by JC Harroway
‘What would you have done?’ I pant, torturing myself, but also him, for denying me whatever fantasy is in his head.
He groans. ‘Everything. Every single future meeting I have in there, that’s all I’m going to think about. Me eating you out and then fucking you...’
‘Sounds good to me.’ I trail kisses up his neck and over his ear. ‘We should have thought of it the night of the storm when we had the place to ourselves. But let’s park that idea until everyone else has gone home.’
He pulls back, breathless. ‘You have a dirty and devious mind.’ The look he shoots me is layered with the heat and determination that precedes him issuing some sexual order, like Come for me or Touch yourself or Suck me harder.
‘But I agree. No more wasted opportunities.’ He grins, pressing his erection between my legs, and then drags his lips along my neck to my earlobe. ‘Still want to see the cherry blossom...?’
‘No...’ My eyes roll back as he finds exactly the spot that makes my whole body tingle. Fingers of desire dance down my spine. It’s hard to think about anything coherent with his hands roaming. I’m so tempted to abandon sightseeing, even though it’s only been hours since we fell into an exhausted sleep in my hotel. But his reminder last night of his stance on relationships keeps me grounded. Hudson is Hudson. Even though we’re having heaps of great sex, I need to remember what I want. No more rushing in or seeing things that aren’t there.
Plus, I really do want to see the Cherry Blossom Festival.
‘Wait. Yes, I do want to go, although it pains me to say it.’ I shove at him so I can see his face which is harsh with arousal. ‘We could always come back later tonight and do the conference table thing...’
He rests his forehead against mine, catching his breath. ‘If you say so, Miss Goody Two Shoes.’ But there’s humour in his eyes.
I laugh, besotted with his playful side. ‘This does feel kind of naughty—obviously the heavy petting in the lift. But also cancelling meetings. It’s as if we’re bunking school or something?’
He brushes my hair from my cheek. ‘I bet you were far too sensible to have bunked off school.’ He eases back, pushes my skirt down and adjusts his erection.
I feign outrage and then divulge the truth. ‘No, you’re right. But in my defence I had older brothers and sisters always watching me.’ I finger-comb my hair and reapply my lipstick. ‘It was like having four extra parents. I could never get away with anything.’
He buttons his jacket and straightens his tie while I re-tuck my blouse.
‘Ready?’ he says, a rueful grin on his face.
I nod, pasting on a bland expression so I don’t look like a woman who’s been dry-humped against a wall. By the time the lift doors open at the ground floor foyer of Bold Tower, we’re once more two presentable business executives.
Inside the car Hudson reaches for my hand and shoots me a look brimming with playful reproof. ‘Just think, Dove—you could be coming by now if you weren’t such a goody-goody.’
I shudder, trying to calm my runaway heartbeat. Because the way he’s started holding my hand, the way he comforted me last night over Mum’s memorial, is all starting to feel as if we’re dating. My chest grows tight with confused longing. He offered solace even though he clearly felt out of his depth. I wanted to hold him right there in the busy street until we both chased off our anguish. But I held back. We’re not dating. It’s just sex.
I shake my head and grin with exasperation. The seduction game he started helps me stay grounded in reality. ‘Why is everything about winning with you?’
‘Because I’m good at it.’ His smile-and-wink combo is incorrigible. He seems younger. Happier. A woman could so easily fall for him. I wonder how many have over the years.
‘So you mean to tell me that you skipped school?’ It’s hard to imagine him ever having been blasé when it comes to his goals. The Hudson I know is driven to the point where he’s made professional success and money-making an art form. He’s famously quoted as saying, ‘You can’t ever make enough money.’ I’ve always assumed it’s his security blanket, because he’s not remotely flashy.
His confident grin falters a fraction. If I wasn’t so attuned to him, I might have missed it. ‘Of course. Unlike you, I had no one to grass me up. Surely I’ve told you about my misspent youth?’
The energy in the car buzzes like static. My pulse thuds, each beat more powerful. ‘No, you haven’t, but I’m listening.’
