by Marina Adair
She kept digging and he kept watching as she dove waist deep into a box of décor, ass in the air, and dug around for a good . . . hell, he didn’t know how long. Didn’t care. All he knew was that she had the most delectable derriere—so marvelous it was in the running for the eighth wonder of the world.
By the time she reappeared with wreath in hand, Hudson had his face pressed against the glass, the window was fogged, and the only thing he was hungry for didn’t come in a to-go bag.
She hung the wreath on the front door and started draping garland over the door and around the railings of the yellow and white New England–style cottage. The lampposts challenged her five-foot-nothing reach, forcing her to roll onto her tippy-toes. Her light blue sweater rode up her body, high enough to expose a tiny strip of torso—tan, silky—two inches above and below the navel.
With the last post finished, she disappeared into the garage, only to return dragging an extendable ladder. Her second trip produced a life-sized, light-up Santa, followed by a trip for every one of his reindeer. On her final return, she came out with strands of twinkling lights draped across her chest like a band of ammo, a pink tool belt hanging around her waist, and a few dozen ornaments dangling from each pocket. Then there was the way she shimmed her hips to what he imagined must be Christmas tunes.
She was the collision of Santa Baby with G.I. Jane, making her the sexiest Santa’s Helper he’d ever seen. An image that gave him a lot to be thankful for this holiday season.
As a teen hoping for a glimpse of Mila, Hudson took every odd job he could at the Cramer house, from cleaning out the duck coop to unloading groceries. He’d even once volunteered to model Mrs. Cramer’s mermaid costume while she altered the shimmery skirt and coconut shells.
After their mile-high date the other day, Hudson didn’t need coconut shells. Just as he didn’t need to be stealing peeks of Mila from his bathroom window. Sure, it had been too soon to join the club on their return flight, but she’d given him a good-night kiss that was still with him come morning. Then she’d given him her phone number. Which he’d already had. But getting digits from a business card was a hell of a lot different from hearing it whispered by a pair of just-been-kissed lips.
So then why was he standing there in nothing but a wet towel and hard-on, watching her dance in the yard, instead of heading over?
Knowing it was smarter to make dinner than answer that question, he went for the blinds at the same moment Mila did a little booty shake, glanced across the street and up—then froze, her mouth a perfect circle of surprise.
“Shit.” He considered ducking down, but it was too late. Squinting, she raised a hand to block the sun and—even from across the street, two doors down, and through a slightly foggy window—he could see the humor in her eyes.
She recovered a hell of a lot faster than he, gifting him with a smile that stopped his heart.
Hudson hadn’t seen her smile like that, bright and carefree, since he’d arrived home. Probably a good thing, since it made him want things he shouldn’t. Things that came with expiration dates and countdown clocks attached.
Her fingers gave a cute little I see you wiggle. He wiggled back, not caring if he looked like an idiot because then she signaled for him to wait—as if he were in a rush to lose that view—and dug into her tool belt, pulling out her cell.
He watched her fidget with the screen, then hold up her phone and point. A moment later, his cell vibrated across the counter. With a grin, he picked it up and read the message:
Would you look at that, Mila was initiating flirt zone. A good sign that their good-bye kiss had been as good for her as for him. His fingers eagerly typed a response:
Three little dots appeared at the bottom of his screen, blinking so long he was afraid she’d changed her mind. He was about to type CHICKEN, followed by three chicken emojis, when a text came through:
Hot damn. Hudson hadn’t been this excited about writing a girl since he’d made Mila a valentine card in the sixth grade.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. Then she looked down, spotted the ornaments hanging from her tool belt, and laughed. She was still grinning when his phone lit up.
He hit send and watched the screen. His growing anticipation over her reply was almost embarrassing.
Hudson got dressed, packed up his dinner and a few beers to go, and made it across the street in record time. When he arrived, his excitement turned to concern because she was two stories up, precariously perched, with one foot on the ladder and the other on the giant oak, stringing up holiday lights.
“Jesus, what are you doing?” he asked, gripping the bottom of the ladder to steady it.
“Hanging Christmas lights,” she said as if the idea of gravity fell under the category of fake news. “What are you doing here?”
“Dinner.”
She paused, sniffing the air, then closed her eyes. “That smells amazing.” She met his gaze. “You cooked for me?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny the origin of this outstanding dinner. But don’t worry, what I lack in cooking skills I more than make up for in other ways.” He waggled a brow and she laughed.
“When you said dinner, I figured sometime after five.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s nearly six.”
“Really? I must have lost track of time,” she said, reaching over even farther.
“I see that. Can you come down? I’d hate to ruin this meatloaf sandwich by watching you go splat.”
She looked down at the to-go bag and blew a hair out of her face as if unaware she was an inch from disaster. “You brought me one of Nan’s meatloaf sandwiches? Thinly cut goodness, topped with gravy, and nestled inside one of Sydney’s fresh baguettes?”
“Actually, I brought one to share with a slice of pumpkin pie for dessert.”
“Who gets the bigger half?”
