And then there was this morning.
I pressed my hands to my face, feeling the heat of my blush even hours later.
I'd walked in on him naked. Completely, gloriously, devastatingly naked.
And I'dlooked.
God, I'd looked. I'd stood there like an idiot, my eyes traveling down his body before my brain could catch up and tell me to stop. I'd seen the water dripping down his chest, tracing paths between muscles that hadn't been there ten years ago. I'd seen the tattoos, dark and intricate, covering skin that used to be bare. I'd seen...
I'd seeneverything.
And my traitorous body had responded like it remembered exactly what he could do with all of that.
Even now, hours later, I could feel the ghost of that response. The heat that had pooled low in my belly. The way my nipples had tightened under my thin tank top. The ache between my thighs that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with want.
Stop it,I told myself viciously.He left you. He broke your heart. He wasn't there when Dad died.
But my body didn't care about any of that. My body remembered how good it had felt to be touched by him. How complete I'd felt when he was inside me. How he'd made me feel like the center of his entire universe.
My body was a traitor of the highest order.
I gave up on sleep around three in the morning. My mind was racing, my body was restless, and lying in bed was only making both worse.
I grabbed a hoodie from the chair by my window and pulled it on over my tank top. It fell to mid-thigh, covering enough to be decent. Barely.
I opened my bedroom door as quietly as I could and padded out into the living room.
Hudson was awake.
Of course he was.
He sat on the couch, his back against the armrest, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His phone was in his hand, thescreen casting a pale glow across his face, highlighting the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the shadow of stubble along his jaw.
He'd changed into a plain white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, and the casual clothes somehow made him look even more dangerous. More accessible. More like the man I remembered.
He looked up when I walked in, and his eyes did that thing again. That slow, thorough sweep over my body that made me feel like I was standing in front of him naked.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, his voice rough with exhaustion.
"No." I headed for the kitchen, very aware of his gaze following me. "You?"
"I don't sleep much."
"That's not healthy."
"Neither is someone trying to kill you, but here we are."
I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water, then turned to lean against the counter. He was still watching me, his phone forgotten in his lap, his full attention focused on me like I was the only thing in the room worth looking at.
"You should try to get some sleep," I said, taking a sip of water. "You look like hell."
His mouth curved into a small, dangerous smile. "You look good."
My stomach flipped. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't do that. Don't look at me like that."
