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Wild Thing
Nicola Marsh
She’s never been one to be tamedbut he makes her utterly wild…He used to be Makayla Tarrant’s best friend, but five years after he broke her heart, Hudson Watt is back. He’s hotter than ever – but now Hudson can make or break Mak’s dance career. She wants to hate him. She wants to show him she’s immune to his sex-appeal. But most of all, Mak wants him…every night and in every way!


She’s never been one to be tamed
But he makes her utterly wild...
He used to be Makayla Tarrant’s best friend, but five years after he broke her heart Hudson Watt is back. He’s hotter than ever—but now he can make or break Mak’s dance career. She wants to hate him. She wants to show him she’s immune to his sex appeal. But most of all Mak wants him...every night and in every way!
“DARE is Harlequin’s hottest line yet. Every book should come with a free fan. I dare you to try them!”
—Tiffany Reisz, international bestselling author
NICOLA MARSH is a USA TODAY bestselling and multi-award-winning author who loves nothing better than losing herself in a story. A physiotherapist in a previous life, she now divides her time between raising two dashing heroes, whipping up delish meals, cheering on her footy team and writing—her dream job. And she chats on social media. A lot. Come say hi! Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—she’s there! Also find her at nicolamarsh.com (http://www.nicolamarsh.com).
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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Wild Thing
Nicola Marsh


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07129-1
WILD THING
© 2018 Nicola Marsh
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover (#uce5238c9-e20a-562b-a1ca-25170200c3bf)
Back Cover Text (#ucea45f02-fd03-542a-9c43-bd444aa1acbc)
About the Author (#u5e039063-10b6-5ec4-a1c0-a1ffa7faaca3)
Booklist (#u8777fcb8-b1ec-56f3-9fb0-94f27d28f7ba)
Title Page (#udb69f5be-a63b-5246-9b52-ac6c2c25496a)
Copyright (#ueb7d694b-a7b3-5b74-b8df-e12568fac288)
Dedication (#u9a64bdb6-0529-586a-9b2f-c82da08d2870)
CHAPTER ONE (#u55513d56-b1b5-587d-885e-bd33a37c1c7a)
CHAPTER TWO (#u6319ead6-fd39-5150-ad48-47a4903fa278)
CHAPTER THREE (#ua9b1dc93-b800-5eb5-8e5b-0b49d75237d9)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u7473fb53-0bad-5b48-81ad-214759e7142e)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u7797f6d4-245b-562c-8fc2-a93c68b36e5b)
CHAPTER SIX (#uce2a98fb-e78f-5a3b-9b77-1b9471da1109)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#u14e4da31-afcb-5044-aa40-deb65dc360c2)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#uf50f3fa9-cd04-57e2-b9f3-c86166cf370a)
MAKAYLA TARRANT HAD done some embarrassing things in her twenty-four years on the planet.
Falling off the stage as an awestruck seven-year-old at her first ballet recital? Check.
Flashing a nipple courtesy of a wardrobe malfunction during her stage debut at sixteen? Check.
Stripping in front of sleazy strangers at a dive bar in Kings Cross to ensure her mum had the funeral she deserved? Check.
But nothing came close to the mortification making her muscles spasm as she strutted into the most important audition of her life to date and discovered the casting director was Hudson Watt.
Her best friend growing up.
Her confidant.
Her go-to guy.
The only guy she’d ever really trusted.
Until that night five years ago when he’d seen her naked on stage and her world had imploded.
She hadn’t seen him since. Not after the hateful accusations exchanged. He’d misjudged her without giving her a chance to explain. She’d cut him from her life without a second’s remorse.
Okay, so that was a lie. At a time when she’d been reeling from her mum’s unexpected death, a time when she’d needed her friend the most, a time when she’d done the unthinkable to make sure she could afford a decent funeral, Hudson had morphed into a judgemental monster and she’d lost the best friend she’d ever had.
Back then, she’d pretended she didn’t care when in fact she’d grieved for her lost friendship almost as much as for her mum.
‘Next,’ Hudson said, impatience lacing his tone as he flipped pages on a clipboard.
Makayla didn’t move. She couldn’t, her feet heavier than her heart as she hovered left stage, wishing she had the guts to turn around and make a run for it before he saw her.
