Wild Thing Page 4

Her dry response made him laugh again. ‘Tell me you don’t feel more comfortable now than when you first came in?’

  So that was what he’d been doing. Trying to put her at ease. She should’ve been relieved. Instead, a familiar mortification in his presence swamped her; had she imagined the attraction between them?

  His boner during their hug could’ve meant nothing, a simple physiological reaction guys got when in close proximity with a woman. And his banter could’ve been exactly as he’d said, a way to put her at ease.

  To her chagrin, he squeezed her hand, like a friend would do.

  ‘Look, Mak, we have to work together. I think it’s great we’ve confronted the past and reached a point where we can talk like this. It’ll make the next few weeks a hell of a lot easier.’

  He was right, of course. While they couldn’t resume their old friendship, they had to be civil.

  But he hadn’t released her hand, and as she stared at it, his strong tanned fingers wrapped around hers, she couldn’t help but think that for a guy who professed friendship, he’d been teetering on the brink of overstepping the mark.

  As if to reinforce it, his thumb brushed across the back of her hand in a slow, languorous sweep that made her tingle and bite back a moan.

  Hell.

  She could do friendship with Hudson.

  Anything else could only end in disaster.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HUDSON COULDN’T HAVE been more relieved to see the entire dance cast troop into the studio five minutes later, after he’d given Mak a brief rundown of her duties in the show.

  The longest frigging five minutes of his life.

  He’d always been attracted to her but now...fuck, he got hard again just thinking about that moment when she’d been in his arms, her lithe body pressed against him, her familiar exotic fragrance befuddling his senses.

  She’d worn that perfume for as long as he could remember. One of the dancers in the club her mum had worked at had brought it back from Hong Kong for her and damned if he wanted to know how she still managed to get her hands on more.

  Had she travelled? Worked overseas? Had a boyfriend obtained more from there? So many questions he had no answers to and it irked that he knew so little about her when he’d once known everything.

  Or so he’d thought.

  He was glad they’d cleared the air. As much as could be expected, that was. He hadn’t told her why he’d freaked out that night he’d caught her stripping and she hadn’t told him why it had been the most mortifying night of her life.

  He’d wanted to ask. Hell, he wanted to know what drove her to it when she’d been ingenuous and sheltered despite growing up in the sin capital of Australia.

  But prying wouldn’t have served any good, not when they had to work together. He’d tried to put her at ease, to ask innocuous questions, but she’d been defensive and wary. He didn’t blame her, considering how their friendship had ended. But he wanted some semblance of their old camaraderie now so they could at least work together and not have to deal with old wounds.

  He’d invited her over earlier than the other cast members to smooth things over between them. He’d succeeded to a point but having Mak look at him with anything other than loathing only served to remind him how much he wanted her and, unfortunately, his dick had no problem keeping up with the programme.

  He’d touched her, several times. More to prove to himself that his reaction to having her in his arms had been an aberration, his body’s way of telling him to get laid sooner rather than later.

  It hadn’t been, because even with a simple handhold, he’d felt it, that insistent tug of attraction that grabbed him by the balls and wouldn’t let go.

  A major problem, considering Mak was his lead dancer and he was her boss, not to mention they both carried enough baggage to fill an airport carousel.

  ‘See you at rehearsals Monday, boss.’ The lead male, a short guy named Shane, clapped him on the back with an overfamiliarity that set his teeth on edge.

  But Hudson forced a smile and nodded. ‘Have a good weekend.’

  The rest of the eight-person crew filtered out. Everyone except Mak, who had vanished. Surely she wouldn’t have snuck out without saying goodbye?

  The thought saddened him and just as he’d poured his first bourbon from the makeshift bar in the corner, she slipped back into the room, her eyes widening in surprise as she noted it had emptied.

  ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Gone home to start their weekends early.’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s eight-thirty.’

  ‘Early by clubbing standards.’

