by Brenda Novak
Hudson King loved women, probably even more than most men did, but he didn’t trust them. He’d gotten his name from the intersection of Hudson and King, two streets in Los Angeles’s exclusive Bel Air community, where he’d been abandoned and hidden under a privacy hedge as a newborn, so he figured he’d come by that lack of trust honestly. If he couldn’t rely on his own mother to nurture and protect him when he was completely helpless, well...that didn’t start him off on the most secure path. Even once he’d been found, hungry, cold and near death, screaming at the top of his lungs, his life hadn’t improved for quite some time.
Of course, he’d been such an angry and unruly kid, he was undoubtedly to blame for some of the hurdles he’d faced growing up. He’d made things more difficult than they had to be. He’d had more than one foster family make that clear—before sending him back to the orphanage.
Fortunately, with his foster days long behind him, he’d buried most of the anger that had caused him to act out. Or maybe he just controlled it better these days. Some people claimed he played football with a chip on his shoulder—that his upbringing contributed to the toughness and determination he displayed on the field—and that could be true. Sometimes it felt as if he did have a demon driving him when he was out there, making him push himself as far as possible. Perhaps he was trying to prove that he did matter, that he was important, that he had something to contribute. Several sports commentators had made the suggestion, but whether those commentators had any idea what they were talking about, Hudson couldn’t say. He refused to go to a psychologist, didn’t see the point. No one could change the past.
Either way, once he was sent to high school at New Horizons Boys Ranch in Silver Springs, California, where it became apparent that he could throw a football, his fortunes had changed. After that, he was named First Team All American in college. Now, as starting quarterback for the Los Angeles Devils, he’d been named MVP once, played in the pro bowl three years running and had a Super Bowl ring on his finger. In other words, he had everything a man could want—a successful career, more money than he could spend and more attention than he knew what to do with.
Not that he enjoyed the attention. For the most part, he considered fame a drawback. Being in the spotlight proved to some of the families who’d decided he was too hard to handle that he might’ve been worth the effort. But it made his little problem with women that much worse. How could he trust them when they had all that incentive to target and mislead him? Getting involved with the wrong girl could result in false accusations of rape or physical abuse, lies about his personal life or other unwelcome publicity, even an intentional effort to get pregnant in the hopes of scoring a big payday. He’d seen that sort of thing happen too many times with other professional athletes, which was why he typically avoided the party scene. He wasn’t stupid enough to fall into that trap.
So, as he sat back and accepted his second drink at Envy in South Beach, he had to ask himself why he’d let his new sports agent, Teague Upton, talk him into coming to a club. He supposed it was the fact that Teague’s younger brother, Devon, was with them, making it two votes in favor to his one opposed. Still, he could’ve nixed the outing. These days, he usually got his way when he demanded it. But since his former agent had retired, Hudson had recently signed with Teague, and Teague lived in Miami and was proud of the city and eager to show him around. Besides, the game Hudson had flown in for didn’t take place until Sunday, so boredom was a factor. Since Bruiser, his closest friend on the team, wasn’t arriving until tomorrow due to a family commitment, and the rest of the Devils were going to a strip club tonight, loneliness played a role, too—not that Hudson would ever admit it. He was the guy perceived as “having it all.” Why destroy such a pleasant illusion? Being that guy was certainly an improvement over the unwanted burden he’d been as a child.
Besides, the owner of Envy had been very accommodating. Because Hudson didn’t want to be signing autographs all night, the club owner had made arrangements with Teague to let them in through the back and had provided them with a private booth in the far corner, where it was so dark it’d be tough to recognize anyone. From his vantage point, Hudson couldn’t see the entire dance floor—and only a small part of the lighted bar—but he could observe most of what was happening, at least in the immediate vicinity. That trumped hanging out alone in his hotel room, even if the skimpy dresses and curvy bodies of the women created a certain amount of sexual frustration he had little hope of satisfying. The strip club would’ve been far worse...
“Hudson, did you hear me?”
Hudson lowered the hurricane he’d ordered so he could respond to Teague’s younger brother. Teague himself had already found a woman to his liking and was hanging out with her closer to the bar. “What’d you say?”
“What do you think of that little hottie?” Devon jerked his head toward a buxom blonde gyrating against some skinny, well-dressed dude.
“Not bad,” Hudson said. But he wasn’t all that impressed by the blonde. He was far more intrigued by the woman he’d been surreptitiously watching since he arrived. Slender, with black hair swept up and away from an oval face, she wasn’t as pretty as some of the other women he’d seen tonight, but she wasn’t nearly as plastic, either. She seemed oddly wholesome, given the setting. The poise with which she held herself told him she deserved more attention than she was receiving. At times, she even seemed slightly bewildered, as if she didn’t understand all the frenetic activity around her, let alone thrive on it. She’d just ordered three shots and downed them all—without anyone cheering her on or clapping to encourage her, which wasn’t how most party girls did it. Then, while her friends were still off dancing, she’d gotten rid of the evidence and ordered something that looked like a peach margarita.