But she needed this job, desperately. Her roommate, Charlotte, was on the verge of leaving and Makayla’s pay cheque from working part-time at Le Miel, the hippest patisserie in Sydney, wouldn’t cover rent let alone anything else.
She’d auditioned eighteen times for various dance roles over the last few weeks. Nada.
Embue was the coolest nightclub in a city brimming with trendy hotspots and the moment she’d heard they were trialling live shows she’d applied, determined to nail her first dancing role in months. A determination that was rapidly fading when faced with the prospect of dancing for Hudson.
Crap.
What the hell was she going to do?
At that moment, he raised his head and her chance to flee unobserved vanished.
Shock widened his eyes, his lips parting in surprise before compressing into a thin line. A frown slashed his brows. No great surprise he wasn’t pleased to see her, considering what she’d called him the last time they’d met.
‘Hi, Hudson,’ she said, injecting enough fake enthusiasm into her voice to convey nonchalance, but her hand shook as she raised it in a wave. ‘Long time no see.’
She inwardly cringed at her blasé, clichéd greeting as she forced her legs to move, heading for centre stage. Where she’d be under the spotlight. Exposed. Vulnerable.
Hell.
After what seemed like an eternity of him pinning her with a laser-like glare, he nodded. ‘Mak. So you’re auditioning for the lead dancer?’
Mak...only Hudson uttered that one short syllable in a way that touched her deep, like a warm hand strumming her spine in a long languorous caress. His voice seemed lower, huskier, than the last time she’d seen him...when he’d hurled vile assumptions at her and their friendship had crumbled.
‘Mak?’
Damn, he’d caught her daydreaming. Now that the option to flee had gone—she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how rattled she was—she squared her shoulders.
‘Yes. I’d love to be lead dancer in Embue’s new production. Thanks for the opportunity.’
She didn’t give him a chance to respond, shooting the music co-ordinator a quick nod to start her track.
She’d be okay once the song started. The dread making her gut churn would fade. The nerves making her muscles seize would ease. It had to. Because she couldn’t fail this audition. Not with so much at stake.
As the first booming bass beat of a Lady Gaga hit blasted from the sound system, an instant wave of calm washed over Makayla.
She could do this.
Music and dance and moving to a rhythm, she understood.
Men who abandoned her when she needed them most, not so much.
As the tempo increased, she began her routine. Steps and twirls and kicks, a high-energy routine designed to dazzle. She let the music take her, her feet pounding to the beat, her arms slicing through the air in perfect synchronisation.
It had always been like this, from the moment she’d seen her mum dance on stage in a nightly Kings Cross revue, a wide-eyed three-year-old mesmerised by the glittery costumes, the make-up and the applause.
She’d adored her mum, had wanted to be exactly like her. Emulating her grace and elegance and vibrancy on stage. But Makayla also wanted more. More kudos. More recognition. More.
Broadway. The pinnacle. Her dream.
But unless she scored a leading role soon, her dream would be in tatters, like her bank account.
The song drew to a close and Makayla threw herself into the finale, a run across the stage complete with high scissor split, before landing nimbly on her feet, arms flung high in victory.
The music cut off, the silence deafening.
At some auditions, she’d seen directors clap for outstanding performances.
Hudson didn’t move a muscle.
Swallowing the burgeoning lump in her throat, she stepped to the edge of the stage, out of the spotlight.
He scribbled something down before glancing up at her, his face unreadable.
Her heart sank but she forced a smile. A smile that wavered the longer he stared at her through narrowed eyes.
‘We’ll be in touch,’ he said, and, with a curt nod, dismissed her.
Disappointment made her knees wobble, but she’d be damned if she gave him an insight into her devastation.
Mustering what little courage she had left, she strode offstage.
And flipped him the bird behind the plush gold curtain.
CHAPTER TWO (#uf50f3fa9-cd04-57e2-b9f3-c86166cf370a)
HUDSON BIT BACK a guffaw.
Mak had flipped him the bird when she thought he couldn’t see. But Embue was renowned for its many mirrors and he’d seen her, clear as day, as she’d exited the stage.
Feisty. Bold. Confident. Still the same old Mak. Yet she wasn’t the same, not by a long shot.
It had been five years since he’d seen her in that Kings Cross strip club, naked in front of a room of slobbering Neanderthals. Five years since he’d fucked up. Big time.