I’m risking the sexy, playful mood with my bout of curiosity, but there are two Hudson Blacks. The one I’ve known for five years, but don’t really know, and the one who is currently my lover. Beyond the fact that he’s funny and thoughtful and crazy-hot, this second version is something of an enigma.
I stay silent, waiting for any insight into the real Hudson, the one he protects with his competitive drive, tireless work ethic and famous commitment avoidance.
His sigh rings with defeat. He slips his hand from mine and spears it through his hair. ‘I went to a total of seven schools before I was sixteen.’ His eyes crinkle with a sad inevitable smile. ‘Some were worse than others. Some I actually liked.’
His irises turn almost black, haunted with vulnerability. I want to hold him but resist. This is the real reason he doesn’t date. He lived with the certainty that at any minute he’d be moved on. It’s no wonder he fears rejection. There’s no way he’d allow himself to grow attached to anyone after the abandonment of that first family. And that had spilled over into all of his relationships. Fear of failure is a hard taskmaster. After my divorce, I know.
‘Were you bullied?’ I want to comfort him. Instead I sit perfectly still, waiting for the pieces that complete the Hudson puzzle.
‘Not really, but I was always that kid—the loner, the outsider, the foster kid.’ He shrugs. ‘Some days it was easier to just skive off, even though I was smart enough to realise that an education was the only way to drag myself up from the reject pile.’
‘You were not in the reject pile.’ My throat burns for the boy he must have been. Alone. Scared. Feeling unloved. ‘Where would you go when you skipped school?’
He laughs then, his gorgeous mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘The library. I saw enough kids in the system who coped in other ways—drugs, self-harm. I wanted something different, although I could so easily have taken that route.’
I ache for the young Hudson who felt safer physically and emotionally withdrawn. Who learned somehow to strive to control his environment.
I rest my head on his shoulder, inadequacy shredding me up inside. ‘I’m sorry you had that experience. I respect you even more now for what you’ve achieved.’
His smile is once more confident. ‘Money makes money. It gives you control. Once I saw that, I was hooked. I had some great opportunities early on with Foster McVeigh,’ he says, referring to the global investment bank he joined after university.
He presses his mouth to my forehead. ‘You have the real gift, Dove—people skills.’
‘Do I?’ I frown. ‘Some days the huge chunk of me missing after Mum’s death makes me feel defective.’ When she was alive, I felt invincible.
I lift my head from his shoulder and kiss him. The more he opens up, showing me glimpses of the things that have shaped him, the more I’m drawn to him. I can’t help myself.
‘Did you ever know your parents?’ The question hurts my throat, but I want to understand him better beyond his astute sense for high-risk, high-return investments. I want to be there for him the way he is for me.
His body stiffens, his jaw tense. ‘My father was never on the scene. I was two when my mother could no longer cope and handed me over to the state. I don’t resent her. In fact, I’m glad. She was an addict. She died of an overdose when I was six, apparently. At least I had a better life than the one she’d have provided.’
‘I’m sorry.’ It’s not
enough. Not what I want to say. But I’m wary of crossing a line with him and invading his personal pain. He’d hate that.
‘You’re kind of killing the mood here, Dove.’ He grips my face and slides his mouth over mine, teasing my lips apart to the exploration of his tongue. I cling to his arms and surrender to his distraction technique, even though I want to blow off the festival and go somewhere quiet so we can talk and talk and talk...
I pull myself together with a deep inhale. Talking isn’t on the approved list of distractions. And that’s good. I can’t become swept along in Hudson’s heartache or misinterpret his rare emotional confidence.
He glances out of the window. ‘We’re here. Let’s go marvel at some cherry blossom.’
I smile, but inside I’m a mess of contradictions.
His driver, Takao, parks up in Nakameguro, a trendy residential area not far from the financial district. Hudson jumps out and strides round to my side to hold open my door.