  ‘I know that.’ She rolled her eyes as she padded towards him, having discarded her stilettos ages ago. ‘I’ll have you know I’m the dance queen of Sydney.’

  He liked her haughty playfulness, remembered her often throwing out challenges to best him. ‘There’s a difference between dancing for a living and burning up the floor for fun.’

  ‘I’m the best at both.’ Her chin tilted as she stared him down. ‘Single in Sydney means let the good times roll.’

  Grinning, he said, ‘We’re still talking about dancing, yeah?’

  She snickered, a cute sound that catapulted him back in time. ‘You’re such a guy.’

  ‘Glad you noticed.’ He flexed his biceps, garnering a dry chuckle. ‘Because I’m single in Sydney and I can guarantee that whenever I get anywhere near a dance floor my right foot morphs into my left, so I have two of them.’

  She muttered something that sounded like ‘bullshit’ under her breath, before flashing him a teasing smile he hadn’t seen in forever. ‘As I recall, whenever you were working the Kings Cross clubs you’d manage to squeeze in a boogie and trust me, your moves were far from a guy with two left feet.’

  ‘You kept an eye on me? I’m touched.’ He clutched his chest, thrilled that they’d reverted to swapping banter as they used to. It was what he’d been aiming for earlier but she hadn’t responded, too guarded as she’d tried to get a read on him.

  Now that she’d loosened up, he hoped they could continue in the same vein. It had been so natural back then, teasing each other like this, sharing laughs. He’d missed this light-hearted fun the most.

  ‘You know all the girls had a crush on you back then.’

  ‘Even you?’ He leaned on the bar, trying to appear casual when he wanted her answer to be affirmative too much.

  ‘I had more sense,’ she said with a nonchalant shrug, but not before he glimpsed the cheeky spark in her eyes.

  Yeah, the old Mak was back and he couldn’t be happier. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the door a second before she surprised him and nodded. ‘Vodka and lemon, please.’

  ‘Coming right up.’ He didn’t need to measure out the quantities. He’d helped out behind bars since he could practically walk and he found the familiar action soothing. Or maybe that had more to do with Mak watching his every move.

  He should’ve found her scrutiny off-putting. He didn’t. Instead, her presence had a calming effect, the way it always had.

  Back then she’d steadied him in a topsy-turvy world he’d rallied against with every fibre of his being. He’d done whatever it took to survive, saving every cent he’d earned from odd jobs to formulate a plan to escape the life that had threatened to drag him down.

  These days, he spent way too much money on caring for the man who’d done his best to make his life hell, but the way he saw it, paying for his father’s care facility kept the old bastard away from him. When he saw him, it was on his terms. Just the way he liked it.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ She perched on a bar stool and rested her chin in her hands, studying him. ‘You look sad. Are my lame jokes at your expense that bad?’

  He shook his head, impressed she could still rea
d him so well. ‘Just thinking about Dad.’

  Wariness clouded her eyes. Like most people who lived at the Cross back then, she’d known Wiley Watt was a deadhead drunk and a mean prick. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Dementia claimed him a few years ago. Drifts in and out. He’s in a private facility.’

  Before she could say anything else he changed the subject, not wanting to taint their reawakening friendship by discussing the one subject he’d rather avoid at all costs. ‘I saw Bluey today.’

  Her eyes lit up and for a ridiculous second jealousy stabbed him as he wished she’d look at him like that. ‘Haven’t seen him in years. How is he?’

  Damn, when he’d wanted to change the subject, he’d grabbed at the first thought that popped into his head. Not the smartest move, considering that brightness in her eyes would fade the moment he divulged the truth.

  ‘He has lung cancer. Terminal. Few months tops.’ He slid her drink towards her, and when she slumped he felt like he’d revealed there was no Santa. ‘But he’s happy. Brash as ever. Wanted me to hear it from him and not get a call for his funeral.’