“Depends on if you fall off the roof and die. Then it’s all mine.”
“You play dirty.”
“You play dangerously.”
“I’m not going to die. I’ve done this every year since I was a kid.”
“You say it like that should make me feel better. And for the record, I cleaned those gutters from sixth grade through senior year, so I know just how high it is, and how hard this balancing act is.”
“Then you should also know how pretty they look,” she said, still not coming down the ladder. If anything, she dug in deeper. “Move out of the way or you’re going to end up covered in leaves from the gutter, and that looks like a clean shirt.”
“You know, Sawyer Finn does this for a living. Why don’t you hire him?” Not that Hudson wanted the local landscaper sniffing around Mila’s place. Even if the guy was married.
“Do you know how much he charges? A lot. And you’re still in my way.”
“Not as much as the doctor’s bill if you fall.”
“No kidding, all I’ve got is catastrophe coverage, and you should see the deductible. Now seriously, scoot. I don’t want that sandwich anywhere near what’s about to rain down.”
He didn’t move and neither did she, except to flash him a grin that said she was up to no good. Seconds later, a huge pile of leaves and debris landed on his head and went down the back of his shirt.
Hudson had to laugh. No one ever pushed his buttons. Most people gave him a wide berth. Not Mila. She was fearless in a way that was as frustrating as it was impressive. She’d always been impressive, but watching how she cared for her aging parents, the sacrifices she made for her family, had him wondering what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that kind of devotion.
That kind of love.
“I’m going to make you take that back too,” he warned, climbing up the ladder behind her.
“Big words,” she said in mock fear.
“I’m a big guy.” He didn’t stop until reaching the rung just below her, his body caging her in and showing her just how big he was.
She looked at him over her shoulder, and he real
ized he could look into those beautiful brown eyes forever. “Is this where you show me your moves?”
“One of them.” He captured her lips in a kiss that ended with her moaning. “The rest will be added to my list, since none of them can be fully appreciated while balancing on a ladder.”
“You have a list?”
“Started it after our first meeting,” he said, sliding his hands over hers to take the string of lights, loving how she shivered at the simple contact. “It’s getting pretty big.”
She leaned back against him. “Your list or . . .”
“Both,” he whispered in her ear, then gave her ass a playful swat. “Now climb on up so we can get these hung and move on to dinner.”
“And the list.”
“Definitely the list.”
Chapter 7
When the last of the holly was strung and the last of the twinkly lights hung from eave to eave and all seven reindeer were perched on the roof, Hudson sat down on the porch and patted the step next to him. He wanted to make this moment stretch a little longer because he knew, the second she walked through that front door, she would morph into selfless, nurturing Mila.
She deserved a break, even if it was just sharing a sandwich and watching the sunset.
“Hurry up or you’ll miss the best part,” he said.
“One second, I just want to make sure my mom put the casserole in the oven.”
“One second and you’ll miss it.” When she didn’t look as if she were about to sit, he snagged her phone from her tool belt and texted Joyce. “There. Done.”
Stubborn as ever, Mila waited until her mom texted back before giving in. With a grin, he stood, then took her hand and gently tugged her toward the street.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“To have a dinner that isn’t chaperoned by your parents,” he said.
She looked over her shoulder, laughing when she spotted the two inquisitive faces watching from the front window.
“They’ll just ask what happened when I get home.”
“But I won’t have to listen to what you tell them,” he said, once again struck by the deep connection her family shared.
Hudson had witnessed tight-knit families before, but never one like the Cramers. Maybe it was because of all the time he’d spent there as a kid, but Hudson promised himself that if he ever did settle down, it would only be when he found that same kind of fierce, unconditional love Ronald and Joyce shared.
Any man lucky enough to be in Mila’s life had big shoes to fill, and Hudson had never really been all that lucky.
Their lives were going in different directions and their upbringings couldn’t have been more opposite. Where Mila was loved and accepted for exactly who she was at every moment of her life, Hudson was ridiculed and beaten down, eventually seeking shelter on his grandpa’s doorstep. Ironically, Hudson was home to stay, while Mila was hoping to make her home across the country.
“Is this another surprise?” she asked.
He stopped a few feet from his front porch and faced her. She might not have had a say all those years ago, but he’d give her a say now. “Do you want it to be?”
She shook her head. “No. When I walk through that door, it’s going to be because I want what you’re offering.”
“I was thinking dinner under the sunset, drinks under the moonlight, and then dessert under the covers.”
With a smile that was a thousand percent trouble, she took both his hands, lacing their fingers. “I was thinking kissing under the sunset, dessert under the moonlight, and leftovers under the covers.”
“What about the pie?” He knew how much she loved pie.
“A girl can’t give away all her secrets.”
* * *
Especially the epically stupid, best-left-in-the-box, life-will-never-be-the-same-if-you-spill secret Mila had been doing her best to ignore.
Admitting it now, even to herself, would be way too dangerous. Which was why, under no circumstances, would anyone ever know that she was falling in love with Hudson James.
