The Dare Collection: March 2018. Nicola MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.
fobbed Hudson off but the guy was right. We’d been friends for a long time. If anyone knew me, faults and all, he did.
‘Mine.’ I pinched the bridge of my nose to ease some of the tension building behind my eyes. ‘Should never have happened.’
Hudson’s eyebrows shot up. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard you express post-coital regret.’
‘Bullshit. Remember that time we double-dated those bogan twins from Bundaberg? Disastrous.’
Hudson laughed. ‘Don’t change the subject. From what I saw, this Abby chick had class stamped all over her. Too cool between the sheets, huh?’
Too hot, more like it. Scorching, soul-searing hot. The type of woman who got inside a guy’s head and wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard I tried. And I’d tried. Boy, had I tried. But she was there, every time I allowed my attention to wander for a moment. Front and centre. Naked. Wanton. Willing.
Fuck.
‘Abby’s Remy’s protégé and I shouldn’t have gone there.’
‘Why not?’ Hudson’s grin turned wicked. ‘From the way I saw her draped all over you as you left this place as fast as humanly possible, she was seriously into you.’
‘Still too complicated,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Anyway, what’s going on with you?’
‘You don’t get off that easy.’ Hudson glanced at his watch. ‘I was just heading down to Jim’s for a quick workout before coming back here to do the books. Want to join me so I can grill you some more?’
‘You’re still working out at Jim’s?’
That place had saved my life as a kid. I’d been fourteen when Hudson had taken me to the run-down gym on the outskirts of Kings Cross, where kids could box for recreation, sport or just to vent their frustration.
I’d done a lot of the latter.
When I couldn’t tell anyone about Dad’s crappy treatment at home, I’d take it out at Jim’s. First on a punching bag, later in sparring matches with other teens. It had been cathartic, being able to physically vent in a safe place, and I hadn’t been back in over a decade.
‘Yeah, no better place to spar.’ Hudson jabbed a left hook in my direction and feigned a dodge to the right. ‘Come on, will do you good. You’ve drifted off about five times in the last few minutes and that means you’ve got it bad for this new chick.’
If he only knew. Being with Abby hadn’t dampened my attraction to her. If anything it had intensified, and that wasn’t a good thing. ‘Don’t you ever stop with the bullshit?’
Hudson chuckled and this time jabbed me on the arm for real. ‘Let’s go, champ. It’ll be my pleasure to whip your ass.’
‘Dream on, dickhead.’
An hour later, Hudson had done exactly that but I felt so much better for the workout and being at Jim’s had a lot to do with my lift in mood.
Walking into Jim’s was like coming home. The pungent smell of sweat warred with liniment. Four boxing rings flooded with natural light from rows of windows set high in the walls. Free weights and punching bags in the far corner, with an old-fashioned juice bar next to it.
There weren’t many guys around this morning. Probably all at work. Where I should be, rather than running from my present into the past.
‘You’re rusty,’ Hudson said, draping a towel around his neck and handing me one.
‘And you’re soft in the middle,’ I said, socking a punch into his solar plexus. He dodged.
‘Bet that’s not what Abby says to you.’
This time, I aimed harder and he sidestepped easily, laughing so loud a trainer nearby grinned.
‘Seriously, dude, if you like her this much, do something about it.’
I hated the flare of hope his words elicited. ‘Like what, Einstein?’
‘Damned if I know. Do I look like an expert on women?’
‘Good point.’ I wiped the sweat off my face and towelled my torso. ‘Seeing anyone?’
‘Nah. Between managing the bar and doing part-time work at the theatre, I don’t have much time left for a relationship.’
‘Who said anything about the R word?’
He snorted. ‘I’m not like you. I like to date women for longer than five hours.’
‘I’ll have you know Abby stayed the night.’
The second the retort popped out I wished I could take it back.
‘And there you go, dude. Proof that she’s not like the rest.’
‘Back off, bozo.’ I advanced on him in mock anger so he’d do just that.
Predictably, Hudson just stood there like the big, blond lug he’d always been. Loyal to a fault. The kind of mate I could depend on.
‘Make me, squirt.’
Considering I towered over him by three inches, it was a hollow taunt, one he’d made many times as a kid, and we laughed.
‘Let’s get back to the club and you can show me proof you haven’t been embezzling me out of a fortune.’ I tugged on the end of a glove lace with my teeth, thinking I should do this more often.
Boxing worked off frustration of all varieties, including sexual, like nothing else could.
‘Sounds like a plan.’ As Hudson took off his gloves and helped me with mine, I knew he wanted to say more but was holding back.
‘What’s up?’
‘It’s this place.’ Hudson gestured around. ‘I don’t get back here as often as I like but whenever I do it’s like the past crashes over me and I wonder why I put myself through it.’
That was another thing that had bonded us, our crappy childhoods. His father had made mine look like a frigging saint.
‘Cut the heartstring crap, bozo, and let’s get back to work.’
Hudson blinked rapidly, as if coming back from a place of bad memories, before his signature grin made me sigh in relief. ‘After you, big guy.’
As we traded banter while changing, swapping the usual crap guys did, I knew I’d done the right thing in taking time away from the patisserie and Abby today.
But I couldn’t play chicken for ever, and come tomorrow I’d be back there, wishing I hadn’t complicated matters and wanting her more than ever.
Abby
AFTER MAKAYLA AND I locked up I’d intended on taking a hot bath and having an early night. But as I entered the small one-room apartment over the patisserie, it didn’t offer the comfort it usually did.
I’d never forget the first time Remy brought me up here and said I could stay as long as I liked. That had been over a year ago, the day I’d walked out on Bardley and into Le Miel. In search of comfort via the delicious pastries Remy made, I’d frequented the patisserie often during my marriage, using it as my go-to place to escape home. I’d spent many afternoons sitting at the small table near the counter, sipping at a latte and trying to stop at only one croissant while studying.
Remy would come out from the kitchen occasionally and he’d always stop to chat. As kind-hearted and generous with his time as he was with his magnificent pastries.
I’d never plucked up the courage to tell him that I also enjoyed baking and that to me he had my dream job. Instead, when he asked, I pretended to wax lyrical about my business