  ‘That’s Bluey,’ she said, blinking rapidly, as he quelled his first instinct to bundle her in his arms. ‘He was so cute, the way he mooned over Mum.’

  ‘Did she know?’

  ‘Of course.’ A soft smile of remembrance played about her mouth. ‘But Mum was too smart to mix business with pleasure.’

  She eyeballed him as she said it, a clear warning he should heed. But damned if keeping his hands off her wouldn’t be the hardest thing he’d done in a long time.

  ‘Smart woman, your mum,’ he said, taking a slug of his bourbon. ‘You must miss her.’

  ‘Every single day.’ She downed two thirds of her vodka in one gulp. ‘That’s what I hated most after you weren’t around any more because I’d just lost Mum. And not having my best friend there to bounce ideas and feelings off, the kind of friend who moved in the same circles, the friend who knew me almost better than I knew myself...’

  She trailed off and for a horrifying moment he thought she might burst into tears.

  Before he could say anything remotely comforting, she tossed back another gulp of vodka. ‘Don’t mind me. It’s the alcohol loosening my tongue and making me maudlin.’

  ‘I missed us too,’ he blurted, wishing he hadn’t said anything when she stared at him in hope as she used to.

  Back then he’d known he couldn’t be Mak’s hero, no matter how much he wanted to. He wasn’t built that way. He’d learned from a young age to take care of number one and that was him.

  He hadn’t fostered anything beyond friendship between them because of it, even after Mak had turned eighteen. It would’ve been so easy to slip into a relationship with her, especially considering how much he’d wanted her.

  But he’d known he wasn’t the kind of guy Mak deserved, not the kind of guy she wanted. Not really. Mak craved stability and he could never give that to her. Not after what he’d been through. Pushing her away that night he’d seen her strip had almost been a relief in some ways.

  Now she was back. Tugging at his heartstrings all over again. Making him want to slay a goddamn arena full of dragons in order to protect her from bad stuff.

  Not good.

  He was a different man now. He’d moved on from that guy who’d felt unworthy. But he still couldn’t be her guy. He had too many demons, most of them linked to that night he’d seen her strip, a night he might never get past no matter how close they became.

  ‘Here’s to us,’ she said, raising her almost empty glass. ‘To friendship.’

  Friendship he could do. Contemplating anything else would be beyond madness.

  ‘To friendship.’ He clinked his glass against hers but when he took a slug of bourbon it burned all the way down his throat, testament to the lie he’d just uttered.

  He didn’t just want friendship with Mak. He wanted her. He always had.

  In his arms. In his bed. Wrapped around him.

  It was going to be one hell of a tough time ahead.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MAKAYLA DIDN’T BELIEVE in magic. Not since she’d watched a show backstage as a ten-year-old and discovered the magician was merely good at fooling people into believing what they wanted to believe.

  But someone had sure sprinkled a handful of fairy dust over her today because she’d never danced so well. Rehearsal had started at five p.m. Monday and she’d been at it for two hours. Feet flying, legs kicking, arms spinning. Nailing every single move. The dancers around her were good—it looked as if Hudson only hired the best—but today, she was better.

  She didn’t get it. Usually when she landed a new role it took her a day or two to pick up the rhythms, to trial the steps, until it clicked. Today, from the moment she’d stepped onto the studio stage at Embue and the choreographer had outlined the major moves, she’d been on fire.

  Now, with sweat pouring off her and her damp leotard clinging to her skin, she slumped onto the nearest bench and reached for her drink bottle. Maybe it was something in the water. Or maybe it was dancing for the man heading towards her, admiration making his eyes glow indigo.

  ‘Wow, that was impressive.’ Hudson sat beside her, his thigh almost brushing hers, and she forced herself to relax. ‘You’re good.’

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ she said, raising her water bottle to him in a mock toast before downing half of it.

  He chuckled. ‘What do you think of the show?’

  She was paid to dance, not give an opinion, but she liked the fact he’d asked. ‘It’s great. High energy, good tempos, catchy songs.’

