Page 78 of Critical Mass
Without thinking, Natalie pushed open the study door and slipped inside.
Hudson stood by the desk, his phone in his hand, frozen like a deer in headlights.
“I was looking for—” he started.
Natalie didn’t let him finish.
She knew her father—he would catch them in here at any moment.
She crossed the room in three steps, grabbed Hudson’s shirt, and pulled him into a kiss.
For a split second, Hudson went rigid with surprise.
Then his arms came around her waist, and he pulled her closer as if this was completely natural, as if they hadn’t been at odds all day.
Behind them, the study door opened.
Her heart pounded harder.
Had her ruse worked?
They were about to find out.
CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
“Natalie?”Her father’s voice was sharp with surprise.
Natalie pulled back from Hudson, letting genuine embarrassment flood her face. “Dad! I’m sorry, I—we?—”
“We were just—” Hudson’s voice was slightly breathless, and Natalie couldn’t tell if that was acting or genuine reaction. “I was just leaving the bathroom and Natalie found me, and we slipped inside the closest doorway and?—”
“Got carried away,” Natalie finished, her cheeks burning. “I’m so sorry. That was inappropriate.”
Her father’s expression was unreadable as he looked between them. Natalie held her breath, wondering if he’d bought it, if he’d noticed Hudson’s phone still in his hand, if he’d seen anything that would make him suspicious.
He frowned. “Perhaps you two could save the . . . displays of affection for when you’re not in my home.”
“Of course, sir,” Hudson said. “My apologies.”
They left the study together, Natalie’s heart pounding so hard she thought everyone in the house could hear it. She’d just kissed Hudson—really kissed him—for the first time since learning his real identity.
And the worst part? For those few seconds when his arms were around her and his lips were on hers, she’d forgotten it was all pretend.
She’d forgotten to protect her heart.
And that terrified her more than anything else that had happened tonight.
After dinner, Hudson pulled up to Natalie’s house, the black sedan following at its usual distance.
But something felt wrong.
The men in that sedan weren’t moving like the security team from earlier.
They had different postures and positioning. They even had a different vehicle—this sedan was newer, cleaner, without the small dent in the front bumper he’d noted on the earlier one.
Had there been a shift change?
