Heat: A Soldiers of Fortune Romance (11 page)

Fuck
, this is a bad idea.

P R E S E N T

It’s hours later, and I’m still rock hard. All I can think about - the only possible real thought going through my head at all actually - is the memory of her calling my name like that;
Jesus.
I mean I couldn't
totally
see through the curtain, but I could enough that I can
assume
what she was doing, and
assuming
is enough to have me going out of my mind right now. It’s not just the way she said my name like that either, its knowing
what
she was doing, naked with that hot water steaming over her perfect skin, trickling over her hot body when she did say it. It’s knowing that she was uttering my name when she came, and that thought has kept me hard for
hours
since.

I tried fixing the situation myself;
by hand
, if you will. I tried wrapping my hand around my throbbing hard cock and stroking it as I imagined Reagan’s perfect pouty lips wrapping around my dick. I tried to imagine that insane body of hers sliding down onto me, my cock sliding hotly through her wetness as she came for me -
on
me - calling my name. But it wasn't the same, not by a damn mile, and I just couldn't do it with being pissed at it not being the real thing.
 

The apartment,
completely
unsurprisingly, has been silent since; like, pin-drop quiet. And I’m willing to bet she’d down the hall doing the exact same thing I am - sitting on a bed staring at a wall trying to get thoughts together enough to think about what the hell we do now. What we had before? Yeah, they call that sexual
tension
. Now? I don’t they have a name for whatever the fuck falls between sexual tension and fucking, but Goddamn if it isn’t so damn
tense
that I feel like I’m about to snap.

I’m on my feet in a second; I can’t just stay in this tiny fucking guest room anymore. Her door is still closed when I go to the living room an turn on some mindless movie, thought I think I hear the quietest intake of breath in the world as I walk past her door.

I want to leave, well, sort of. I want to give her
space
is more accurate.
I
don’t want to leave at all, but something tell’s my Reagan will stay in her room
indefinitely
until I do. I whip out my phone and text my office to get two of my guys to come watch the place tonight so I can get the fuck out of here; so I can clear the air of whatever just happened back there.

“Sorry for walking in on you.”

Her voice makes me jump, and I’m amazed at how I never heard her coming; “Reagan-”

“I’m sorry for walking in on you.” She repeats herself, her voice level and quit, her face neural, as if she never said it the first time at all.

“I- I’m sorry too, for, walking in on-”

For walking in on you with your fingers buried in that sweet pussy that I’d love to cover with my mouth and lick until you couldn’t see straight
is what I want to say. I don’t obviously, but it doesn’t stop me from congratulating myself on being such a smooth talker.

“It’s fine,” She cuts off my thoughts; “Look, if we’re going to- I mean if you’re going to be around-“ She sighs, her hand coming up as she runs her fingers through her long hair; “That time before- you know, at my Da-“

“This is my
job
, Reagan, I’m not going to get tripped up by-“

“No, look, I’m just saying before was nothing, right?”

I feel a tight clench somewhere deep inside my chest. ‘Before’, meaning ‘that kiss’.
That
kiss; the only kiss that’s ever mattered, anywhere. And yet I hear myself talking, and saying the opposite of everything I want to tell her; “Uh, yeah I guess so.”

Fuck!

“Good,” She breathes out, an expression that looks a lot like relief moving over her face; “OK, good.”

Yeah, fucking awesome.

“So before was nothing, right? I mean,
I
was drunk, you might've been drunk, I was grieving-“ I start to open my mouth, but she cuts me off again. “No no, its not like you were taking advantage or anything, Hudson, I’m just saying it was nothing, OK?”

I’m not sure who she’s trying to convince harder here, me or her, but it fucking sucks either way.

“We were horny and sad and drunk and just made- well,
almost
made a terrible mistake.”

I’m nodding at her words, even though every single fiber of my being is raging otherwise inside.
 

“I- I just wanted to get that out so we can be in the same place together without biting each others heads off or there being this sort of-“

“Sexual tension?”

She blushes as I say the word, and it’s so cute and so fucking predicable that I’m grinning at her.

“I- I just wanted to say that now, before anything else popped up.”

“Well I’ve only got the one, you know.”

Her face goes
bright
red, and I can’t help but grin even wider

“So, there’s nothing more to talk about then, right? No sexual tension or anything like that? We’re just doing our jobs and just working together without anything like that lingering?”

“Sure.” I say thinly; “Listen, Reagan, I’m out of your hair tonight anyways, so you can relax.”

“Oh, you are?” She looks quickly up at me, her expression hard to read.

“Yeah, I’ve got two guys coming over to watch you instead.”

“Wait, two
strangers?
” Her voice quavers for a second, her eyes looking nervous.

“They’re good guys, Reagan. I think they’ll watch you better than I c-“

“Hudson
 
I don’t want two strangers.”

I sigh in exasperation; “Well what the hell
do
you want, Red? Because you don’t want these guys watching you, and it sure as shit seems like you don’t want
me
around-“

“I do want you-“ She winces and shakes her as that adorable flush creeps up her cheeks; “I mean, I want you to stay and be the one watching me, if
someone
has to be doing it.”

