimmed. All eyes were on the conductor as he took his place at the podium. All eyes but hers. She was far too busy staring at Hudson’s impassive profile to pay much attention to a waving baton. Alexander Borodin’s “In the Steppes of Central Asia” had always been one of her favorites, but not even the rousing French horn could capture her attention.
All manner of things happen in the dark.
Surely he was joking. He wouldn’t really try something in the box. Out in the open. Where anyone could see. He wouldn’t dare. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Or would he?
As it turned out, she had nothing to fear. Hudson was a perfect gentleman during the first performance, and when it came to a close, Allie found herself feeling more than a bit foolish for expecting otherwise. And if she were really honest with herself, a tad disappointed. Jeez, Sinclair, get a grip. Where was all this coming from? She thought about it and realized that what she was really hoping for was a bit of reassurance that she hadn’t hurt his feelings. After the way she behaved when they arrived, it was a wonder he was still in the building. She had totally overreacted. What difference did it make if someone saw them together? It wasn’t a big deal to go to the symphony with a friend. She snorted softly to herself. Yeah right—a friend who’s spent the past week taking her on every surface imaginable.
Khachaturian’s flute concerto served as the second portion of the evening’s entertainment. Allie stole a glance at Hudson as it began, hoping he wasn’t bored out of his mind. Their eyes met and to her great relief, he smiled. A warm blush spread across her cheeks. What was it about this man that could make her feel so uninhibited one minute and so unbelievably shy the next? He held her stare and slowly his gaze began to shift. It became darker, more heated, and she found herself squirming from the sheer intensity.
Allie looked away, staring blindly at the stage in front of her. Hudson shifted so his hand was on the armrest next to hers, not touching her, but close enough that she could feel the radiating warmth of his body. And then, with a subtle shift of his wrist, there was contact. It was small, hardly visible to the eye, but it felt as though a current of electricity passed between them at that one tiny point where skin touched skin.
A blare of trumpets signaled the start of Tchaikovsky’s fourth symphony, and a hush fell over the crowd. Hudson inclined his head toward hers ever so slightly. “Put your wrap over your legs,” he told her in a low, raspy voice.
Her eyes flashed to his and found them alight with some wicked thought. She hesitated, his words both exciting and terrifying. The balcony wall shielded them from prying eyes, but still . . .
“Do it,” he mouthed.
Allie’s heartbeat quickened as she pulled the wrap from her shoulders and arranged it carefully across her lap. Her body hummed with anticipation as he casually lowered his hand to his own right thigh, now pressed tightly to her left. She waited with bated breath for . . . nothing. The first movement ended as it began, with Hudson paying rapt attention to the tuxedo-clad musicians and Allie squirming, untouched, in her seat.
Perplexed, she exhaled and crossed her legs, right over left. His movement was so subtle that she never even noticed his hand leave his thigh. Instead she felt it. His fingers slipped under her cashmere wrap and brushed lightly over her calf. Allie startled and his fingers stilled. When she relaxed he continued, stroking and caressing as he slowly worked his way higher. He paused to draw lazy circles around her kneecap before letting his fingers drift back down her calf, only to start the tortuous circuit all over again. He continued the same pattern, stroking up, then back down, while Allie tried desperately to keep her erratic breathing under control.
The music swelled and his hand dropped to the back of her knee, gently nudging it. Her wide hazel eyes met the silent entreaty of his blazing blues, and she slowly uncrossed her legs.
His fingers parted the slit of her dress. The wide pashmina covered him, but still Allie adjusted it. Her heart pounded as he stroked her bare skin, going higher and higher with each brush of his hand. Back and forth. Back and forth. The steady rhythm perfectly matched the music of the second movement, and as the conductor transitioned to the third, so did Hudson. Without warning, his hand delved between her thighs. His fingers slipped beneath her panties, and she heard a faint hiss when he discovered the evidence of her desire.
The music slowed to a hush as he brushed his fingers right where she was wet and aching for his touch. Then a long note from a flute penetrated the hushed room and two thick fingers pushed deep inside her. Her eyes darted to his and he held her gaze, his unmoving fingers filling her, stretching her. Slowly, he began to move in deliberate, even strokes, careful not to draw attention with any sudden or repetitive movements that could be seen above the balcony wall. With a flick of his wrist his fingers twisted, expertly finding that sweet spot that had her melting in his hand.
Allie stifled a moan as his thumb suddenly skimmed the top of her sex, moving in rhythmic circles while his fingers continued their provocative caress. Her gaze swept the crowd below, but all eyes were following the conductor’s mad gestures, completely oblivious to the explosion building in the private box above them.
She felt the weight of his stare, watching her reactions. She knew from the heat of her cheeks that her face was flushed. But could he see her heart hammering against her chest? Had he noticed the wild racing of her pulse? Or the way her lips had parted on a silent gasp? Her hands gripped the velvet armrests as she tried to quell the riotous feelings inside her, but it was no use. The ache between her legs was becoming unbearable as he pushed her closer and closer to losing all control.