She still had the ring.
“What about you?”
Rebecca pushed away from the counter and wrapped her arms around her body. She was cold and sad and confused and a whole bunch of things. Her chest hurt, or maybe it was her heart. She didn’t want to talk about her marriage. Or her life with David, because it had sucked. The only good thing to come out of it was Liam.
“Becca?”
She shook her head because she didn’t want to talk about anything.
“Becs?”
He was closer now. She felt the heat of him at her back.
“You’re shaking.”
Was that his warm breath against her skin?
The silence in her house was oppressive. It filled the nooks and crannies, yet slid over her body and left her feeling empty. She was so damn sick of feeling empty. She needed a connection, even if that connection was all wrong for her.
Slowly, her fingers crept downward until she gripped the edge of her shirt. Heart pounding, lungs on fire with the need to breathe, she pulled the black silky material up and over her head and tossed it to the floor.
Hudson made a noise—an animalistic sound that came from deep inside him. It touched a part of her that used to belong to him. A part of her that used to sing beneath his touch. A part of her that was no longer silent.
Was it the planets aligned properly to make her feel this way? Was Pluto orbiting some other moon or something crazy like that? Was it the fact it had been forever since she’d felt any kind of desire? Any kind of need that hurt so badly it felt better than good?
That was when it hit her. Her forever was Hudson Blackwell. He’d been the only man to make her feel this way, and God, how she missed it.
A sob escaped her. Her breasts ached. Her skin was on fire. Her sex was swollen and wet. She felt as if she were coming apart. As if she was pulled too tight and everything was too thin.
“Becca.” His voice was rough, his breathing ragged. “What are we doing here?”
Her hands fell to the opening of her jeans, and before she could change her mind, she unzipped and stepped out of them. His sharp intake of breath told her the black cheeky undies were to his liking—he’d always been an ass man—and for the first time tonight, she felt as if she were in control.
Which was crazy, really, because she so wasn’t.
“Rebecca.” His voice was sharper now.
“I’m going to bed.” She took a few steps and paused near the door. “It’s up to you whether or not you want to join me.”
Rebecca walked up the stairs, her footsteps slow and precise, and she didn’t stop until she reached the end of the hallway. Once inside her bedroom, she took a moment to lean against the wall and tried to catch her breath. But it was hard because her heart was beating so fast, she felt light-headed. And she was shaking like a damn leaf.
For a long time, all she could hear was that drumbeat in her ears and the air in her lungs as she struggled to breathe. When it became too much. When her shoulders tensed so badly, the muscles corded painfully, and her stomach tumbled damn near to the floor…
Hudson appeared in her doorway.
She glanced up and watched as he took two steps into the room and stood directly in front of her. Light fell in from the window, creating shadows across his face, illuminating the hard planes, the strong cheekbones and slightly flared nostrils. His eyes were so dark, they looked obsidian, and he looked her over, lingering on her half-exposed breasts and skimpy panties.
In the half-light, he looked dangerous while she felt exposed. She bit her lip and clenched her hands, wondering what he thought as he gazed down at her. She wasn’t nineteen anymore. Her body had changed. She’d had a child.
She held her breath when he reached for her, but couldn’t hold back the small whimper that spilled from her lips when he touched the tattoo on her lower hip. His fingers burned her skin even as, at first, his touch was tentative. Just a forefinger tracing the outline of the ink so slowly and gently, she wanted to cry.
But then his fingers splayed wide open, and he cupped her hip possessively, running his palm up and down, his touch rougher. She was mesmerized by the sight. By the large masculine hand on her pale skin.
“Look at me, Becca.” His voice had an edge to it, and she obeyed. “Are you sure this is what you want? Because I’m about as close to losing control as I’ve ever been, and if you want me to leave, say the word now. I’ll go. We can blame this on whatever you want. The booze. The music. The full moon.”
“There is no full moon,” she whispered.
A half smile touched his face, and her gut clenched. “No,” he said roughly. “There’s not.” His hand fell away from her hip, and the seconds stretched long and thin.