Her words tumbled out quickly, “I was running along the lake, and next thing I knew I was at Oak Street Beach and then . . . I don’t know, I just ended up in front of your building.” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “This is a bad idea. I should go.” She reached for the panel, no doubt to get to work on those buttons again.

“After you’ve gone through all the trouble?” He stepped aside. “Come in.”

“I really shouldn’t.”

“In another five minutes it will be dark. Come in. I’ll drive you.” Allie hesitated. His palm gripped the edge of the door and he pushed it back as it began to close again. “In or out, Miss Sinclair?”

Reluctantly she stepped off the elevator. Hudson dropped his arm and moved with her, the elevator doors whispering closed behind him. Her soft-soled shoes made no sound on his dark wood floors as she headed toward the sweeping view that any artist would go to his grave attempting to duplicate. One he felt privileged to have¸ but perhaps took for granted. The entire city of Chicago was revealed below, its glittering lights and the cascading traffic a mesmerizing display.

Hudson leaned his hip against the breakfast bar. He watched Allie as she examined the room, looking for what, he wasn’t sure. Insight? As if he could be figured out by the overpriced items selected by an overpaid designer.

She paused in front of a polished steel sculpture, her fingers skimming over the curved edges. The presence of her in his place tightened his skin and an instinctive demand shot down to his groin. His eyes deliberately drifted along the curve of her hips and down her long, athletic legs. He relished the memory of those soft feminine curves underneath him, gasping and leaving him practically begging.

He bit down on a groan. “Are you a fan of Kapoor?”

Jerking her hand away, she looked over at him. “The artist who designed the Bean?”

Hudson nodded.

Confused, Allie looked back at the mirrored sculpture. “I thought he only did public commissions.”

He smirked. “Something to drink?”

“I’d love a water,” she said, still admiring the piece.

Hudson yanked the Sub-zero open, the cool air wafting from the stainless steel box as he pulled out a bottle of water. When he turned around, Allie’s gaze slid up and a perfect blush heated her cheeks. Not from exertion, but because she’d been caught checking him out. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he set the bottle in front of her.

“You look nice. Have a hot date?” Allie cracked open the bottle of water and took a sip.

Hudson leveled his stare. His expression remained impassive. “I do, yes.” He lingered on her face, cataloging the delicate details and catching an imperceptible flinch of . . . “You’re not jealous, are you, Miss Sinclair?”

Fifteen minutes ago he thought he knew the answer to that question, but that was before she showed up at his penthouse half-naked. He held her stare, willing her to say one simple word. Bastard that he was, he’d drop everything, cancel his date, and spend the remainder of the evening between her thighs.

“Of course not.” A brief scowl creased her perfect brow.

His lips twitched. It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for but her expression was indeed an admission of the green-eyed monster lurking beneath that beautiful package. “If you say so.”

“Same girl I saw you with the other night?”

“Sophia? Yes.” His words came clipped and fast.

“Pretty name. Suits her.” She avoided his stare and twisted the cap on and off the water bottle. “So, how long have the two of you been together?”

“We’re not.” He took a deep breath, counting the seconds it would take to get her completely naked. “Ready to go?”

Allie frowned. “Still, you must like her to be in such a rush.”

Hudson took a few quick strides toward her. “On the contrary, Alessandra, I’m in a rush because I’m dying to peel you out of that little number you’re wearing and fuck you on that barstool until you beg me to stop.” His stare burned into her. “And believe me, as hard as I am right now, I’m just crazy enough to do it.” She flushed, her chest rising with shallow breathes, and he knew she was picturing every detail. “What’s it going to be, Alessandra, barstool or ride home?”

“A ride home would be great.” Her voice was slightly breathless and thoroughly lacking conviction.

“I’ll get my keys.”

***

Hudson gripped the wheel of his Aston Martin, trying to get a bead on the feeling inside his chest. A low hum vibrated through his body, growing more intense the further he got from Allie’s brownstone.

She’d made her feelings on the matter clear, so he’d shoved aside his all-consuming lust. But when he’d said he wanted to fuck her tonight, it was the God’s honest truth, and getting away from her wasn’t helping or easing his need. No cooling of the jets or simmering on a back burner. Damn it, why in the hell did she just happen to stop by his place? Not knowing wasn’t sitting well and heading in the direction he was going seemed like a violation of something pure, something he needed, something meant to be.

The light changed green, and with the reflexes of a race car driver, he hit the gas. The DB9 came awake, roaring across the lanes as Hudson weaved into a turning lane at the next intersection. The light was still green, the arrow a blazing sign telling him what to do. He cranked the wheel with renewed determination and flipped a louie. The DB9 picked up speed, weaving around a soccer-mom special and then a luxury vehicle that was all flash and no dash. Zipping through the intersection and rounding the corner back down Astor, Hudson realized he’d plow down, perhaps kill, anything that got in his way. This time, despite feeling about ten types of stupid for chasing after a woman, he was going to get answers.

Chapter Eleven

Hudson’s hand clenched tightly into a fist and he pounded on the door. He waited ten seconds, then pounded again. Usually he wasn’t into making a scene, but suddenly he didn’t give a shit about pretenses and dove headfirst into Idiotsville.

Just when he was about to rip the damn door off the hinges, it swung open. “Took you long enough.” Not an ounce of amusement resonated in his voice.

Alessandra stared at him for a beat, her face registering disbelief and bewilderment. “I was in the shower.”

Hudson stood framed in the doorway. Right now he wasn’t feeling like the billionaire mogul the rest of the world knew, but a man past the limits of control. His eyes raked over her from head to toe and she pulled the lapels of her robe tighter against his searing gaze. “Why did you come to my place?” he demanded.

Her spine straightened. “Shouldn’t you be out with a leggy brunette about now?”

“Canceled. Now answer the question.”

“I . . .” She hesitated.

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know.” Her grip tightened on the silk robe, wrinkling the fabric.

“Bullshit. You do know. You can’t stop thinking about me.” He jutted forward, bracing one hand on the doorjamb. “I know this because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Don’t—”

“Every time I close my eyes I see you, feel your mouth sliding against mine, and it drives me fucking crazy—”

She held up her hand. “Hudson, please stop.”

“Then you show up at my penthouse. And now, knowing you’re naked underneath that robe . . .”

“You can’t keep saying these things to me.”

“You don’t mean that. In fact,” his eyes flicked down briefly to her nipples straining against the thin fabric, begging for his attention, “I think it turns you on.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“Do I? I bet if I rip open that robe and feel between your legs, you’re soaking wet.” His gaze darkened and his voice lowered to an intimate challenge. “Want me to prove it?”