‘Such a gentleman. You really want to win at all costs, don’t you?’ I aim for the playful vibe that seems to be our sweet spot, but it’s hard to keep things light and superficial.
He winks, taking my hand and dragging me towards the mingling crowds.
My heart is no longer in it. I crave connection with the man he’s showing me in minute glimpses. I long to understand the inner Hudson as well as I know his body. But I also know my tendency to see perfection, to rush in too soon and too eagerly. Next time I fall, I’ll do so slowly with my eyes wide open. Because I’ve lived through one major relationship failure. I can’t do it again.
As we walk in silence, I observe his profile, my mind racing.
I’ve been blessed with people who love me. Sometimes too many people, each of them with an opinion on how I should live my life. What sort of a person would I have been if I were totally alone, like Hudson? Would I have had his incredible strength of character, his conviction in his abilities and his unrelenting drive? It’s easy to have dreams and goals when you have security and acceptance in which to grow.
But what if that growth was against the tide? What if you were overcoming life’s obstacles alone and from a starting point of nothing? Avoiding the greatest risk of all—exposing his heart—is understandable.
The more I learn about Hudson, the more I question what I know and feel for him.
‘What?’ he asks, sensing my pensive mood.
I shake my head, forming my features into a neutral expression. ‘Nothing. I’m just wondering... Were you close...? With any of your families?’
I need to know he had someone who cared. Some sort of parental figures. I was close to my parents, my mother especially.
His eyes are the colour of cognac—dark with emotion he’s powerless to conceal. My chest aches. I can’t stop seeing a younger Hudson, abandoned and alone. Let down by the world and vulnerable. Was teenaged Hudson angry? Emotionally withdrawn in preparation for being moved on from his latest ‘home’? Did he have a girlfriend he’d been forced to leave behind? Friends?
With a small sigh of defeat, he throws his arm around my shoulders and guides me through the milling crowds. ‘I have fond memories of my first family, Wendy and Bill. I was with them from the age of two until ten.’ He speaks carefully, as if he’s trying to keep a lid on his emotions.
I swallow hard, fighting the sting behind my eyes. ‘I’m glad you had that but also sorry it didn’t last.’
He shakes his head. ‘Don’t be sorry. It was a long time ago.’ His sad smile all but tears out my heart.
I know the pain of losing a mother figure. It crushes me still, shaping my decisions, goals and dreams. I wouldn’t change a day of my own busy, noisy childhood. My annoying siblings could be my worst enemies one minute and my absolute heroes the next. I even had my parents to myself for a while, in particular my mother, given the age gap between me and my older brothers and sisters.
‘Besides, I’m not that hostile, scruffy little kid anymore.’ He flashes a playful grin. ‘I have everything I need and more. Look at me—I’m my own boss. If I want to take the afternoon off to be with a beautiful woman, there’s no one to stop me.’
I laugh, my head woolly. At first glance he does have it all, but I wonder if there are gaping holes in his life. With balance, would he smile and laugh more often, as I’ve witnessed him do these past few days? Would he push himself and Bold so hard for world domination if he had someone to go home to?
When he changes the subject, I let it go. My heart is heavy while he talks about the annual Cherry Blossom Festival, which happens for a few weeks in late March and early April, when every Sakura tree in the city blooms almost overnight. I want to be caught up in the buoyant atmosphere, the magic of Mother Nature, but understanding him is making me question parts of myself I’d thought were set in stone.
We walk beside the flowering-cherry-tree-lined canal. The laden boughs arch over the river and form a canopy of pale pink candyfloss. Petals, delicate pink snowflakes, fall on us like confetti. It’s magical and stunning, an oasis of natural beauty in the middle of an urban jungle, and I’m speechless at his thoughtfulness in bringing me here.
It’s only when I catch Hudson staring at me with an indulgent smile on his face that I realise I’ve been silent for a while—staring in wonder but also lost in my thoughts.
‘Thanks for this—it’s so pretty.’
His smile is wide.