She’d matured since then, her curves more womanly, her legs a tad longer, her eyes a deeper blue, her hair a rich glorious auburn. She’d always been a stunner growing up but now Mak could knock a guy to his knees and make him grovel to get back up.
When he’d seen her name on the audition sheet, he could’ve sworn his heart had skipped a beat; she had that kind of impact on him. Always had.
He’d clamped down on his initial reaction to score a line through her name. It wasn’t her fault he couldn’t erase that night he’d seen her strip and the resultant fallout.
How many times had he picked up the phone afterwards to apologise? To see if she was okay? To talk her out of heading down a nefarious path that he’d seen first-hand resulted in tragedy?
Countless times, when he’d tried to formulate the right words yet had been lacking. He’d wanted to lecture her against the dangers of scoring easy cash via stripping. He’d wanted to warn her of the potential to spiral out of control. He’d wanted to tell her the truth behind his funk in the hope she’d understand why he’d freaked out.
Instead, he’d hung up the phone each and every time, knowing nothing he could say could erase the damage he’d done that night.
He’d said awful things, hateful things, in his shock-induced rage. Sadly, there’d been no coming back from it.
A week later he’d left Kings Cross, moving into a small Manly apartment and into the manager’s job at Embue. He’d deliberately avoided going to clubs in the Cross for fear of seeing Mak performing. He couldn’t face it, couldn’t face seeing her innate innocence tainted in that sleazy world.
Not that he hadn’t thought about her over the years. Some women were unforgettable and Mak was one of them.
Seeing her name on his audition sheet had given him a jolt. Could he really face seeing her dance again, when the last time he’d seen her gyrate and shimmy she’d been naked? He feared it would bring back all the old feelings: anger, disgust, with a healthy dose of jealousy. Crazy, out-of-control emotions, when he had no right to feel any of them.
He’d dithered for two days before the agency had called and demanded a list of potential dancers he’d like to trial. Before he could second-guess his decision, he’d added Mak’s name to the list.
After seeing what she could do a few minutes ago, he was glad.
Mak could dance. Really dance. Exhibiting the kind of talent that would establish Embue as the venue for live shows.
He’d been worried that when she moved on stage, he’d be catapulted back to that horrible night five years earlier and his impartiality as a producer would be shot.
Thankfully, it hadn’t happened. He’d been mesmerised by her lithe movement, her ability to command a small space, her stage presence.
Quite simply, as a dancer, Mak was a knockout.
It made him regret all the more that he’d missed out on seeing her come of age the last five years. In a world where he didn’t trust easily, Mak had been a good friend. One of the best, next to Tanner.
‘Auditions done?’ Tanner slumped into the seat next to him and braced his hands behind his head. ‘Because Abby is getting angsty with the endless trail of long-legged babes strutting their stuff through here.’
Hudson snorted and placed a thumb in the middle of Tanner’s forehead. ‘Your girlfriend is well aware you idolise her and that you’re right under this.’
‘She’s the best.’ Tanner swatted away his hand, his friend’s goofy grin making Hudson want to puke.
Not that he begrudged his best mate and boss a little happiness. If anyone deserved it, he did, after the shit Tanner had tolerated growing up. But ever since Abby had come on the scene a month ago Tanner had been a shadow of his former self. Staring into space at the oddest of times. Leaving the nightclub early to watch chick-flicks with Abby. Refusing to go out on the town like they used to.
Relationships were for suckers.
Tanner steepled his fingers and rested them in his lap. ‘So? Am I wasting my time, giving you a shot at making this live gig fly?’
Hudson sure as hell hoped not. He needed his idea to work. He owed Tanner and he always paid his dues.
‘Once I finalise the lead, rehearsals can start.’
Tanner nodded, thoughtful. ‘How did Makayla go?’
Hudson startled, immediately followed by a sinking feeling deep in his gut. The kind of feeling that made him want to punch something, preferably Tanner, if he’d slept with Mak.
Women fell at Tanner’s feet, always had. Not that Hudson was jealous. He did okay. But the thought of his Mak with anyone...not that she was his. Not any more. Not that she ever had been, really. His outburst that night five years ago had seen to that.
‘Mak did well.’ Keeping his voice steady with effort, Hudson pretended to study the call-back sheet. ‘How do you two know each other?’
Tanner laughed so loud it echoed around the club. ‘Man, you should see your face. You look like you’ve sucked a lemon.’