“Man, I’d like to get me some of that,” Devon was saying about the blonde.
“Go talk to her.” Hudson hoped to be left alone, so he could study the mystery woman at the table nearby without interruption or distraction.
“Can I tell her I’m with you?” Since Devon laughed as he spoke, Hudson knew he was joking, but he made his position clear, anyway.
“No. Don’t tell anyone I’m here. That would mean I’d have to leave, and I’m enjoying myself at the moment.”
“You are? You didn’t even want to come.”
“I’m glad I did.”
“You’re not doing anything except having a drink...”
At least he was having a drink around other people, could have some fun vicariously. “That’s good enough,” he said. “For now.”
“Man, you could change that so easily. All you’d have to do is crook your finger, and you could have any woman in here.”
Probably not any woman, but more than his fair share. That was part of the problem. Hudson never knew if the women he met were interested in him or his celebrity. “Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Devon’s expression said he was far from convinced. “Are you kidding me, man? I’d give anything to be you. I’d have a different model in my bed every night.”
Hudson didn’t live that way. He hadn’t slept with anyone since his girlfriend broke up with him nearly two years ago. He hadn’t planned on remaining celibate for such an extended period; he just hadn’t found anyone to replace Melody. Not only did he prefer to avoid certain risks, like getting scammed, he didn’t believe it was ethical to set someone up for disappointment. People like him, who struggled to fall in love, should come with a warning label. That was the reason he and Melody had gone their separate ways after seven years. She’d come to the conclusion that he’d never be willing to hand over his heart—could never trust enough to let go of it—and she wasn’t interested in anything less. She wanted to marry, settle down and have a family.
He respected her for cutting him off and had realized since then that she was right. He’d stuck with her as long as he had
because she was comfortable and safe, not because he felt any great passion.
Still, it was difficult not to call her, especially when he needed the comfort, softness and sexual release a woman could provide. Only his desire to protect her from getting hurt again, since the breakup had been so hard on her, kept him from relapsing.
“I refuse to be that big a fool,” he told Devon.
Teague’s little brother leaned closer. “What’d you say?”
“Nothing.” Devon wouldn’t understand Hudson’s reluctance to churn through women even if he tried to explain it. Part of it was Devon’s age. At twenty-four, nothing sounded better than sex with as many girls as possible. Hudson had felt the same way eight years ago. Only his peculiar background, and that trust issue, had kept him from acting on his baser impulses. Also, he’d achieved early success through college football at UCLA and already had something to protect when he was twenty-four.
“So why don’t you approach her?” Hudson pressed, gesturing toward the blonde.
Devon took another sip of his drink. “Think I should?”
The song had ended and she was walking off toward a table on her own. “What do you have to lose? She might shut you down, but then you’ll move on to someone else, right?”
Freshly empowered, Devon put down his glass and slid out of the booth. “Good point. Okay. Here I go.”
As soon as he left, Hudson donned the sunglasses he kept in his shirt pocket—he was already wearing a ball cap—and called over the waitress.
Fortunately, she was so busy she barely looked at him, so the disguise seemed unnecessary, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“What can I get for you?”
“That woman over there—what’s she drinking?” He pointed at the lone figure he found so intriguing. He didn’t have to worry about her seeing the gesture, since she had yet to look over at him.
The waitress cast a glance in the direction he’d indicated. “I’d guess a peach margarita.”
Just as he’d thought. “She needs a fresh one. Will you take care of it?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks.” He handed her a twenty. “Keep the change.”
2
When the waitress brought Ellie another drink and explained that a gentleman in a booth not too far away had sent it, she almost refused it, especially when she twisted around and saw that he was wearing sunglasses. What kind of guy was so clueless or affected that he wore sunglasses in a dimly lit bar, especially at nighttime?
She found that behavior slightly ridiculous, but what she could see of the rest of him was appealing. A snug-fitting T-shirt revealed broad shoulders, a solid chest and well-muscled biceps. He seemed tall, even though he was sitting down, and his face wasn’t unattractive. Matter of fact, she liked the square shape of his jaw and the strength of his chin. Don had a weak chin, now that she thought of it—not that she meant to. This guy looked like someone who might be in the military, a pleasant association since she’d always admired the men and women who fought to keep America free.
Besides, she’d come here to take her mind off her troubles, hadn’t she? It wasn’t as if her girlfriends were doing much to help. Every time they came back to the table to check on her, the two men they’d met would drag them off again.
So, after taking the drink from the waitress, she lifted it high to show her gratitude to the man who’d purchased it for her. If some stranger wearing sunglasses in a bar wanted to buy her a drink, let him, she told herself. At least she was starting to relax, to enjoy herself. No doubt the alcohol could take full credit for that. She still felt like crying whenever she thought of Don. But she wouldn’t think of Don. Like everyone else here at Envy, she’d lose herself in the strobe lights, the music and this fresh margarita.
