The Charmer (Harbor City 2)

“Matches.” His tugged her nipple with just the right amount of force to almost make her knees buckle with pleasure. “I don’t think there’s anything left for me to teach you.” Then, he let go of her as if she was covered in radiation and stepped back, stopping just on the other side of the open dressing room door. “Whichever dress you pick, make sure to have Jacqui put it on my account.”

Embarrassment slammed into her. Nothing to teach her? Had she been wrong about him wanting her? No, she couldn’t be, not with the way his body was responding to hers. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Think of it as your graduation gift,” he said, a lazy, easy camaraderie in his voice. “Have fun with Tyler.”

He left without saying anything else, never even looking back. Felicia stared after him, her gut churning. What the fuck? Had she read that all wrong? She’d done everything he’d taught her. She’d seduced. She’d stoked his jealousy. She’d flirted and tempted and all but begged for him to want her. Her throat tightened. Her eureka moment at the cocktail party may have been true for her, but obviously not for Hudson. Why else would he walk away unless it had all been just a My Fair Lady game to him? What had he told Tyler? She’s not really my type. She’d convinced herself that he hadn’t really meant it…but he had. She done it to herself again, tried to shoehorn a hope into a reality and failed miserably. Hudson may have thought he’d taught her a lot, but what she really learned was that maybe the ants had it right. Maybe the males of the species should die after sex. It sure would lead to less heartbreak for idiots like herself.

…

Walking away from Felicia had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but Hudson knew it was the only way. She wanted Tyler. She couldn’t have been more open about it. He had just been a little bit of fun before things got serious between her and Captain Clueless. If she’d been any other woman, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. He would have just figured it was no-strings-attached orgasms between friends. Nothing wrong with that. But that wasn’t what it was anymore. At least not for him. And he had to see her tonight with Tyler The Idiot.

Skipping out on the event wasn’t an option, and there was no way he’d make it through the night without cold-cocking the douchebag without backup. He walked out onto the busy Harbor City street and called the person who always had his back. Everly picked it up on the first ring.

“I need a solid,” he said without preamble.

“You have more money for bail than I do.”

He laughed despite the seriousness of the situation. “Very funny.”

“I’m a fucking riot,” Everly said without a hint of humor in her husky alto. “That’s what everyone says about me.”

No. What everyone who’d ever met Everly Ribinski said about her was that she was phenomenally gorgeous and hell on stilettos. Funny? Not so much.

“I need a date,” he said, turning the corner and scanning traffic for a cab to hail.

“You’re Hudson Carlyle,” she scoffed. “You never need a date.”

No cabs. No date. No Felicia. His day had started out crappy and ended up whatever was described beyond totally shitty. He was an artist not a word guy. “I do this time.”

Everly let out a low whistle. “This sounds like end of the world stuff.”

“Are you in or what?”

“Settle down.” He could practically see her roll her eyes as she stood in her gallery wearing head-to-toe black. “Of course I’m in. Where are we going?”

“The Dixon Library masked ball fundraiser.” He pushed the words out in a rush, knowing it was very much not her kind of event.

“Jesus,” she groaned. “You realize this will test the very farthest boundaries of our friendship.”

“You’ll stand beside me making snarky comments about all the rich assholes who probably have shitty taste in art, and I’ll smile and be charming.”

“Sounds like just my kind of disaster. Text me the details later.”

Relief soothed some of the burn in his gut. “Thanks, Everly. I owe you.”

He pocketed his phone and turned on Powers Street. There were always cabs out here, and he needed to get as far away from Dylan’s as fast as he could. If it wasn’t for the fact that his dick was in love with Felicia—and he’d actually thought when given the choice she’d choose him—he would have offered to hook her up with his mom’s salon for the big night. The Dixon event always brought out the press and was about as close to a Cinderella type ball as Harbor City had. Shit. He couldn’t do that to Felicia. This was her big night, even if it was with Sir Head Up His Ass. He took out his phone and hit the first number in his contacts.

“Mom, I need a favor.”

…

How in the world Felicia had ended up at Helene Carlyle’s hair salon with the grand dame of Harbor City society sipping Earl Gray from a china cup was still a bit of a mystery—and she’d lived it. All she knew was that Jacqui stopped her before she could leave Dylan’s in a huff and told her that Mrs. Carlyle’s car was waiting for her and that Helene herself was on her way up. There were probably less formidable women in the world, but she hadn’t met one. And that’s how she’d ended up at the salon with a man making horrified expressions while examining her hair as Helene gave her what she could only assume was the rich person version of the third degree.

“It really is so nice of you to help Hudson out in his efforts to get Sawyer and Tyler to stop their silly feud,” Helene said.

“I don’t know that I’ve really done anything,” Felicia said, eyeballing the stylist in the mirror as he took out his scissors. “Just a trim, please.”

He gave her that smile every woman who’s ever been ignored at the salon knows all too well. “But of course.” And he snipped off three inches. “Just removing the split ends.”