The Charmer (Harbor City 2)

“How about that side assignment I gave you to find someone of your own to bring to charity events?” his mom asked, interrupting his internal rant.

“And break the hearts of women across Harbor City?” He fell back into character. “Why, Mother, I can’t do something like that.”

“That may be, but you are hereby under orders to bring a date to the Dixon Library masked ball fundraiser Wednesday night.”

He knew that tone of voice. She’d used it on Sawyer before she started dragging single women along with her to every family function in her mission to get her oldest son to stop focusing only on business and to actually take the time to appreciate the really important little things, like love. Not that Hudson needed to worry about that. He had years in front of him. Decades even. He’d find someone, someday, but he wasn’t looking for it now. His double life gave him more than enough to juggle. An image of Felicia popped into his head, calling him a liar.

“I’ll be fine going by myself,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll meet someone there.”

Yes. That’s just what he needed. Some no-strings-attached and no-ants-discussed hot sex with a woman who didn’t make him forget that she didn’t want him. He was just a man with a willing dick who could help her get exactly what she wanted—even if what she wanted was a douchebag. He refused to acknowledge his dick had no interest in anyone but Felicia right now. The traitor.

“I suppose I could make that work.” Helene’s voice came through the kind of extra calm way that every child—small or grown—knew meant shit was about to go down. “I do still have contact information for all of the ladies that Sawyer couldn’t run away from fast enough.”

“I’ll probably bring Felicia.” Now, where had that come from?

“Wonderful,” his mom said too quickly, and the skin on his neck started to itch.

“Has there ever been a day you couldn’t bend a Carlyle man

to your will?”

His mom sighed, all the gamesmanship leaking out on that sad sound. “Just once and it almost broke my heart, but that’s neither here nor there.” Her tone changed to her more natural, take charge one. “I’ll see you Wednesday, please bring Felicia by the penthouse first. I’m holding a low-key cocktail party Tuesday night. I think I’ll send an invitation to Tyler as well and do my part to push things along.”

“Mom, if you ever decided to use your powers for evil, we’d all be doomed.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she said with a chuckle. “I love you, darling.”

“Love you, too, Mom.” And he did. The woman was bossy, demanding, and a force to be reckoned with, and one of his most favorite women in the world even if she was wrong. The last complication he needed in his life right now was a date—especially not with his own personal Eliza Doolittle who was still in love with the wrong man.

Chapter Fourteen

When Hudson double parked his Alfa Romeo 4C Spider in front of Felicia’s apartment, he found her waiting out front, a small overnight bag at her feet, and a wary expression on her face. The woman would never make it as a poker player, but she’d kick ass as a mime. With Honeypot’s wail blaring out of the apartment, he got out, popped the trunk, and grabbed her bag off the sidewalk.

“Wondering if I’m taking you away to kill you in my cabin in the woods?”

She followed him to the back of the car, her ponytail swaying from side to side along with her hips. “Is that where we’re going?”

He dropped her bag in the trunk, using the motion as an excuse to lean down enough to inhale the fruity scent of her shampoo. That’s it. He had become a creepy freak. He jerked back a step and reminded himself for the billionth time that she was in love with someone else. “That’s what you want to know about, not the killing part?”

“I trust you,” she said, strolling to the passenger’s side and opening it before he could reach the handle. “At least not to kill me.”

“Well, don’t you take all the fun out of things.”

She got into the car, and he shut the door behind her, giving him the entire walk around the front—ignoring the asshole in the sedan honking his horn as if no one ever double parked in Harbor City—to repeat all the reasons he could think of as to why taking Felicia to the cabin was a good idea. He came up with pretty much jack shit. Still, he got behind the wheel, pulled into traffic, and headed north out of the city.

The drive took two hours, and for most of it they played a game called “find the shittiest song on the radio.” Okay, really, she was playing without realizing it, but she looked so damn happy singing along that he kept forgetting to tell her that the driver gets to pick the music. In between highway karaoke, they talked art, ants, and architecture—agreeing on next to nothing, right up until they both decided that if anyone deserved a monument created in their likeness it was the Harbor City leprechaun, a fifty-year-old man who dressed up all in green everywhere he went and told everyone, “Top of the morning.”

The conversation dragged once he pulled off the highway, drove the three miles down a county road to an electrified security gate (Grandpa liked his privacy), and punched in the code that only he had. He couldn’t blame her. At this time of year, the trip up the driveway was spectacular with the sun fighting through the clouds to hit the fall leaves just so they shined brilliantly in the afternoon light. It was magic—and it always made him want to haul out a canvas and paint so he could get it all down. Finally, two miles in from the gate, he parked the car next to the ten thousand square foot, two-story log cabin with its stained-glass front door and wraparound porch.

“This,” she said, her eyes round. “Is what you call a cabin?”

Okay, it was more of a lodge, but considering the place in Vail, it was on the small side. “It is by Carlyle standards.”

“Those are some standards.” She turned and looked a little slack jawed at him.

He supposed they were, but unlike the rest of the Carlyle empire, this was just his and it showed as soon as he walked through the door. His gut tightened. That he could see the oak and colored glass from where he stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to the porch meant he was really here, really doing this. After they walked through the door there was no going back, no hiding who he really was.

Shoving his fingers through his hair, he wrapped his fingers around her forearm stopping her from going up the steps. “Before we go in, I have to swear you to secrecy.”