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

Rebecca relaxed and snuggled into the sofa, though he noticed she kept a few inches between them. It was probably for the best, and after a while, Hudson put his feet up and began to watch the movie—which wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. That is, the hour or so he managed to watch. His stomach was full. He was warm and content and more relaxed than he’d been in days. He wasn’t exactly sure when he fell asleep, but he obviously dozed off, because when he woke up, the television was off, the room was full of shadow and silent as a graveyard.

He sat up, and it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Rebecca stared at him from her perch on the sofa. She’d drawn her legs up and tucked them under her. The light from the hall fell across her features, bathing them in a soft glow. Her eyes were huge, and they glistened as she slowly blinked and exhaled, while loose hair tumbled down her shoulders in soft golden ropes. He could just make out the lace edge of her bra strap because her blouse yawned open.

“I guess I missed the end of the movie.” He found his voice and sat up straighter.

“Uh-huh.” There was a husky quality to her voice, as if she’d nursed a tumbler of whiskey, and man, something about the tone brought to mind all sorts of wicked things.

“Anyone die?” he asked lightly.

A small smile flickered across her face and then vanished as quick as it had come. “Not in a hail of bullets.”

“No explosions?”

She shook her head, and Hudson decided he liked this flirting thing.

“Not the kind you like,” she replied.

“I figured as much. Next time, I get to pick the movie.”

He watched her and time sort of stopped. They stared at each other, shadows sliding across rapid pulses and overheated skin, while Hudson’s head went south—way south—and he fought the erotic images that assaulted his brain. He needed to get the hell away from her before he ruined things.

He jumped to his feet, actually made it to the door, when she spoke.

“Stay.”

This woman was going to kill him. Literally kill him.

“I want you to stay.” Her voice sounded different, and he was pretty sure Rebecca was no longer on the sofa but close to him. He closed his eyes and inhaled that sweet vanilla scent that was all her. Definitely close to him.

“We decided to be friends, remember?” He was trying to do the right thing. God, was he trying. “I think I should go.”

“Fuck the friend thing.”

She moved quickly then, and a second later, he stared down into the one face he would never forget. Not ever. Rebecca Draper was in his blood like a fever, and he had a feeling he would never be cured. Not if he lived to be one hundred. Even then, she would manage to get his blood boiling.

“Becca, you don’t mean that. Just the other day you told me—”

“I know what I told you.” She shook her head. “And I’m taking it back.”

“You can’t take it back.”

She made a face. “I can take it back if I want to. And I want to.”

The air between was electrified. It curled around them both, embraced them with a primal energy that was hard to ignore. But Hudson had to get this right. No way was he going to be responsible for causing Rebecca pain. Not again.

“This right here, Becs, is not a good thing.”

She stepped closer, and he clamped his mouth shut, when her hand reached for him. Not for his face. Or his chest. Or even his hand. Her palm swept across the hardness between his legs, and he bit back a groan when she settled there and caressed him through his jeans.

“You don’t think this is a good thing?” she murmured, her voice sexy as hell, her eyes wide and open. Her lips wet and sultry from her tongue.

“You’re not playing fair,” Hudson bit out as she went for his belt buckle. He grabbed her hands and held her tightly. Both of them were breathing heavily, and his gaze fell to her chest as it rose and fell. He had to take a moment because he was riding the edge and way too close. If he wasn’t careful, he’d fall over, and who the hell knew what that would bring.

“Let’s do the adult thing and think about this.”

She made a clucking sound. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about this all day.” With that, she wrenched her hands from his and undid the buttons on her blouse, letting the sides fall free and giving him a peek at the sexiest pink lace bra he’d ever seen.

“Thinking and doing are not the same thing.” He dragged his gaze up from her breasts, and, flush with desire and anger, he took a step back. He didn’t like feeling as if he wasn’t in control. He ran his fingers through his hair and regarded her warily. “What the hell, Becs?”