I flush and bump shoulders with him. ‘You live here. You get to see it every year.’
He shrugs. ‘This is my first visit to the festival. I’m normally too busy to bother.’
He takes out his phone and tugs me under his arm, positioning us in a photo that’s backdropped by clouds of blossom and the shocking pink lanterns that hang from the trees.
I smile for the selfie, choked with a well of emotion. ‘Well, in that case, I’m glad we could see it together.’
I kiss him briefly, holding a part of myself back. I can’t push Hudson Black into the mould of my perfect man. I’m looking for real, not fairy-tale fantasy. What we’re doing this week has nothing to do with feelings. We’re just messing around for another fifty-one hours and nineteen minutes.
He picks a blossom petal from my hair. ‘Are you hungry? Let’s get some food.’
I want to be hungry. The narrow side-streets teem with cafés, bars and eateries, and rows of outdoor stalls sell festival-themed food. Hanami dango, the iconic pink, green and white sweet dumplings; exquisitely crafted sushi, which look too pretty to eat; and delicious karaage chicken. There are even stalls of frothy pink champagne in tall flutes, decorated with strawberries.
I purchase two glasses of the champagne from a nearby stall. ‘To skiving off. I wish I’d tried it years ago.’
Hudson grins and clinks his plastic flute to mine. ‘I’ll make a rebel out of you yet. Come on. I have a surprise.’ He leads me to a spot near the river where people are seated under the trees on picnic rugs.
‘I arranged a picnic,’ he says, collecting a basket and blanket from a woman dressed in a beautiful silk kimono decorated with a blossom pattern.
‘Arigatō gozaimashita.’ Hudson thanks her and we find a spot to spread out the rug at the water’s edge.
‘I don’t know what to say...’ My voice wobbles. ‘This is so perfect. Thank you. Are you trying to win the “most romantic gesture” award as well as the “sexy seduction” trophy...?’
I take a seat, my heart fluttering. I could so easily be swept along. I was brought up to believe I could have it all without compromise. My mum and my two older sisters juggled family and a career as well as finding deep romantic love. I won’t be short-changed from my birthright just because it didn’t work out with Sterling, and I won’t make the same mistake twice. I learned a lot from my brief marriage, mainly about myself. Next time I fall, I’ll take my time and make sure it’s right for me.
&
nbsp; ‘No.’ His stare flares with heat but he laughs good-naturedly. ‘It’s a Japanese tradition. They call it hanami, which means “flower viewing.” It’s a spring celebration that dates back centuries.’
I look around. Yes, there are tourists here, but it’s obvious this festival is a big part of Japanese culture.
Hudson pops the cork on a chilled bottle of pink champagne and tops up our glasses while I enthusiastically unpack the delicious-looking food and try not to overinterpret what this means. Long term, I want more than great sexual chemistry with a wonderful man. I want a lover who shares my dreams and aspirations, not just my professional ambitions. I want my own large family—boisterous birthday parties and Christmases and any other excuse to get together.
My family isn’t perfect, but Mum and Dad taught us the importance of staying together. We turn to each other when times are tough and celebrate each other’s successes. I want to continue the family traditions and make my own in the future. To keep Mum alive in any way I can.
‘This trip is going to be disastrous for my waistline,’ I say, desperately trying to return to our easy vibe.
‘I’m happy to provide hourly workouts if required,’ he responds with an inviting gleam in his eye.
‘Now, there’s a training regime I could get with.’ I celebrate the return of our banter, marvelling at the canopy of blossom overhead.
‘Mum would have loved this,’ I tell him with a sigh. ‘When I was at uni, before I met Sterling, we travelled together every opportunity we had—mainly around Europe. I was single, Dad was still working, and my brothers and sisters were busy with their lives and their children, so girls’ weekends became our thing. She never voiced regrets about having a big family and starting young, but she encouraged all of us to spread our wings and fly.’
‘Perhaps she saw herself in you.’ He strokes the back of my hand. ‘She’d be proud of you, you know.’