‘Fuck off,’ Hudson growled, that urge to thump Tanner growing by the minute.
‘I think a more pertinent question is how you know Mak?’ Tanner’s laughter petered to chuckles. ‘By your thunderous expression, I’m assuming you know her a hell of a lot better than me.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question, dickhead.’
Infuriatingly calm and determined to make him sweat, Tanner linked his fingers and stretched forward. ‘Makayla works at Le Miel with Abby. So when I filled in there while Remy was in hospital, I got to know her a bit then.’
‘Oh.’ Hudson deflated in relief, feeling like an idiot for allowing jealousy to cloud his judgement.
He had no right to be jealous of Mak. She could’ve slept with the entire north shore of Sydney and it still shouldn’t bother him. But it did. Deep down in that place where a part of him still missed her dreadfully, he cared. A whole damn lot.
‘If you call her Mak, you’ve known her longer than me?’ Tanner’s smirk didn’t hide his blatant curiosity.
Hudson could lie. But he didn’t bullshit Tanner. They’d been through too much together, from the time they were at Kings Cross High, two misfits without mothers, trying to do the best they could with asshole fathers.
‘Mak and I go way back,’ he said, rubbing the tension cramping his neck muscles. ‘When I was working the clubs at the Cross, our paths crossed constantly because her mum danced and waitressed there. We became friends.’
Tanner must’ve sensed the seriousness behind his declaration, because he stared straight ahead rather than grinning like an idiot. ‘How come you never mentioned her back then?’
Because Mak had been all his. The one bright spot in his lousy world. Someone he could confide in, someone who understood the daily battles of growing up in the Cross, because she faced them too.
But he didn’t say any of this to Tanner. Instead, Hudson shrugged. ‘I didn’t want you giving me shit. She’s younger than me and I wanted to protect her.’
‘A regular Sir Galahad,’ Tanner scoffed, the lame-ass grin returning. ‘What happened?’
‘We had a falling out.’ Massive understatement considering the blowout they’d had the night he’d stumbled upon her stripping. ‘Haven’t seen her in years.’
A speculative gleam made Tanner lean closer. ‘So you two haven’t...you know?’
‘No.’
Not that he hadn’t wanted to. But Mak had been off-limits due to her age—and her naivety, if he were completely honest. She’d radiated an innocence that shone bright in an otherwise grimy world. A world of pimps, prostitutes, drugs and strippers. A world he’d worked in out of necessity but had done his damnedest not to let taint him.
It was one of the many reasons he’d flipped out that night he’d seen her gyrating naked on stage.
That, and because of his mum.
‘Well, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, man. Makayla’s a bombshell and if I were single I’d take a shot at—’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
‘Whoa, easy, big fella.’ Tanner held up his hands. ‘Just giving my opinion. And if you overreact like that to a simple suggestion, I advise you to get laid, pronto.’
Hudson wouldn’t give his doofus friend the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t far off the mark. What with getting this show off the ground, he hadn’t had time to date lately. In fact, it had to be at least three months since he’d had sex. Maybe that was the reason he’d wanted to bound onto the stage and drag Mak into the nearest dressing room when he’d first seen her up there ten minutes ago?
Yeah, like that was the only reason.
‘I need to organise call-backs so if you’ll excuse me I’ve got work to do.’ He brandished the clipboard at Tanner, who grinned as if he could see right through his feeble excuse.
‘Get laid, buddy. It takes the edge off.’ Tanner stood and clapped him on the back. ‘According to Abby, Mak hasn’t dated anyone in ages, so you two should get reacquainted.’
His glare was lost on Tanner as his friend sauntered away, lifting his hand in farewell. Damned if Tanner’s advice didn’t resonate.
He’d love to put the past behind and move forward with Mak. But how could he approach her as a friend, when she’d just nailed the lead dancer role in his show?
He might have found his leading lady but once he told her, it ensured they could never be anything but professional.
Mak’s talent had floored him. She deserved this role.
So where the hell did that leave him?
CHAPTER THREE (#uf50f3fa9-cd04-57e2-b9f3-c86166cf370a)
BY THE TIME Makayla made it back to Le Miel to start her shift she’d managed to come up with forty-three different ways she could make Hudson hurt.
Decapitation, evisceration, circumcision...not that she knew if he needed the latter or not, considering they’d never got that far, but she’d be willing to do it without anaesthetic.