I stare at her with a puzzled look, trying to read her face.

“Please?” Her voice is shy, naked in it’s honesty, and I find myself nodding as I open my phone to call off the two guards.

Jesus, this girl is going to be the end of me.

“Fine.”
 

P A S T

The buzzing beneath my pillow shakes me awake, and I frown as I feel sleep begin to slide away from me. I’m grumbling to myself as I pull out the offending cellphone I must have fallen asleep with, blinking at its glaringly bright screen. The number isn’t familiar, but I
do
recognize the time that says its 3:45 in the morning, and with a muttered swear, I reject the call and shove the phone back under my head.
 

The buzzing starts again
just
as I start to drift off. “Ugh
, what?
” I groan out loud, grinding my teeth as I see the same unknown number illuminating my screen and wrecking my sleep a second time. I’m tempted to answer just to tell them where they can stick it, but instead I just turn my phone off entirely. I’m yanking the covers up around me and burrowing deeper into my sleep when I hear the knock at my dorm-room door.

What the actual fuck.

“
What?!
” I know the disheveled, skate-punk-looking kid standing outside my door, but only through feint recognition as someone who lives on my floor on the other side of the dorm. “Can I
help you?
”

“Theres, uh, someone here to see you.” He takes a sip from the atypical college red plastic solo cup in his hand.

I furrow my brow at him; “Excuse me?”

“Outside; there’s some dude who wants to see you.”

“Who?”

He shrugs. He looks high, or drunk; “I dunno, some guy just gave me a hundred bucks to come knock on your door and tell you to answer your phone.” He frowns and taps a finger to his forehead which would be comical if I hadn’t just been woken up at four in the morning.

“Wait, no, that’s not it, he said to say ‘Answer your
damn
phone, Archer.’”

I almost smirk; Hudson.

*****

“A hundred dollars, huh? Just to get me outside?”

Hudson is leaning against the side of a bright red Porsche convertible, his white oxford shirt unbuttoned at the neck and his sleeves rolled up, uncharacteristically showing off his tattoos. He grins and shrugs; “Eh, its the only cash I had in my wallet. Answer your damn phone next time.”

“What do you want, Hudson.” Ok so part of me is thrilled that he’s shown up here like this at four in the morning like something out of a John Hughes movie; especially looking like
that
with his hair pushed back and that cocky grin and those tattoos peeking out down his forearms. The other part of me though - the
sensible
part of me - is wary of this for those exact reasons.

“I want to show you something, get in.”

I raise my eyebrows skeptically; “Have you been drinking or something?”

“What? No, I don-“ He frowns and shakes his head; “No, Reagan, I haven’t.”

I cock my head towards the red convertible; “What happened to the white one?”

“I got bored. Look, just get in ok?”

“Hudson, it’s four o’clock in the morning,” I’ve been at college for all of a month, and the work is already
seriously
piling up. I roll my eyes at him; “I need to
sleep
.”

“No, what you
need
to do is get in the car.”

He’s so insistent and so earnest about it that something wants me to say yes when I know I shouldn’t, and suddenly, I’m caving.

“Let me just go change my-“

“Nah, PJ’s are fine.” He winks at me; “Comon Archer, quit being a diva and get in the car.”

*****

Hudson, predictably, drives like an insane person, and we’re roaring over the George Washington bridge in less time than I thought was physically possible. He whips us around a van and veers off onto the Palisades Parkway, and then we’re tearing away from the city and up the west bank of the Hudson River. We aren’t talking, but the stereo is playing an old Grateful Dead record, and I almost grin at how
not
expected this choice of music is for the Armani-suited wild man Hudson.

He smirks as if reading my mind; “I’m a man of odd taste, Ms. Archer.”

“What, like drunk bimbos and sports cars?” I smirk, unable to help but get that cheap shot in; “Yeah,
so
outside the lines for rich young finance guys in New York.”

“I was going to say like night drives and girls in pajamas, actually.”

I feel myself blushing as I turn and look out the window at the inky black of the river we’re following. I don’t know what this is that we’re doing out here, but I’m suddenly
very
curious to see where it goes.

Hudson swerves off the main parkway, and then we’re speeding
up
; up a twisting, winding, and wooded road. The elevation climbs, and Hudson drives faster and higher, taking bend after bend with screeching tires until I’m holding onto the edges of my seat with white knuckles and gasping as the trees rush past us.

And then suddenly, the darkness of the trees gives way, the sky opens up, and and we’re squealing to a stop. I can still feel my heart hammering from the drive, but I gasp as I look around the parking lot lookout where we’ve stopped. I can see the lights of the whole city from here, down along the black ribbon of the Hudson River, and its
incredible.

“I just thought you’d want to see the whole Hudson.” He says quietly from the seat next to me.

I turn and see that he’s staring out at the view himself, and I grin; “Please tell me that’s a pickup line you’ve used before.”