“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.
And yet there he sat, seemingly unaffected.
As if reading her mind, Hudson took her hand and surreptitiously placed it on his lap, careful to shield her with his program.
“Touch me,” he whispered. “Feel how hard I am for you.”
His erection strained against the fabric of his suit pants, and with a slight shift of his hips, he flexed into her palm. He wanted her, and at any cost, it seemed. It was too much. She’d maintained a modicum of control up until then, resisting the urge to rock against his questing fingers. But feeling the hard evidence of his arousal, his blatant need and desire, shattered her sense of reason. In a bold move, her fingers curled around his length and squeezed. His eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them, they were burning with need.
“We’re leaving,” he said, as the fourth and final movement began. He stood, taking Allie by the hand and pulling her to her feet. He yanked the velvet curtain back, dragging her toward the door, but when he reached for the handle, the curtain fell back into place, shrouding them in near total darkness.
Hudson stopped and spun on his heel. In one swift move he lunged at her, pushing her against the wall of the box. Her mouth fell open on a gasp and he took full advantage, kissing her ferociously with long, deep sweeps of his tongue. His taut body pinned her, enveloped her, overwhelmed her, and she moaned with a desperate hunger as her hands raked into his hair.
“I can’t wait until we get hom
e.” He moved away for a handful of seconds and she heard the faint clink of his belt buckle. “I’m going to fuck you. Here. Now.”
His erotic, untamed words thrilled her, and a surge of pure lust coursed through her veins.
“Someone could walk in,” she panted.
“I don’t care.”
And in that moment, neither did she. Not even a little. There were hundreds of people below them, all listening intently as Tchaikovsky’s fourth movement wafted through the symphony hall, and yet all she could think about was the how badly she needed to feel him inside her.
His hands shifted from his fly to between her thighs, lifting her dress higher until he found the soaked satin of her panties. He groaned as his fingertips brushed the wet material, and then his grip tightened around the edge. Allie felt a sharp tug as the delicate fabric was shredded from her body, and then a rush of cool air against her aching core.
She reached for him, pushing his pants just low enough to free him from his boxer briefs, and then he closed the distance between them, grinding his mouth against hers and pressing her between the wall and his hard, muscular body. She felt the throb of his erection straining hard and hot against her, and she shuddered. Once he was inside, she knew it was going to be a fast, fierce ride.
Hudson’s hand smoothed up the back of her thigh. He lifted her leg, spreading her, and hooked her knee around his hip. The heavy curtain afforded almost total darkness, but in the thin strip of light coming from beneath the door, she could see a haze of lust clouding his bright blue eyes. He bent his knees and pushed into her in one long thrust that had her sucking in a sharp, gasping breath. He pulled back and thrust again, forcing his way deeper until she was utterly impaled and it was impossible to tell where he ended and she began.
Her head fell back against the wall as he moved inside her in slick, relentless drives that had her moaning at how perfectly they fit together. No one had ever come close to igniting her passion the way Hudson did. He was what she needed, what she craved.
The sound of pounding drums surrounded them, a fiery rhythm pushing them higher and higher as his thrusts grew wilder and more desperate. Her fingers clutched the shoulders of his jacket, holding on tight as a white-hot rush threatened to consume her.
The music swelled to a crescendo and her entire body began to quake. Rippling tremors started in her core and then pulsed like waves throughout her body, in perfect time to the clashing symbols on the stage below. Drums pounded their way through the finale and Allie dropped her head, burying her face in Hudson’s neck to muffle the keening cry that escaped her lips. Her climax washed over her and her teeth sank into Hudson’s neck. He groaned as she marked him and his body jerked, driving to the hilt one last time as he came.
Once the tremors subsided, Hudson lowered her carefully back to her feet. She wobbled on her heels and he steadied her with an arm around her waist.
“I believe I’m starting to develop an appreciation for classical music,” he said.
Still short of breath, she managed a slight laugh. “I thought it all sounded the same to you?”
“This one is different.” His expression grew serious as he brushed the pad of his thumb over Allie’s swollen lips, but then he quickly flashed a wicked grin. “In fact, I need to go home and listen to it a few more times.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Allie pushed through the brass revolving doors of the Drake Hotel and hurried up the stairs. The concierge glanced up from his desk as she passed, but Allie didn’t need directions. She’d been to the Palm Court dozens of times over the years.
The harpist was at her post, same as she was every day during afternoon tea. Her carefully plucked notes wafted through the air in perfect harmony with the tranquil fountain at the center of the room. Chiffon-draped columns framed the scene and divided the restaurant into cozy seating areas of plush velvet couches and white linen chairs. Allie scanned the room and found her mother in one of the chairs, her back to the fountain as she set her china teacup on the white marble table in front of her.
“You’re late,” Victoria scolded. She tilted her head in invitation. Despite her aggravation, Allie obliged, careful not to smudge lipstick on her mother as she pressed her cheek to hers.
“I have a job, Mother. I can’t drop everything just because you leave a voice mail summoning me to tea.”
