Page 44 of When Death Whispers

We orbit each other in the kitchen—too close, too aware. I reach for the honey right as he reaches for a spoon, our arms brushing. A flash of heat rockets through me. My breath catches in my throat, but I try to play it cool. He mutters something about how I own more types of tea than actual food, and I try to laugh, but it comes out breathy.

Not because I’m nervous.

Because Iremember.

I would be a damn liar if I kept telling myself that having Hudson here in my space isn’t affecting me. I thought at first that I was doing him a disservice, that he’d be better out there, taking his chances without me, because the longer he stays the more danger he’ll have to deal with. But he came back, and he seems more at ease in my kitchen than at the bakery, which is saying something considering the guy usually oozes self-confidence when working.

This is different though. I’m seeing a different side of Hudson, one I feel he may reserve for only the few he trusts. He’s letting me see his vulnerability, and his loyalty, and I can’t help but feel honored that he thinks I’m worthy. Even if he was forced into that position by my volatile situation.

And dammit, now I want to know if he feels as good as he did in my dream. For real. It’s been too long since I’ve had any type of human connection, allowed myself to even think of having one.

Still lost in my musings, I stretch up to reach a tin on the highest shelf and?—

Hudson steps in behind me.

His chest presses against my back, steady and warm. One arm lifts past mine, close enough that the scent of him—clean, citrusy with a hint of vanilla—fills my lungs. My stomach flips. His breath ghosts along the side of my neck.

I swear my knees almost buckle.

When I glance over my shoulder, he’sright there. Ocean-blue eyes locked on mine. His gaze dips to my lips, then back up again—lazy, heated. Familiar.

A memory flashes like lightning behind my eyes. His mouth on mine. His hands everywhere. My body arching into his, desperate for more.

The way he looked at me in that dream like I was his.

Would the real Hudson look at me like that too?

Does he feel the same pull I do?

He seemed interested enough before. I was the one running away from the very idea. Would he still want… more knowing what he knows now?

His other hand tentatively slips under the hem of my hoodie, the tips of his fingers lazily brushing the skin of my stomach, making heat coil low and fast like it had in my naughty fantasy.

He presses closer, his head leaning just a bit more, his eyes flashing like he’s having a debate with himself on whether to go all in or not.

Kiss me.I dare him with one gaze, one thought.

But he doesn’t inch closer, now moving his hand slowly to my hip, then my ass, retracing spots that are still strangely tender but shouldn’t be. As if the Hudson behind me is a mirror of my dream one.

Why does it feel so real even when I know it couldn’t have been? Why does it feel like he was there too, not just as a figment of my imagination?

But no. It was just a dream. A really vivid, really inappropriate dream.

Still, the flush rising in my cheeks doesn’t care what’s real and what isn’t. My fingers clench around the tin, heart hammering.

I decide to go for playful and light to break some of the tension I swear I can taste on my tongue in the hopes that the real-life Hudson may be willing to go for more. Later. When our lives don’t feel like they’re in danger and I don’t have the ever-constant feeling of something watching my every move.

“Damn, Hudson. Having a taller roommate is going to come in handy around here.”

I feel his chuckle from the base of my spine all the way to my neck and some of the lingering feelings of unease dissipate a bit.

“You know, I can be useful for other things too.” He punctuates his double meaning with a squeeze of my ass, then steps back, giving me room to turn around and look up at him.

Fuck. I want to know what else he’s good at. I bet a lot of things. The man clearly has some skills with his hands when it comes to cake decorating.

“Oh yeah? Like what? Other than making toast and coffee, I mean.”

He shoots me a smirk that speaks of all kinds of naughty things, then grabs the tin out of my hands and turns around to pour hot water in a mug.

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