HUDSON (The Beckett Boys, Book Six)

by Olivia Chase

  HUDSON

  The Beckett Boys, Book Six

  Olivia Chase

  Favor Ford Publishing

  Contents

  NOTE

  Want To Be In The Know?

  HUDSON (The Beckett Boys, Book Six) by Olivia Chase

  1. Marissa

  2. Hudson

  3. Marissa

  4. Hudson

  5. Marissa

  6. Hudson

  7. Marissa

  8. Hudson

  9. Marissa

  10. Hudson

  Epilogue

  Bonus Content: Wicked Professor by Paige North

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2017 by Favor Ford Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  NOTE

  This edition of HUDSON (The Beckett Boys, Book Six) contains the following bonus content: Wicked Professor by Paige North

  Want To Be In The Know?

  If you want to know as soon as the next Beckett Boys book is released, and get alerted to the hottest deals in romance—sign up now to the Favor Ford Romance newsletter!

  HUDSON (The Beckett Boys, Book Six) by Olivia Chase

  Marissa

  What am I doing in this town?

  I take a deep breath, and let out a sigh.

  Stuffing the ibuprofen I picked up at a drugstore into my purse, I take my time strolling back to my motel room. The air is thick around here in midsummer, especially in early afternoon—who would have guessed that Michigan could get so warm? My black tank top is clinging to my damp torso, and I pull it away from my skin with a wide grimace. So gross.

  Hang in there, I tell myself. I won’t be in town long. Just need to save up a bit more money before I can move on to my next stop. A month or two of income should get me back on the road toward my ultimate destination.

  But for now, time to find a temp job.

  Birds are chirping on the tree-lined streets as I walk. Yeah, it’s warm and humid out, but at least Rock Bridge is pretty. I’ve only been in town a couple of days, but it’s filled with vivid green trees and lots of parks. When I get near the corner of the street, I notice there are two bars facing each other. The building on the opposite side of the street, Outlaws, seems pretty well established, with a half-full parking lot and loud music thumping through the walls. Maybe I can apply there for a job.

  I look at the bar on my side of the road, Fugitives.

  Kind of funny to have one bar named Outlaws and the other Fugitives across from each other. Maybe someone has a sense of humor.

  Curious, I approach Fugitives. The front door is wide open, and it appears empty of customers right now. Doesn’t seem like they’re open for business yet. Could they be hiring? I should probably try applying here, too. Increase my odds or whatever. I walk over to the bar’s entrance and peer inside. There’s a man, his back toward me, scrubbing down the bar top.

  A surprised hot flush works its way through my already heated body as I check him out. His jeans are snug, faded, and they cup his muscular thighs to perfection. His white T-shirt barely fits his broad arms. His dark blond hair is clipped.

  Then he turns around, his gaze roaming the room, and I lose my breath. He’s gorgeous. Absolute perfection. Firm jawline, blazing green eyes, lips that could drive you crazy and melt your body.

  Suddenly, his eyes meet mine.

  There’s a moment of attraction that slams me so hard that I can’t speak. A chemistry I never expected. I haven’t felt this strongly about a man from nothing but eye contact since…well…ever. But looking at this stranger, I am filled with dirty thoughts. I want him to throw me on top of that bar and rip my clothes off. And I have a feeling he could do the most wicked things to my body. Things I never could have imagined.

  Strangely enough, for a moment it looks like he feels that chemistry too, his body tight, his gaze hard on mine. I feel my nipples stiffen under his scrutiny, my lower belly clench. Holy hell. This man is sex personified.

  The man waves his hand to motion me in. Left, right, I remind myself, internally laughing at my sudden wash of nerves that made me forget how to walk for a second.

  “Can I help you?” he asks me in a rough voice that sends small shivers fluttering across my skin. He’s so confident and self-assured that he both intimidates and arouses me.

  I’m a sweaty mess and not dressed for this, but no backing out now. I steel my nerves and plunge into the deep end of the pool. “Hi, I’m Marisa Wakefield, and I’m wondering if you’re hiring.”

  He quirks a brow and crosses his arms. “Hiring for what?”

  “Well, I have extensive experience in the bar and restaurant industry, everything from cooking to bussing tables to mixing drinks. I’d like a position as a bartender, preferably, but I could discuss other jobs if they’re available.”

  A small smile raises the right corner of his mouth. He steps toward me until we’re just a foot apart. From here, I can see the palest of stubble on his jaw, and a scar on his lower lip. “Oh, you could?”

  He’s teasing me. My heart gives a hard kick of nervousness. I draw my lower lip between my teeth and try to keep cool. “Yes, I could. I’m willing to put in the work, if I can get an interview.”

  The man tilts his head and eyes me. “You have good timing. I’m Hudson, part owner of the bar. Our grand opening is tomorrow. What is your experience?”

  Oh, shit. He’s interviewing me. Now.