Her mother bristled. “You were not summoned to tea, Alessandra. I simply needed to discuss a few items with you and this seemed like the perfect venue.”
A tuxedo-clad waiter greeted her the moment she settled in on the dark brown sofa. “Welcome to the Palm Court,” he said. “What can I start you out with this afternoon?”
“I’ll take the Earl Grey. Decaf please. No cream or sugar, but I’d love some honey on the side.” As an afterthought, she added, “Oh, and an orange twist instead of lemon, if you have one.” The waiter backed away with a nod and Allie turned to her mother. “What was so urgent?”
“Elizabeth Prescott called me yesterday. She tells me Hillary asked you to be her doubles partner next summer.”
Allie dug her nails into the palm of her hand. Had her mother really interrupted her workday to talk about tennis? Even if she was somehow under the misconception Allie was interested in league play, the season was still a good six months away. “Mother, if you called me here to discuss—”
“She also invited me to be her guest at the symphony last night.” She gazed at Allie, her facial expression giving nothing away.
Allie tried to keep her voice level. “She did?”
“Yes, seems her husband had something come up rather last minute and she was kind enough to offer me the extra ticket. They were good seats, too. Main floor, center aisle.” Victoria lifted her teacup to her lips and took a small sip. “Of course, I would have preferred box seats.” She moved slowly and methodically, setting her cup and saucer back on the small table. Allie’s heart thudded in her chest, yet she held perfectly still, doing her best to remain impassive as her mother studied her face for any hint of a reaction. Her eyes never left Allie’s as she dabbed the corner of her mouth with a cloth napkin. When she was done, she folded it neatly and smoothed it across the lap of her mint-green St. John suit. “Did you enjoy the performance, Alessandra?”
The waiter arrived with Allie’s tea, giving her a few precious moments to collect her thoughts. Denial was pointless. Her mother had obviously seen her in the box with Hudson. The only question that remained was how much had she seen. Her stomach rolled at the thought. Keep it together, Allie. All she had to do was drink her tea, make a bit of small talk, and get the hell out of there.
“Very much so.” Allie reached for the small dish of honey, just as she had on countless other afternoons. Only this time there was a small tremor in her hand as she dabbed a spoonful into her tea. Hopefully her mother hadn’t noticed. “I was invited by one of the foundation’s patrons. I met him at the museum gala last month.”
“Yes, I saw you dancing with him that night.”
Was there anything this woman missed? “He’s new in town and asked me to be his guest. You know how disappointed I was to discover Julian had forgotten to get tickets. Plus, I thought this would allow me the opportunity to discuss the work we do at Better Start in greater detail, possibly secure another donation.” Allie paused, suddenly aware her words were coming out in a high-pitched rushed. She drew a calming breath through her nose. “We never would have reached our initial goal without his pledge.”
“I’m well aware of the generous check Mr. Chase wrote.”
She knows his name? “You are?”
“I make it my business to know who all the major players are, Alessandra, and I’m not only referring to the foundation.”
The waiter set a three-tiered, sterling silver stand on the table between them. Each level held a china plate displaying an array of finger sandwiches, fruit breads, scones, and French pastries. He hesitated for an awkward moment before hightailing it to the kitchen. Lucky
bastard.
“I just love this place. It has so much more character than those new flashy hotels they’re building these days.” Her mother helped herself to a delicate offering of cucumber and tomato on crustless bread, but didn’t bother taking a bite. Instead she placed the small sandwich on her plate and lifted her chin. “There’s no substitute for lineage, Alessandra. You’ll do well to remember that. A few lucky investments do not put that man in the same class as Julian.”
“There’s also something to be said for respecting a self-made man, Mother. Some people aren’t fortunate enough to be born with a title or family fortune. They have to work hard for what they want in life. Everything Hudson Chase has was earned, not inherited.”
Victoria’s nostrils flared ever so slightly. “That’s quite a passionate defense of someone who’s merely a donor.” She leaned closer, her voice a lethal whisper. “Don’t think you can play me for a fool, young lady. You’re hardly the first woman to enjoy a walk on the wild side, Alessandra.” Her hand smoothed an already immaculate French twist. “Lord knows Paolo brightened more than a few of my afternoons.”
Who the hell was Paolo? Allie’s mind raced, processing information before screeching to a dizzying halt as the face of her childhood tennis instructor flashed before her eyes. “The tennis pro?”
Her mother arched a single brow. “His private lessons did wonders for my swing, but I would have never let him escort me to a social event.”
Allie’s heart sank at the realization that her mother was a walking, talking cliché. Her voice wavered when she asked, “Does Daddy know?”
“Your father and I reached an understanding years ago. This is the world we live in, Alessandra, but you’re hardly in a position to expect that sort of latitude.” Victoria’s eyes flicked down to the ring on Allie’s finger. “Wait till you’re wearing his wedding band, have given him an heir to the family title—but even then you must learn to be discreet. Men are willing to overlook certain . . . hobbies, as long as their needs are met. But no man will tolerate the sort of embarrassing display you put on last night.”
Remind Me Page 16
