One-Night Alibi. Kara Lennox
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the little critters stopped midair about six inches from Liz’s face, seeming to look into her eyes in a curious way, then abruptly zoomed off.
She laughed in surprise and delight. “I’ve never seen so many at once.” She kept her voice low, so as not to disturb the hummers. “And I’ve never seen them this close. It’s like we stepped into a magic storybook.” She turned then to look at him, and she must have seen something of what he was thinking—that he’d never been so close to such a beautiful woman, and that her naked sense of wonder was surprisingly erotic.
Hudson felt privileged—as if he’d seen a side of her few ever saw.
Whatever she’d seen in his face, she must have liked it, because when he leaned in to steal a kiss, she didn’t object. She sipped a quick breath before their lips met.
She tasted of the martini she’d recently drunk, and he wondered idly how many she’d had. Only one or two drinks could lower inhibitions. He suspected Liz wasn’t the type who picked up strange men at weddings; then again, he didn’t know her at all.
Her lips also tasted of strawberry lip gloss, and when he ruffled her hair, he caught another whiff of that fruity scent—apple, maybe.
Unable to resist, he placed a series of light kisses along her jawline, then dipped his head to nuzzle her neck, pressing his nose against her soft skin.
Mangos. Her skin smelled like a ripe mango right off the tree, like the ones he’d had in Mexico. The woman was a veritable fruit basket of sensations. Even her breasts reminded him of ripe fruit, and he suddenly realized he had one of them in his hand. Her nipple peaked, pressing against his palm through the silky-thin material of her dress.
Liz moaned, soft and low.
Boisterous laughter drifted from the pool area, reminding Hudson that they were still in a public area, that anyone could happen upon them. He wouldn’t really care, but she might.
“I want to take you someplace more private,” he said, his lips close to her ear.
“Do you live alone?” she asked, not bothering to play coy.
“Yes. But my house is at Lake Conroe.” He didn’t want to drive all the way out there. An amorous mood sometimes had a way of evaporating during an hour on the road. “How about we find an empty room around here somewhere?” Surely some place in this monstrous house they could find a room with a lock and a bed or a sofa.
“Too many people around. Let’s go.” Without waiting for agreement, she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the hummingbird garden, the magical little creatures forgotten. Hudson hadn’t paid his respects to the bride and groom, but he doubted he would be missed.
He and Liz entered the house through a side door, making their way through a mudroom, then the huge granite-and-stainless-steel kitchen, which was bustling with activity. A champagne cork popped. A tray of hors d’oeuvres came out of the oven. No one paid two interlopers any attention.
Under other circumstances, Hudson would have wanted to gawk at the opulence of Daniel Logan’s home. But his attention was too firmly fixed on the siren who had, for some questionable reason, culled him out of the herd of men in attendance at the society wedding.
Maybe his luck was turning.
CHAPTER TWO
ELIZABETH DOWNEY HADN’T meant for this to happen. As she sat in the passenger seat of Hudson Vale’s classic 280Z, her gaze fixed on his firm profile as he deftly wove the sports car through traffic on I-45, she considered speaking up, changing the course of her actions. She could tell him she’d changed her mind. She had no doubt he would promptly turn around and take her back to the wedding or to her own apartment.
She’d never met Hudson until today, but she knew a lot about him. When she’d seen the headline about a Montgomery County sheriff’s detective allegedly beating Franklin Mandalay during a bogus arrest, she’d been consumed with curiosity—about the incident and about the cop who’d stood up to a powerful and wealthy attorney. She had learned everything she could about Hudson, even paying a private investigator to suss him out, find out his story.
There wasn’t much. Other than one incident during his rookie year when he’d been reprimanded for punching a wife-beater, Hudson Vale had an exemplary record. Prior to becoming a cop, he’d led a completely normal life. Two parents, a brother, middle-class suburbia. His dad had been a Houston cop, retired now. The Vale boys had gone to public school, then community college. The younger brother, Parker, was also a cop.
Hudson had never been arrested. He’d never been married. His only debt was a sizable mortgage on his house.
Elizabeth’s eyes had nearly popped out of her head when she’d spotted Hudson at the reception. She had stared at him rudely, she knew, but she’d had to be sure it was him. His photos certainly hadn’t done him justice. In two dimensions, he was uncommonly good-looking. In three, he made her skin tingle and her mouth water. He made her think of sinful things.
She’d just wanted to meet him, that was all. Share one harmless dance. Size him up. But within five minutes of meeting him, she knew one or two dances wouldn’t be enough. She sensed a lot going on behind those hazel eyes and the easy smile that faded when he thought no one was looking.
While his attention was on his driving, she took a leisurely inventory of his features. He had a strong jaw and a slightly hawkish nose—those were her first observations. His hair, worn a little long for cop standards, was wavy and streaked by the sun. It would probably curl if he let it get much longer.
His eyelashes were way longer than any man’s ought to be. His lips were full, and whenever a car slowed in front of them, he teased his lower lip with his teeth, a gesture that did strange, squiggly things to her insides.
She cracked the window, drawing a rush of fresh air onto her face.
“Want me to turn on the AC?” Hudson asked.
“No, this is fine.” She focused on his hand, which rested casually on the gearshift knob. He had a couple of healing scrapes on his knuckles. Souvenirs from his violent encounter?
They lapsed into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward.
Again, she thought about telling him she’d been hasty. She could stop this now. End the encounter. But the little she’d learned about Hudson only made her want to know more.
“What made you become a cop?” That was a legitimate thing for her to ask. Any new acquaintance might pose a similar question.
“My dad was a cop. I admired him—still do. My brother’s a cop. My uncle’s a cop. Guess it’s in the blood. What made you become a social worker?”
I knew it would drive my father crazy. “Long story.”
“We’re not on a tight schedule.”
“Like a lot of people, I didn’t know what I wanted, so I just gravitated toward classes that interested me. Ended up with a bachelor’s in sociology and a master’s in psychology. Social work was a good fit, and I like helping people.”
“How do you help people? I mean, what sort of social work do you do?”
“I work at a free clinic. People who come to us aren’t just physically sick, they’re often in very bad situations—bad relationships, substance abuse, prostitution. I counsel them on how to escape those situations and create better lives for themselves.”
Hudson nodded. “Hmm.”
She couldn’t be sure, but she sensed a slight note of disapproval. He could join the crowd. A lot of people thought she could have done better, and didn’t hesitate to tell her so. Others thought social work coddled criminals and the lazy.
Maybe she could have been a doctor or a lawyer. Certainly her father thought so. But she liked her career just fine.
“Don’t you get frustrated?” Hudson finally