Page 21 of Roughing It

“I’ll leave them out there the entire thirty days. Ifyoudecide to bring them in, I’ll gratefully accept them and unpack, but otherwise, those suitcases are staying out there.”

“It’s dangerous here at night; you can’t be running to the Jeep at all hours for your shit.”

“Then. Bring. Them. In.”

Hudson’s jaw tenses, and his jaw tics. “Do what you want.”

I push past him, beelining for the water closet, desperate for space from his handsome, frustrating, won’t-bring-in-a-lady’s-suitcase face.

When I step out with my teeth brushed and no makeup, Hudson’s green eyes take me in.

“You look different.”

My hand flies to my cheek. He’s seeing Blake Lee. Her nose is wider, less of an adorable button, her face rounder, less sculpted, and her eyes smaller. What does he think of her?

Is he like everyone else? Overlooking her until she’s forced to transform into Blakely, a supernova who demands your attention?

I brush my hair forward, using it as a shield. “So, one bed. Is this where those gentleman genes finally kick in, and you offer it to me?”

Hudson’s full lips flatten into a hard line, then he takes two steps, eating up the space between us. With a surprisingly tender touch, he pulls the soft scrunchie from my wrist and gathers my hair into a low ponytail, pulling it away from my face.

“Why’d you hide? I said different, not bad.”

My cheeks warm, and I look away, only giving him ahmphin reply.

He grips my chin, tilting my head back. He inches closer. Closer. And just when I expect him to zag, he zigs.

“If you think I’m giving you the bed, you’ve got another thing coming.”

The certainty in his words sparks annoyance. And desire. Damn him.

I square my shoulders. “Oh, I’m taking the bed.”

“Over my six-foot body, Spitfire.”

“We’ll have to settle this the hard way.”

“As if there’s any other option?” His smirk transforms into a full-on grin, and I melt a little. Double damn him!

Swallowing, I give him a saucy smile. “On three?”

“One, two, three. Shoot!”

DAY ONE

Hudson’s lips brush against my stomach, his gaze on me as he whispers into my navel. “What do you want me to do, little Spitfire?”

I wake with a start, the deep rumble of a man’s voice in my ears and an unfamiliar ceiling over my head.

“Morning, Princess. Sleep well?”

Hudson.

The cabin.

“It’s Blakely, you bear.” I groan and flop to my side on the couch, pulling the blanket over my head.

“Not a morning person?”

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