  I stammer a little. “So, I don’t have my resume on me, but I worked at The Old-Time Tavern in Pittsburgh for the last five years. And I’ve been around kitchens and restaurants my entire life.” A bittersweet emotion fills my chest when I think about my grandma, showing me how to cook, teaching me the ins and outs of the restaurant business. She died when I was a teen, and the pain still hurts as much now as it did then. “I’m not seeking permanent work—I’m only around for a month or two. You could hire me on a trial basis and see what you think.” I shrug, as if to say, it doesn’t really matter either way. But in reality, I want this.

  Maybe I just want to be near him.

  “Where are you going after this?” he asks.

  “I’m making my way out west,” I say generically. “In the meantime, I’m willing to work hard and give you a helping hand. You might need it if you’re opening tomorrow, right?” I glance around the mostly empty bar. “I don’t see any other employees in here helping you get ready.”

  Hudson looks me up and down. “So you’re just passing through, Marissa?”

  Something about the way he murmurs my name makes my throat tighten. “I finished my degree and I’m going to go to California to find a job.” The way he’s paying close attention to my every word unnerves me a bit. I’m not used to that. Not at this intensity.

  Despite my earlier perception of his attraction to me, I can’t get a good read on him now, on what he thinks about me—his poker face
is perfect.

  He’s also insanely sexy. The woven patterns of tattoos down his arms. The sexy mouth. Those bedroom eyes. God, he’s ridiculously dangerous. A woman could get in trouble with a guy like him.

  Silence falls for a moment between us. I try not to shift or give away what I’m feeling. I’m nervous all of a sudden, anxiety fluttering my stomach. I don’t know why, but I want this job. Badly. I’m drawn to him. Way more than I should be. This hasn’t become just about money anymore.

  “Can you start immediately?” Hudson asks.

  My heart hammers against my chest. “Um, yes. As in ‘right now’ immediately?”

  He eyes me darkly. “No time like the present.”

  Oh God, I got the position. Relief floods me. “So, do you have the paperwork handy? I can bring my resume tomorrow to fill out an application. But I do have my driver’s license on me if you want to photocopy it now, and I can fill out my tax forms.” I start to dig through my purse when his voice stops me.

  “No paperwork,” he insists. “Cash pay. And you’ll get to keep all your tips.”

  Interesting. I should feel sketchy about this arrangement, which is less than above board. But honestly, I’m only looking to make quick cash, and this will help. Plus, no taxes. “Okay.”

  Hudson walks over to the bar and flings a rag at me. “Good. You can start by helping me clean all the furniture.”

  He’s bossy, but I don’t argue with him. I need the cash…and this means more time in his proximity. So I stow my purse behind the bar and begin to scrub the tables.

  Which are beat-up and dingy. Same as the seat cushions and wooden frames—mismatched and ripped fabric, wobbly legs, scratched-up back. My excitement over my newfound luck turns into a hot burn of mortification in my chest. It’s obvious Hudson hasn’t had a lot of capital for this business—I can see the place is all reclaimed furniture, and the light brown paint on the walls, along with the mismatched décor, is rushed and poorly done with obvious brush strokes and thin spots that reveal dark red paint underneath. My grandma would have a fit over the shoddy work in here.

  I stay silent through cleaning half the tables, but then I can’t hold it in anymore. I clear my throat. “Um, so Hudson, I have a couple of thoughts.”

  He stills and looks over at me from where he’s sweeping the floor. “Oh?” There’s a deadly quietness in his voice.

  But I plunge ahead, determined that I can help. “I noticed…the décor is a bit outdated, and the chairs too,” I say as tactfully as possible. “Maybe we can do some fresh varnish on the woodwork, to match the color of the bar, and repaint the walls so they’re not so…”

  The sudden change in his demeanor makes my words trail off. Hudson stalks over to me, so close that I can feel his warm breath on my mouth. Is he going to kiss me? I can’t tell—his eyes are hooded and hard to read. But God help me, I want him to. I’ve never felt this alive and on fire before by someone. Never had that sudden, irrational desire to be naughty. My nipples peak again from his nearness.

  “Let me make sure something is clear,” he murmurs, and fresh goose bumps break out over my skin at the heat in his low voice. God, it’s insane how much he affects me without even having touched my skin.

  He continues in a cool voice. “I’m the boss, Marissa. You’re my employee. I’m not looking for any more partners. You’ll do the work I hire you to do. Do you understand me?”

  There’s something about the way he tells me he’s the boss that makes my pussy swell and flood the crotch of my panties with my arousal. I must be crazy, getting turned on by his words instead of being just mildly offended at his dismissal. But instead, this excites me in a dark way I don’t understand, something I’ve never experienced before. This man has a big chip on his shoulder, yes, but I find his intensity sexy beyond belief.

  Hudson is dangerous, all wrong for me, but I ache for him. How am I going to handle working for this man?

  In response to his comment, I give a stiff nod, trying not to let my sudden, ridiculous need show on my face. “Understood.”

  I’ll keep my mouth closed, despite all of my misgivings about the viability of this crazy rundown bar. As long as I get paid, I guess I can put up with it.