His laconic, trite ‘we’ll be in touch’ mocked her, echoing through her head until she’d thumped the steering wheel of her car several times. It hadn’t helped. Hopefully, venting to Abby would.
Because if Makayla knew one thing, Hudson wouldn’t call her. After the way they’d parted five years earlier, he had no freaking intention of calling her. Ever.
Even if he did, would she accept the job? Could she work with the guy who’d judged her and found her lacking, effectively ending their friendship?
She’d heard the rumours on the entertainment grapevine. That landing the lead gig at Embue could be a good segue into the latest dance extravaganza staging at the Opera House in a few months. And from there...well, dancing at the Sydney icon would look mighty fine on her CV if she ever made it to Broadway.
Broadway...her dream since she’d donned her first tutu and slipped on her first tap shoes.
Growing up, she’d spent countless hours poring over the Internet, watching video clips of shows at the many theatres in midtown Manhattan, wishing she could be a part of it.
Her mum had never scoffed at her dreams. Instead, Julia Tarrant had fostered her love of all things dance, spending every cent she earned on Makayla’s dance lessons. It wasn’t until her mum had died that Makayla realised the extent of her mum’s sacrifice: Julia had no savings, but a detailed record of where her money had gone over the years. A budget that indicated Julia’s love for her daughter.
Makayla had adored her mum and discovering she couldn’t afford a decent send-off...it had driven her to take drastic action and accept that stripping job for one evening only.
The night Hudson had lost the plot and their friendship had imploded.
‘Ugh,’ she muttered, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stomach her usual beignet and cappuccino before she started her shift.
Of all people to audition for, it had to be Hudson.
What the hell was he doing anyway, producing a dance show at Embue? Back then he’d been a gofer for the clubs at the Cross. Doing whatever jobs that came his way. He’d always talked about getting out when he was older, doing something in the club scene, so how did that equate to producing a stage show?
Entering the kitchen, she slammed the back door harder than intended, causing Abby to jump, the pastry brush in her hand clattering to the work bench.
‘Sheesh, what’s got your knickers in a knot?’ Abby waggled a finger. ‘Don’t you know it takes precision and genius to create the perfect lemon tartlet?’
Makayla rolled her eyes. ‘You could make pastries in your sleep and they’d still turn out delish, so quit your moaning.’
‘Ouch. Someone’s in a mood.’ Abby frowned as Makayla slumped onto the nearest stool and scowled. ‘Hey, what’s wrong?’
‘I had an audition this morning. It didn’t go well.’ Makayla folded her arms, belatedly realising that not even the delicious aromas of cinnamon and sugar wafting from the ovens could lighten her mood today. ‘It was a biggie. And I danced my ass off.’
Concern creased Abby’s brow. ‘And they said no on the spot?’
‘Hudson said “we’ll be in touch”.’ She made inverted comma signs with her fingers. ‘But I know that’s BS.’
‘Hudson? I know a guy called—’
‘Yeah, he’s Tanner’s bestie. I didn’t know he worked at Embue when I signed up otherwise I wouldn’t have auditioned.’
Abby had just answered Makayla’s unasked question but she had to be sure. ‘You and Tanner didn’t have anything to do with me scoring a chance at auditioning for the lead, did you?’
Confused, Abby shook her head. ‘I had no idea and I doubt Tanner would, either. He gives his staff free rein while he manages the financial side of things.’
‘Thought so.’ Makayla slumped further on the stool. She should be happy she’d scored an audition of that calibre on her own. Instead, all she could think about was how she would’ve landed the role if anyone else had been casting.
‘I don’t know Hudson well but he seems like a nice guy.’
‘He’s a prick.’
Not entirely true, and she felt guilty immediately for saying it. Hudson was one of the good guys. At least, he had been until he’d gone berserk, lecturing her and admonishing her when he hadn’t had a clue about her motivation for taking off her clothes.
She’d been stunned by the ferocity of his anger. He hadn’t given her a chance to explain. He hadn’t done much of anything that night he’d watched her strip but lose it backstage, ranting like a madman. She’d been mortified enough at taking off her clothes in front of a roomful of slobbering idiots, but she’d got through it by blocking out the club and everyone in it, and focussing on her mum.
Then Hudson had to dump another shit storm over her at a time she needed his support the most. She’d never forgiven him and had told him so.
Abby wiped her hands and came to sit beside Makayla. ‘What happened?’
