Page 43 of The Sweetest Cruelty: Hudson
My lips parted as he stepped into my space. Again, I thought he was going to kiss me, but he spoke against the cuff of my ear.
“I’m no gentleman, English. You should remember that.”
“If you say so,” I replied, clearing my throat.
“American men arenothinglike the feeble equivalent you have in Britain. We’re an entirely different breed, but you’ll get used to us, eventually. Women’s thirst for equality knocked chivalry on its ass years ago. But I will give you some advice. Which isn’t like me at all.”
Hudson turned to glance towards the doors that led to the field.
“What?” The word surged from my mouth like a blizzard.
There was a beat of silence as he did a back-and-forth thing with his head between me and the door to the field. Worry snaked up my spine as his expression suggested he was contemplating something.
But what?
“Hudson, please?” I nearly begged. My palms were sweating.
He lifted his hand and ran his thumb across his plump bottom lip. “It doesn’t work that way. First, you must give me something,” he said.
I was puzzled, “But surely I just did.” The words left my mouth like vapour.
“Doubtful. It’s not like I copped a feel, is it?”
Heat crawled up my neck. “No, but you saw me,” I pointed out.
“And what a pretty prize that was, but I was doing you a favour,” Hudson said with a wolfish look and a wink.
“How so?” Yes, doing me a favour by making me hot and bothered and desperate for him to touch me. When had I turned into such a tart?
“I was repairing your wardrobe malfunction.”
“You still got an eye full,” I shot back.
Hudson’s smirk switched to a grin before he eventually said, “And while that will stay with me for quite some time. It isn’t enough. Give me your phone.” My nose scrunched as I eyed his raised hand warily.
“Why?”
His nostrils flared his impatience. “Do it, Molly.” That tone of voice brooked no argument, and I turned and slid my iPhone from my bag.
He snatched it from my fingers, threaded one hand into my hair, the strands wrapping around his fist and then he tugged.
“Ouch,” I said as he angled my head forward. I lifted my arm and wrapped my fingers around his wrist, trying to pull his hand away.
“Hold still,” he instructed, his fingers tightening. Hudson then raised my phone, angling the screen, and successfully unlocking it via the facial ID setting.
“Thank you,” he chuckled as he released my hair and pulled his wrist out of my hand.
I used my fingers, massaging my head to ease the burning there.
Hudson glanced briefly to see what I was doing, an unimpressed expression on his face.
“Don’t be a baby, I didn’t hurt you.”
He then turned away, gripping my iPhone in his hand. I felt annoyed that I hadn’t fought back more; he probably thought I was a weakling now.
I watched silently as he thumbed something into my phone. A second later, I heard his phone ring from his pocket. He was swapping our numbers. Great. Now, he could torture me from afar. I wondered why he wanted it if he disliked me so much.
I snatched the phone as he handed it back to me, saying, “And this pearl of wisdom you're supposed to share with me?” I snarked.
