You Make Me Weak (The Blackwells of Crystal Lake 1)

Hudson laughed.

Lily followed suit.

Rebecca tried like hell to keep her cool.

“What kind of night would that be?” she asked Nash.

“You tell me.” He stood beside her and followed her gaze.

Rebecca took another drink and held her glass up for a refill. “A long one.”

Nash nodded and reached for the bottle. “That’s what I thought.”

Chapter 17

It took Hudson about thirty minutes after dinner was over to get Rebecca alone. She’d hardly spoken to him, and if not for Nash, Lily, and the Edwards, the evening would have been a bust. As it was, the undercurrent that ran through the room wasn’t exactly pleasant, and Hannah Rose obviously picked up on it. The little girl was no longer a bundle of happiness and had been fussing for the last half an hour or so.

Hudson watched Lily take the little one to her bedroom, followed by Raine, and while Mackenzie, Jake, and Nash opted to head to the deck for a cigar, he’d held back. As soon as the boys disappeared outside, he headed to the kitchen and Rebecca.

She was at the sink, rinsing a pot, and for the moment unaware of his presence. Hudson was fine with that. He drank her in like fine wine. The black shirt she wore clung to her curves, the soft, silky material gliding across her breasts as she lifted the pot and turned it over. Her hair was loose, long silky waves that tumbled across her shoulders. In the muted light, it looked so damn soft. God, he loved her hair. He used to spend a lot of time untangling it after a dip in the lake.

Rebecca suddenly glanced up, and their eyes met. She didn’t look away—which was encouraging—and Hudson pushed off from the doorframe. A few steps brought him to her, though he kept the island between them because he had a feeling she’d bolt if he tried to get closer.

“You need help?” he asked.

“I’m good,” she replied, placing the pot on the drying rack. She reached for a towel and dried her hands.

“Lily putting the baby to bed?” she asked, politely.

He nodded.

“The guys were heading out for cigars.” She watched him, expression unreadable.

“I know.”

Her chin jutted up a bit, and her cheeks darkened. “And you’re not joining them because…”

“Because I want to talk to you.”

She tossed the towel and leaned her palms onto the counter. “I’m all ears.” Her words were clipped, and it was obvious she was pissed at him.

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so riled tonight?”

“You do,” she fired back at him. Her directness surprised Hudson, and he stood a little straighter.

“What the hell did I do? We’ve barely spoken.”

She glared at him, and if looks could kill, well, Hudson would be a dead man. She opened her mouth to speak, but then must have thought better, and snapped it shut. She grabbed the wineglasses she’d rinsed and got up on her tiptoes to put them away on the top shelf in the cupboard next to the fridge. It wasn’t intentional, but man, it gave Hudson an unfettered look at an ass he was dying to touch. She closed the door but didn’t turn around.

“Becca.”

“Don’t,” she said, shaking her head.

Hudson ran his hands through his hair. He was frustrated as hell. “Becs. You gotta let me know what’s wrong.”

He rounded the counter and stopped a few inches from her. The air was hot, and he yanked on the edge of his navy-blue Henley.

“Why are you here?” She turned her head to the side, giving him a view of a profile he could have traced in his sleep. After all this time. The intensity was still there.