* * *
The woman didn’t seem to recognize him. She gave him a smile that said “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”
Hudson wasn’t used to that reaction. Maybe he’d underestimated the power of a pair of sunglasses. Right now his Ray-Bans seemed to be acting a little like Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak.
Or was it possible that she did realize who he was but simply didn’t care for football players?
Either way, now that he’d seen her more clearly, he was interested in engaging her again. She was pretty and had an abundance of creamy skin to go with that rich, dark hair.
As soon as she finished her drink, he sent over another one—which she sent back without a moment’s hesitation. He could hear her explaining to the waitress that, while she was grateful, she’d had enough. Something about not being irresponsible, which confirmed his first impression. She wasn’t the typical clubber.
When she turned and waved—her way of being polite, thanking him in spite of her refusal to accept the drink—he waved back. Surely, once she got a good look, she’d recognize him. Usually buying a drink for a girl meant she’d be on his lap by now.
This one merely returned to watching the dance floor.
Hudson didn’t want to venture out of the booth, but he did want to talk to this woman, and she wasn’t coming to him. Even more intrigued, simply because she didn’t seem excited about meeting him, he hauled himself out of the booth and eyed her as he approached her table.
Since he came mostly from behind, he startled her when he folded himself into the chair closest to hers. Now she’ll figure out who I am, he told himself. But it was apparent that she had no clue when she introduced herself as Ellie and asked for his name.
Did he have to reveal who he was? He liked blending in for a change. Liked being no different than anyone else. He considered making up a fake identity but couldn’t bring himself to go that far. “Hudson.” He felt certain that would rip away his anonymity—his name wasn’t common—but it didn’t seem to change anything.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked.
She wasn’t being coy. She really didn’t care if he joined her or not. He could tell. “Looked like you could use some company. That’s all.”
She thought that over for a moment, then nodded as if she agreed. “I guess I could. Beats sitting here alone, in any case.” She extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” he said as they shook.
“Do you live in Miami?”
He wondered if she was being facetious. Could this be for real? Everyone knew he played for Los Angeles, so chances were slim that he’d live clear across the country. But after studying her expression, he decided his first assessment had been correct. She had no idea who he was. “No. Just visiting,” he said. “You?”
“Born and raised in Doral. Now I rent a house in Cooper City.”
“Which is...”
“A suburb not too far from here.”
He gestured at her empty glass. “You turned away my drink. It’s not too late if you’re regretting that decision.”
“No. Alcohol is so unhealthy. I’ve had enough.”
“Isn’t a little alcohol supposed to be good for you?”
He was teasing, but she took him seriously. “You mean red wine. They say that, but you’re killing brain cells in order to help your heart. Doesn’t make a lot of sense. If you’re exercising and eating right, you’re better off without it.”
He held the hurricane he’d brought over loosely in one hand. Since he was into health and fitness himself—he had to be if he wanted to remain at his physical peak—her words didn’t fall as flat as they might have. He was used to hearing cautions like that from his various trainers. “What are you, some sort of doctor?”
“Scientist, but I specialize in immunology, so I have a solid understanding of how the body works.” She tucked a strand of hair that’d fallen from her messy bun behind one ear. “How long will you be in town?”
“A few days.”
/> “Are you here for work or play?”
“Um, I came to play,” he said, which was technically true. He just didn’t add that play for him was work.
“Have you ever been here before?”
“Couple of times.” He spoke dismissively, hoping to minimize the fact that he came here every two or three years to play the Dolphins.
“And? How do you like it?”
“It’s nice.” He took in her innocent-looking eyes and wide, expressive mouth. He found her attractive in a girl-next-door way. “To be honest, now that I’ve met you, I’m starting to like it even better,” he said with a grin that came naturally to him for a change. He hadn’t had an encounter like this—one that didn’t begin with some fawning statement about his looks, football ability or fame—in quite some time. The normalcy this woman offered felt like a life preserver, one he could grab to save himself from drowning in a sea of cynicism.
When her gaze cut to the dance floor, as if she might panic and go find her friends, he thought he’d come on too strong. But then the tension in her body eased. “After the week I’ve had, that’s good to hear. Even if you are wearing sunglasses.”
“Excuse me?”
She leaned closer. “Isn’t it a little dark for those?”
He nearly laughed when it registered that she was embarrassed for him. “My eyes are sensitive to the strobe lights.” That was the only outright lie he’d told her so far, and it wasn’t a big one—nothing she could get too angry about if or when she learned who he was.
“Oh. I guess that makes sense, then.”
Afraid her friends would return and recognize him, he checked the dance floor himself.
Luckily, he saw nothing to suggest impending discovery. “What was so terrible about your week?” he asked.
“Nothing I care to discuss,” she replied promptly.
“Is that why you were knocking back those shots? You’re trying to forget?”
Her expression filled with chagrin. “You saw that?”
