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Hanging up, I strip my clothes quickly before stepping into the huge shower. Instantly I’m hit by the scent of Hudson Carmichael. Layers of it surround me like a silky caress, teasing and seducing me as I close my eyes and let the water cleanse me. My eyes pop open as I fight the sensations. Now isn’t the time for self-indulgence. I have a mess to clear up. Showering clinically, I shove my wet hair into a ponytail with a band I find in the cupboard under the sink. Wrapping a towel around myself, I survey the damage sleeping with a full face of make-up has done to my skin.
A knock makes me jump and I glare at the door as if it’s the sole source of my anger when that’s the man behind it. “What?”
“Fresh clothes outside the door.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to thank him, but I bite it back. If I give Hudson an inch, he’ll take a mile and he doesn’t deserve even that small mercy. It’s his fault I find myself in this shitty situation. If he’d just left me alone at the bar none of this would have happened. But no, he had to push, he had to get his way and now here we are.
Opening the door, I grab the clothes from the floor and slam the door in his face, garnering a smidgen of satisfaction from the way his eyes went hooded at the sight of me wet and half-naked.
Sorting through the pile in my hands, I find everything I could need, from sleek black trousers from my favorite designer to a silk blouse in a rich, ruby red. Even the underwear was my size and preferred brand. I have no idea how he knows and, right now, I don’t want to know either. I need to focus on getting this dealt with and treat it like any other contract negotiation by cutting the emotion out of it. Dressing, I slip my feet into the shoes I wore yesterday and look at myself in the mirror.
I’d kill for my make-up bag, but as I’m not in my suite, but Hudson’s, I have to play the hand I was dealt. I pinch my cheeks to add a little color and do my best to wipe the smudges of mascara from under my eyes. It’s obviously above his pay grade to include make-up removers when he’d ordered me some clothes. I know the thought was a little unfair and petty of me, but Hudson brings out the worst in me.
Deciding that what I see in the mirror will have to do, I turn and pull open the bathroom door. Hudson is standing with his back to me in the middle of the suite facing the window that overlooks the magnificent Vegas strip. His muscles tense but he doesn’t turn around, allowing me a moment to admire his proud stance. Hudson has always been handsome, but that wasn’t why I loved him. I loved him because he showed me how I wanted to be loved. How I deserved to be loved. As if I was precious and strong. He held me when I was weak and stood beside me, making me stronger. Until he didn’t, until he tore me in a way I’ve never healed from.
“Nice to see you put some clothes on. Although I fail to see why you need to prance around without a shirt on.”
Hudson half turns, his lips flickering in an almost knowing smile that I want to wipe from his face. Instead, I focus on the coffee in his hand. I don’t know why I do it, but my feet carry me to his side where I take the cup from him easily and steal the hot, rich brew for myself. It’s silly and childish and so far beneath me, but he brings out a side in me I don’t recognize as the woman who makes billion-dollar deals every day.
“How could you let this happen, Hudson?”
Attack is my best defense against him until I can get some space and unpack the multitude of feelings flowing through me. I know it’s wrong to blame him when we’re equally to blame, but I’m not feeling particularly rational right now. Hudson has his hands in the pockets of his joggers as he turns toward me, and I catch sight of his hard nipples. Desire, hot and potent, slides through me, making me want to squeeze my thighs together to garner some relief.
“And what exactly did I let happen, wife?”
A gasp slips out between my lips at the word ‘wife’. I once dreamed of him calling me that, of being his in every way, and this disaster makes a mockery of that. “I amnotyour wife.” I spit the words as if they offend me and they do, but my reaction only betrays how much I’m affected as I see him smirk.
“Technically, you are my wife, Audrey.”
“Technically, I’m a lot of things, including the woman you abandoned.”
“Audrey.”
I hold up my hand to stop him from speaking and opening up old wounds that have no place in this conversation. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Hudson snorts and turns, walking toward the center of the room where his shirt from yesterday lies carelessly over the back of a chair. Discarded and forgotten. “Of course you don’t.”
My eyes snap to him, and anger fills my chest. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Hudson rounds on me, his face a mask of emotions, each one flitting past so fast I can’t keep up before he shakes his head and drops his gaze.
“Forget it.”
Half of me wants to push, wants to fight with him, wants to demand to know why he left me, why he did what he did, but the bigger part of me doesn’t want to let him know I care enough to have it out.
“Let’s just get an annulment and forget this nightmare ever happened.”
Pain tightens my abdomen and chest and, for a second, I wonder if I’m having a heart attack. I should probably call Beck and have him check me over but, deep down, I know the source of my pain is the man in front of me. Nobody can inflict a wound on me like he can. “We can’t.”
I follow his gaze to the bed, rumpled sheets evidence of the night we spent together. I can’t remember having sex with him, but I’ll never admit it, so I shrug as if it has no effect on me whatsoever. “Fine, a divorce then, and don’t think about coming after my fortune or I’ll destroy you.”
The money means little to me, but I know the wound my words will inflict and I revel in the fleeting look of hurt I see on his face before he masks it. He was always so aware of the differences in our financial circumstances and the whispers people made about us, but it never bothered me. I loved him for who he was, and I knew he was never about my money or wealth. Hudson is a proud man and that is why I knew my barbed comment would land. Yet, as he looks at me with disgust, I feel shame wash over me and have to bite my tongue to keep the apology inside.
“You have nothing I want, Audrey.”
“Good, then I’ll expect the papers first thing Monday morning.”
“I’ll see to it.”
