"You do?" he asked. There was curiosity in the way he said it, but no judgment.
I nodded as I let out a deep sigh and turned to face him. "When was the last time you saw a guy on the news that didn't have amazing three-to-five-inch hair?"
Why was I telling him all of this? What was I expecting him to do?
"Hmpf," he said as he scuttled toward me. "I guess you're right. I've never even thought about it before. Good thing a career in the media never interested me."
He kept getting closer until his thigh pressed against mine. What was he doing?
"Well, if we need to get you looking a certain way…" He ran his thick fingers through my hair, holding it up in place. "Then let's get you looking a certain way."
Relief washed over me as I looked into his eyes. Relief mixed with...something else.
"But just between you and me," he said, continuing to play with my hair. "I think you look kind of perfect just as you are."
A warm feeling flooded my insides.
"There," he said after a few moments of styling. He grabbed the mirror that I had thrown away, and handed it to me. "Better?"
I looked at my reflection and had to blink twice. He had done it. Somehow he had made my stubbornly uncooperative hair manage to stay up and look...good. Damn good.
"Thank you," I said as I placed my hand on his lap.
He lifted my hand up to his mouth and gave it a gentle kiss. It didn't stop the fiercest of searing heats shooting through my entire body. Then his eyes widened and he quickly returned my hand to my lap.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," he said, clearing his throat and looking straight ahead.
"No, it was great," I said.
He turned to look at me.
"It was?" he asked.
I was shocked at the softness in his voice and the gentleness of his face. Especially considering that he looked like the kind of guy who wouldn't hesitate to snap someone in two if they so much as looked at him the wrong way.
"Yes," I said with a nod. "It adds to the believability. I mean, we are trying to pretend that we're on a date, right?"
For a moment, he looked crushed. But then that look––whatever it was––disappeared.
"Good," he said, clearing his throat. "That's exactly what I was going for."
I let out a chuckle. "It's funny, because my publicist actually wanted us to kiss on the red carpet."
"She did?" Hudson said.
"He did, yes," I corrected. "But I said no."
"Oh. Why's that?"
"Well, I just felt bad," I explained. "I didn't want you to feel like I was just using you. I'm—I'm not the kind of guy that would do that to anyone."
Again, why was I telling him this?
"I can tell you're not," Hudson said, and suddenly, his fingers were interlaced with mine.
"How?" I asked, studying the man. Why did he, a complete stranger, think he knew me so well?
"I don't know," Hudson said, and I could feel his fingers wanting to pull away, but they didn't. "Don't hate me for this, but I'm kind of, like, one of your, like, biggest fans ever." He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, that sounded so pathetic."
I let out a soft laugh. "It's not pathetic at all."
It wasn't.
It was cute, not creepy. I could tell he wasn't just interested in me because I was on TV, or said some stupid catchphrase, or had a huge ass. He seemed to really like me for me, and that felt really good.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, so I quickly grabbed it. Maybe it was Parker texting with some last-minute advice. It was a text from Parker, but it wasn't advice. It was an announcement.
I had won the Daylesford’s Hottest Derriere award.
"What is it?" Hudson asked, his grip tightening around my fingers in the yummiest of ways.
I showed him the text and he smiled.
"Congratulations," he said. "Wait, why aren't you happy? I thought you said this was what you wanted? You were a shoo-in, remember?"
I did remember saying that to him at my first personal training session. And I also remembered feeling like a complete douchebag afterward.
"Can I be honest with you for a minute?" I said, looking away from his eyes, which never seemed to leave my face.
"Of course," he said.
I could feel him brushing the back of my hand with his thumb, and it felt reassuring.
"I don't like any of it. The stupid catchphrase. The stupid publicity I'm always seeking. The stupid tight pants I'm always wearing. It's all just so…"
"Stupid," he offered. I looked up at him; his eyes were round and soft.
We both smiled.
"Yeah," I finally said. "I just want to do the weather and maybe one day...ah, forget it. It's stu––it’s nothing."
"Tell me," he said in a tone that made me want to obey him.
"I really care about the environment. Now, before you say anything, I know it's boring and negative and depressing and no one wants to hear about it, but...I care. I don't think it's any of those things, I think there's a really good chance that we can all make a difference. I'll stop talking now."
Hudson's fingers slipped away from mine.
I knew it, Parker was right. Talking about this sort of stuff turned people off big time.
The next thing I knew, his fingers were grazing my jawline.
"I don't want you to stop talking, Liam," he said in that hypnotizing voice of his. It was a blend of deep, warm, and sexy.
"You don't?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No, I don't. You sometimes give hints when you're on the air about this sort of stuff. You mention some cool climate facts, or that there's a rally happening somewhere. It's not a lot but it's just these little bits every once in a while. And I like that. I like that you care, that there’s more to you than all of that superficial stuff. As I said to you before, your ass is my eighteenth favorite thing about you."
Hudson rested his fingers under my chin. I couldn't help but stare into his friendly eyes. He cocked his head at the same time as I tilted mine. I could feel his fingers wrapping around mine again, pressing firmly. Our heads moved toward one another until I could smell the spicy warmth of his cologne. I leaned in further and began to close my eyes…
"We're here, Mr. Wright," the driver said, winding down the internal window. Hudson jumped a mile.
"Right," I said, clearing my throat. "Thank you for that."
I looked over at Hudson. His face was blank and his body was still, except for his thumb which was racing up and down against his fingers in the clenched fist he was making.
"Are you ready to do this?" I asked.
"Sure," he said, looking straight ahead. "I mean, how hard can a local red carpet be?"
Chapter Seven
HUDSON
The first thing that struck me when the limousine door was opened was the wall of sound that hit us. It was like being sucker punched in the face, but somehow, I managed to scramble out of the car—with a little dignity, I hoped—and hold my hand out for Liam.