Not only was he the wrong but somehow perfectly right brother, but this was the worst time in her life to be having these kinds of feelings. She was leaving. He was staying. End of story.
It boiled down to two options: walk away with her heart intact or accept the risks and fulfill a decade old fantasy. Either choice came with upsides and pitfalls, just as they’d both—
Oh, who was she kidding? Her heart was already so far involved, it had a PROPERTY OF HUDSON bumper sticker adhered to it. Heartbreak was guaranteed at this point, so she might as well reap some of the benefits.
She moved to the step above him, teasing him with a kiss. “We’d better hurry. The sun’s almost set, and we don’t want to miss it.”
“It will be so amazing, there’s no way you’ll miss it.” He cupped her hips and maneuvered her up another step, then the next, until she was standing on the porch stoop, her back against the door, Hudson against her front.
“Again, some mighty big words.”
“I look forward to proving to you just how big”—palms flat against the door, he leaned all the way in to her—“my word is.”
Oh, it was clear how big it was. Just as it was clear that deep down, beneath the confidence and swagger, was the shadow of a boy who felt the need to prove his worth to the world—and the man who still carried those scars.
“Hudson, you don’t have to prove anything to me,” she whispered with a gentle kiss.
He didn’t move, just remained stock-still. Those deep blue eyes, always calm and assessing, looked a bit wild and uncertain. His throat worked as he swallowed hard, telegraphing how foreign that kind of acceptance was in his life. How terrified he was of disappointing her.
“Mila.” Her name sounded like a plea. “I’ll never be a suit and tie guy.”
“A suit and tie would never work a mile up.” Beneath her hand, she felt his heartbeat quicken. “I’m more interested in numbers six and seven.”
“‘Must be an amazing kisser,’ ” he recited.
“And ‘take charge in the bedroom.’ ” Her fingers trailed down to tangle in the hem of his shirt. “I’ve been looking forward to an up-close, hands-on demonstration with your word ever since the closet.” She took the to-go bag with her free hand.
“Buttercup, I’ve been looking forward to hearing you say that for more than ten years.”
“You mean, seven,” she corrected.
“I know what I mean,” he said, and then took her mouth as if it belonged to him.
His lips were amazing, full and skilled, but unlike the purposeful and patient Hudson of the closet, he was all testosterone and raw need, as if kissing her were his God-given right.
Being kissed by Hudson was a religious experience, one that made her want to convert. In his arms she felt reborn, as if being kissed for the first time.
It was epic. Amazing. Mind-blowing. Everything he’d promised and more. Love might not be as simple as reciting a spell, but kissing Hudson James was absolutely, positively, undeniably the most magical moment of her life.
Mila understood firsthand why Hudson was such a successful pilot. His mission statement must be Defy Gravity, she thought, because he drove her higher and higher until she was floating. The ground disappeared from under her, her limbs went weak, and the altitude made it impossible to catch her breath.
His hands hadn’t left the door, but their bodies were engaged in a silent get-to-know-you that had Mila rolling so high on her toes that her sixth-grade ballerina teacher would have been impressed.
Mila let the moment wash over her, the intensity, the unleashed need, the feel of him beneath her hand. But it was the way he held her, as if he’d finally found his co-pilot for life, that had her heart silencing her brain.
The longer the kiss, the hotter she became until she was certain she’d burst into flames from the sexual chemistry. He was mesmerizing, habit-forming, drawing her further into his vortex one kiss
at a time. Then there was his thigh, his big, strong thigh sliding between hers, creating a delicious friction that had her groaning.
“Sunset.”
“Sunset,” he agreed, but he didn’t stop kissing her, which worked for her, since his thigh shifted higher, pressing harder, until she was so wrapped up in everything that was Hudson, she forgot her name, that they were on his front porch in clear view of the entire block, and that the only thing keeping her upright was the door. Which suddenly and unexpectedly opened with a click.
Not prepared, she stumbled backward, readying herself for a fall, but Hudson slid his hands down to palm her ass.
“Up,” he commanded, but she was already climbing him like a tree. With her legs locked around his waist, the to-go bag crashing to the floor, he moved her through the house, onto the back porch, and had her lying beneath him on the patio table without their lips ever separating.
Then he was on the move again, his mouth on her neck, the hollows of her throat, and lower—so much lower, unbuttoning her sweater as he went. Slowly, button by button, driving her out of her mind, until he finally reached the last one, gently parting the fabric.
“Damn,” he said, staring at her as if she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Damn,” he repeated, then lowered his head and pulled her into his mouth, nibbling and licking and getting her so hot, the crisp November air didn’t stand a chance.
He continued his journey south, divesting her of her clothes as he went. Her sweater, her bra, her leggings, which caught on her shoes until he yanked them off in a single move that sent nuclear-powered tingles exploding though her body.
She reached for his belt at the precise moment his hands gripped her hips, lifting them off the table for optimal positioning. Which he took full advantage of, pressing an openmouthed kiss to her inner thigh, first the right, then the left and back to the right, before kissing her straight up the middle.
