Page 54 of The Art of You

“That wasn’t an answer,” I protested. “It was deflection.”

“Guess my old man taught me well.” He mumbled something incoherent under his breath before relenting, “No. The answer is no.”

Because I was a masochist sometimes, I asked, “Is she single? Maybe there’s still hope.” My lack of filter was both a blessing and a curse. In this moment, it was definitely my enemy. Those words materialized from that ugly pit of hell known as jealousy. The idea of him being with her or anyone made me, well, crazy. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the time. I—I shouldn’t have said that.”

An expletive dropped from his mouth as I went to turn away, only for him to stop me, encircling my good wrist, drawing me around to face him. “No, Bella, I don’t want her. Isn’t it obvious who I want?”

I swallowed, shock managing to do the unimaginable—keep my mouth shut.

“But if this weekend has reminded me of anything, it’s that life isn’t fair, and you can’t always have what you want.” He let go of me.

I wasn’t ready to call it quits and stamp out hope. Not when this was the closest he’d come to admitting his feelings.

“Why can’t you?” I whispered. “Am I not worth the risk?To see if there might be something more between us? My brothers will?—”

“Constantine is right about me. What he said to you is why I can’t take the risk, because I have too much respect for you. It’s not about him.” He drew the back of his hand along the contour of my cheekbone while closing his eyes. “I know myself, and I know my limits. I would hurt you. At the end of the day, I know it’d happen. Because that’s what I’m good at.” Emotion butchered his words right along with my heart. “I’m too fucked in the head, and I won’t take a chance with your happiness just because I’m desperate for one night.” His eyes flicked open as he left me with that cliffhanger.

“To be yours for one night would be worth the risk. I’d accept the consequences of what that’d mean and what might come next.”

He dragged his knuckles along my jawline, staring at his own hand as it moved as if in a daze.

“I don’t mean here and now, given what’s going on, but promise me one day you’ll consider giving us a chance, even if it’s for one night.”

He stopped grazing his hand over my skin and met my eyes. “I’ll never make you a one-night stand.”

His matter-of-fact words felt like rejection, and I was too stubborn to roll over and give up. “Then let it be two. Or we could be naughty and give each other a whole weekend.”

“Your poker face isn’t holding up, darlin’. You couldn’t handle being with me, then walking away as if it never happened.”

If he called me darlin’ one more time, I’d lose my last vestiges of control and demand that night right now. “How do you know?”

He brought his nose to mine, hand in my hair again, gently fisting it. “BecauseIcouldn’t.”

I wet my lips, searching for the breath in my lungs he kept stealing. I wasn’t ready to cave and walk away from a conversation I felt had barely begun. But I also knew we were pressed for time. Fighting for what I wanted, and getting him to see beyond his stubborn ideas, would have to wait for another day. I’d have to one-step-at-a-time my way through this, starting with a touch of hope to get us moving forward.

“Airport rules, then,” I sputtered, the idea seemingly silly, but maybe it was a creative loophole to our problem.

He freed my hair and dragged his knuckles along my exposed collarbone. This was the most action I’d ever experienced from this man, and I wasn’t ready to back away. “Why, you feel like drinking?”

“No, I mean . . . what happens there is like being out in the wild, right? What if we take a moment to let whatever happens happen?” At his brows slamming together with concern, I quickly explained, “Not sex. Just sixty seconds of indulging without judgment. In this case, from ourselves.” I shrugged. “We can even set a timer.”

His hand wandered along the side of my neck.

“Since you enjoy having your hands on me so much, what if we steal one minute together? We’ve had a horrible weekend, and things seem to be getting worse, not better. I could use sixty seconds of bliss, even if it’s an artificial construct. Don’t make me walk away from you feeling”—I pouted—“so unsatisfied.”

He eased back to find my eyes, a hint of amusement glinting in those beautiful blues. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.” He dipped closer, and I shuddered when he tenderly pressed his lips to the bruise at my temple before bringing his mouth to my ear. “But there’d be nothing artificial about what happened between us, sixty seconds or not.”

His rich, deep tone had carried his words with such power and authority, I could’ve come on command if he ordered.

The subsequent sigh that followed, echoed that of a man repenting his sins in one hasty breath. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no, though.”

No, no, no. Dammit.

He rolled his bottom lip inward for a brief moment. Mouth back to my ear, he confessed, “Our kiss in Rome was only a few seconds, and it’s been haunting me for months.” His breath at my ear gave me chills as he added huskily, “But one minute with you, and I’ll carry that with me for a lifetime.”

Chapter 21

Hudson

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