‘Nothing.’ She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and opened them. ‘Okay, that’s not entirely true. Hudson and I were good friends once. Then we weren’t any more. And I rocked up today, he was the guy I auditioned for, so it makes sense that’s the end of that.’
Abby raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t know what happened between you but do you think he’s that petty?’
‘Who knows?’ She snagged her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. It did little to cool her down. She’d been hot and bothered since she’d strutted out onto that stage at Embue and locked eyes with the devil. ‘We didn’t exactly part on amicable terms.’ She held up her hand. ‘And before you ask, shit happens. That’s all I’m going to say.’
‘Okay.’ Abby shot her a sideways glance. ‘So what you’re saying is you think Hudson won’t judge you on your dance ability? That he’ll let what happened in your past affect his judgement?’ Abby shook her head. ‘Doesn’t strike me as professional.’
Before Makayla could respond, her cell rang. When she slipped it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen, she didn’t know the number.
‘I’m waiting on another audition so I need to get this,’ she said as Abby nodded, and she hit the answer button. ‘Makayla Tarrant speaking.’
‘Hey, Mak, it’s me.’
Crap. She knew that ‘me’.
And he was the last person she’d expected to hear from.
She managed a curt ‘hi’ before he continued.
‘I wanted to let you know that your audition impressed and I’d like you to come in so we can talk.’
She should thank him. Sound enthusiastic. But in that moment, with shock making her gape, all she could think was, I have the opportunity to score a great job working with a not-so-great guy.
‘Mak?’
She cleared her throat. ‘Sure, I’ll come in, thanks. When do you want me?’
Damn, that didn’t sound good. But he seemed to think so, as he chuckled. ‘Can you meet me back at the Embue studio around seven tonight?’
‘Fine,’ she said, still surprised by his offer but managing to sound as if she weren’t. ‘See you then.’
She hit the call end button before he could say anything else to further discombobulate her and stared at the phone as if she couldn’t quite believe it.
‘Good news?’ Abby tapped her on the arm, and Makayla nodded.
‘I got a call-back from Hudson.’
‘That’s great, sweetie.’ Abby leaned over and hugged her. ‘See? Told you he was a good guy.’
‘Yeah...’ She sounded less than convinced.
Something in Hudson’s tone bugged her. A touch of condescension? Like he was doing her some giant favour. Probably all in her overactive imagination but for a moment she considered calling him back and citing a prior engagement.
Foolishness, considering how badly she needed this job and how it could lead to something much bigger. But she didn’t need anyone’s pity and she’d be damned if she backed out of this before she’d given it a real shot.
‘At the risk of getting my head bitten off, I’m going to offer some advice.’ Abby eyeballed her with surprising seriousness. ‘Your heart is in dance, not working part-time at a patisserie to pay bills. So whatever happened between you two, forget about it and concentrate on making the most of this opportunity, okay?’
Makayla grunted in acknowledgement. ‘Who made you so wise?’
Abby grinned and tapped her temple. ‘Considering the mess I made of my own life until recently, guess I learned a thing or two about putting the past behind me.’
‘Thanks, Abs.’ She leaned over and hugged her friend. ‘I’ve wanted a dance role like this for a long time. So I’ll nail this call-back if it kills me.’
The part where she had to meet a guy who’d once been her best friend after hours at a hip club? Not a problem at all.
Not really.
CHAPTER FOUR (#uf50f3fa9-cd04-57e2-b9f3-c86166cf370a)
HUDSON DIDN’T MAKE it back to the Cross much these days. Not that he shunned his past so much as he’d moved on. But Bluey McNeil had called and when the man who’d given him his first job telephoned, Hudson made an effort.
Bluey hadn’t sounded good. In fact, he’d coughed three times during their brief conversation. Hacking coughs that invoked an image of Bluey’s packet-a-day habit and how haggard he’d looked the last time Hudson saw him about three months ago.
Foreboding lengthened Hudson’s strides as he rounded the iconic El Alamein Fountain, skirted the bar he’d found his father passed out in too many times to count, and into the tiny jazz club aptly named Bluey’s after its owner.
While the sun blazed outside, inside the club channelled the darkest midnight, with blackout drapes ensuring the wall sconces glowed and the faux candles created an atmosphere of intimacy. A few patrons dotted tables around the small stage, where a solo saxophonist did his thing. No older than twenty, the kid wasn’t bad. And obviously another of Bluey’s charity cases, as he’d once been.