  He narrows his eyes, and I see for a split second that his gaze drops to my mouth. His lips thin, and he steps away. I’m both relieved and feeling the absence immediately. His responding nod is just as tight as mine was. “Once you’re done with the furniture,” he says, “I’d like you to work on pulling stock from the basement and filling the bar area. We have liquor and beer down there in boxes, ready to go. Then you can mop the floor and do some other tasks to clean things up. Should keep you busy for a while.”

  The mask is back on his face. So I shove down all my arousal and say in a neutral tone, “Okay.” A small, bratty part of me is tempted to add a “sir” on the end, but that might antagonize him enough to fire me before I really even begin.

  But I can’t help wonder what this guy’s story is. Has he ever run a bar or restaurant before? He doesn’t seem the type from what I can tell thus far.

  I spend the next couple of hours doing tasks around the main room, which has the bonus effect of wiping away my earlier sexual rush. Cleaning everything as much as I can so it’s at least semi-ready for customers. Getting the bar area set up for tomorrow’s launch. Scrubbing down the two single bathrooms—which are gross as hell, but at least are tolerable once I finish scrubbing. I’m sweaty, but satisfied by my progress.

  When Hudson passes down the hallway and sees me cleaning the toilet bowl, he gives me a nod of approval. “Nice job. Looking good.”

  The words are simple, but they make me smile. At least he isn’t stingy with compliments. I can see his genuine appreciation for my efforts. “Thanks.”

  “You did a great job stocking up the bar, too. I can tell you know your way around one.”

  That stretches my smile into a wide grin. “I’m pretty handy. My grandma taught me everything I know. The Old-Time Tavern was her place.” And she worked me hard in there, for sure. I send a silent word of thanks to her for pushing me to aim for perfection.

  “Keep it up,” he murmurs in that sexy voice that makes me throb. With that, he goes back into the small office and closes the door.

  Hudson gives me a quick break to grab food, since apparently they aren’t going to provide customers more than small beer snacks like pretzels and peanuts, and none of that is in stock yet.

  I dash to the McDonalds a few blocks away, grab a chicken sandwich, then get back to work.

  Another hour or so ticks by as I continue my tasks, prepping the back of the bar for work tomorrow. Cleaning and lining up mismatched glassware, making sure the kegs are operational, arranging the liquor for top shelf and well—with the bulk of it being well drinks.

  Two men shove the main door open and walk into the main room, looking similar enough to Hudson that I’m certain they’re related—sexy, muscled, tattooed, with dark blond hair. The super-muscular one looks exactly like Hudson in the face. Wow. His features are dead-on similar. They have to be twins or something. The other guy is holding a brown grocery bag in his strong arms.

  When the men see me behind the bar, they stop and eye me, their brows furrowed.

  “Um,” the beefy, twin-looking guy says, staring suspiciously at me then glaring at Hudson. “Who is this, bro?”

  Hudson gives them a flat look—it’s clear from the way they defer to him that he’s in charge. “I hired her. She’s going to be working here. Marissa has expertise at working at a bar, and she’s the right hire for opening day.” He has a hardness in his voice that dares them to challenge his judgment.

  Their eyes still seem skeptical but less upset than they did before.

  His words have impacted me too. I have to admit, I’m heartened by the way he stood up for me to them. He made me sound knowledgeable, important to their business. A light flush of pleasure at the compliment sweeps over my skin.

  The men
give me another brief glance, then nod curtly and go about their business.

  “Those are my brothers,” Hudson says to me in a low tone. “The one who looks like me is Hale. The other is Axel. They’re co-owners of the bar.”

  “Are you twins?”

  “Yeah,” he says, but doesn’t show much pride in that fact as some twins seem to.

  “Oh, cool,” I smile.

  But nobody else is grinning or laughing. The mood in the bar is tense, which makes sense before opening day.

  It takes a lot of money to run this kind of place and keep it open.

  Axel moves behind the bar and unloads the bag, filled with lemons and large party-size bags of pretzels. I quietly help him get it sorted and ready for serving.

  I continue working and eye his brothers as I do. I can see the similarities with Hale for sure. Axel has some slightly different features, more of an olive tone of skin than the other two men.

  We scrub. We mop. We sweep. We dust. We work until it’s almost eleven pm. My back is aching, my feet are sore, and I’m desperate for some sort of cocktail. I deserved it after this much work.

  As if he’s psychic, Hale stands and stretches, hands pressed to his lower back. “Beer break, or I’m quitting this shit.”

  “You can’t quit, ass,” Hudson says in a surly tone. But he reaches into the fridge and grabs four beers, popping the caps then distributing them to us. “But we do deserve a drink for sure.”

  We clap our beer bottles together then drink, gathered around the bar. I listen to the three brothers talk, chatting about Outlaws—the bar across the street—and how theirs will be more successful. Why do they need to beat that bar so badly? And why would they put a bar directly across from another one?

  Not my business. I’m here for a month at most. I don’t care. I shove aside my curiosity and focus on my beer. As I drink, I can’t help but watch Hudson in furtive glances. The way his throat is lean as he tilts his head back for a swallow. His Adam’s apple. His sexy lips. God, he’s stupidly hot. It’s unfair.