  ‘I’ve been working part-time in local theatre, behind the scenes mostly, for a while. It’s something of a hobby.’ Concern pinched his mouth, at odds with his usual confidence. Even as a guy in his early twenties doing whatever it took to survive he’d had a cockiness about him, a self-assurance that she’d wished she could emulate. ‘Tanner’s never done anything like this at Embue before. He took a chance on my idea. I need it to rock.’

  ‘It will,’ she said, instinctively patting his thigh in reassurance before belatedly realising she’d made a dumb move.

  Being attracted to her boss was one thing. Touching him entered a whole other stratosphere of stupidity.

  His muscle flexed beneath her palm and she snatched it away before insanity prevailed and she slid her hand higher.

  ‘With your talent, why haven’t you had any long-term roles?’

  She appreciated his switch back to business-like. That impulsive gaff with her hand had been beyond embarrassing. ‘Not for lack of trying.’

  She picked up a towel, draped it across the back of her neck and dabbed at her face with it. ‘I bust my butt attending auditions. I get countless call-backs. But the big roles seem to elude me.’

  ‘But you’re phenomenal.’ He sounded a tad awestruck, confusion creasing his brow, and she smiled.

  ‘Thanks.’ She bumped him with her shoulder, wishing she could hug him for his rousing endorsement. ‘I’m hoping being the primary dancer in this show will lead to bigger things.’

  ‘Like?’

  She hadn’t articulated her dream out loud to many people for fear of being laughed at. But Hudson had connections. She’d done some online research after she’d landed the lead dancer role and discovered he did a lot of theatre stuff in addition to his management job here at the club that ensured he’d meet a lot of influential people. If he had contacts in the industry, he might be able to help.

  But before she could say anything, he snapped his fingers. ‘How could I forget? You always wanted to be on Broadway. Is that still your goal?’

  Heat flushed her cheeks that he’d remembered something so trivial and she nodded. ‘Sounds far-fetched, huh? But it’s been my end goal since I started dancing as a kid. I want the bright
lights. The big stage. In the most happening city in the world...’

  She trailed off, lost in her musings as she usually was whenever she thought of New York City and how utterly fabulous it would be to visit, let alone live and perform there.

  ‘From what I’ve seen today, you’re good enough to get there and then some,’ he said, staring at her in frank admiration. ‘You’ve got the moves, kid, the kind that could take you all the way.’

  She resisted the urge to preen under his praise; that and fling herself at him in gratitude. Usually, she didn’t need other people inflating her ego; she was a realist and knew she had talent that could flourish given time, effort and the right environment. She’d been lucky enough to have two of the best dance teachers in the biz growing up and they’d never minced words. Giving praise when it was due. Kicking her in the butt when she needed it.

  But having Hudson praise her meant something and she knew why. She’d always valued his opinion. Had sought it out, from his views on her latest lip-gloss colour to upcoming pop bands. Despite their five-year age difference, he’d never made her feel stupid or inept. He’d listened to her; truly listened, then offered sage advice. Yet another thing she’d missed when their friendship ended, not having a sounding board she trusted.

  ‘Hey, did I say something wrong?’ He touched her arm, a brief impersonal touch that sent a jolt all the way down to her toes.

  ‘No, just thinking how much I appreciate having your input again.’ She grabbed the end of her towel and swatted him with it. ‘But careful, I might get a big head with all that flattery.’

  ‘You’re too grounded for that, always have been,’ he said, batting away the towel. ‘I think that’s one of the things that drew me to you back then. Low tolerance for BS, you saw the world how it was yet it didn’t get you down.’ Something akin to darkness, a fleeting shadow, clouded his eyes. ‘Growing up in the Cross was tough but you took it in your stride and didn’t let it taint you.’

  ‘Yeah, I did,’ she said, remembering the one night when she’d succumbed to the seedier side of Kings Cross and why.