‘Hey, Squirt, thanks for coming.’ A hand clapped him on the back, and Hudson grinned. He’d been a late bloomer, so Bluey had always called him Squirt and the nickname had stuck, even after he shot past six foot at seventeen.
However, when he turned around and caught sight of his friend, Hudson’s grin faded. Bluey looked terrible. A walking skeleton. Parchment-thin skin stretched across cheekbones. Furrows bracketing his mouth. And a pallor that indicated just how ill his friend was.
‘Any time, you old reprobate.’ Hudson enveloped Bluey in a man hug, not surprised that his arms met at the back when they once couldn’t. Bluey had lost a shitload of weight and his earlier foreboding blossomed into full-blown panic.
They disengaged, and Bluey gestured at the bar. ‘Let’s have a seat. What can I get you?’
‘The usual,’ Hudson said, knowing it got a rise out of his old friend every time.
Bluey’s nose wrinkled. ‘Orange juice with a spritz of soda is a girl’s drink.’
‘So you’ve told me a million times before.’ Hudson leaned his forearms on the bar, taking comfort in watching Bluey fill a glass with orange juice and adding a shot of vodka rather than soda, something he’d seen countless times before. ‘What’s up, old man? Woman troubles?’
Bluey grunted and slid the glass along the bar towards him. ‘You’ve got a big mouth for a whippersnapper. You know my heart belonged to Julia and no woman has come close since.’
‘Who’s talking about your heart?’ Hudson raised his glass in a silent toast, wondering if Mak’s mum ever knew about Bluey’s crush on her.
This place wasn’t just special because of his first boss. Bluey’s was the place he’d met Mak, doing homework on a makeshift bench set up in a nook off the main hallway leading to the kitchen, while her mum worked tables. She’d been a beaming fifteen-year-old high on life; he’d been a jaded twenty desperate to get out of the Cross. But there’d been something about her, something refreshing, and once they’d started chatting their friendship had been born.
Back then he’d watched Bluey make puppy dog eyes at Julia, who’d taken it in her stride, as pleasant to Bluey as she’d been to his customers. Everyone had loved Julia and he could’ve been well on his way to feeling the same for her daughter if he hadn’t screwed up so monumentally.
‘Listen, Squirt, I’ve got something to tell you.’ Bluey braced himself on the counter behind the bar and Hudson knew the news was bad from the way his eyes darted away. ‘I’m heading to the big jazz bar in the sky. Lung cancer. Terminal. Few months left, tops.’
Hudson’s stomach fell away, and he downed the orange and vodka in two gulps as Bluey continued. ‘I wanted you to hear it from me, not by a second-hand phone call after one of the geezers here rang to invite you to my funeral.’
Hudson wanted to say something, anything, to make this better. He remained silent, anger and regret roiling in his gut alongside the vodka.
‘And before you go getting all sentimental on me, stop.’ Bluey thumped his fist against the bar. ‘I’ve been around for sixty-one years and been lucky enough to run this place for most of it. So don’t feel sorry for me. I’ve had a good inning. And enjoyed sucking back on each and every one of those bloody cancer sticks that gave me this bugger of an illness.’ He thumped his chest. ‘So now you know. What’s happening with you?’
The ache of impending loss blossomed in Hudson’s chest. He’d experienced the same feeling before, the night he’d strode into Le Chat and seen Mak stripping on stage. In that moment he’d laid eyes on her, wearing a thong and little else, he’d known they were over.
And when she’d removed that thong...there’d been no coming back from that, and he grieved the loss of their friendship almost as much as he’d grieved the mother he’d never known.
This time he waited until the ache eased. Took his time formulating a response. If he’d done the same thing with Mak back then, maybe they would’ve had a chance.
When the lump in his throat finally subsided, Hudson said, ‘Thanks for telling me but damn, it’s fucked up.’
‘Yeah, Squirt, it is, but what’s a man to do?’ Bluey shrugged and blinked rapidly. ‘Tell me something to take my mind off it.’
‘Mak auditioned for me today.’ The words tripped out in haste and he instantly regretted them because if he’d cottoned on to Bluey’s crush on Julia the old guy definitely noticed his on Mak and had teased him endlessly about it.
‘How’s she doing?’
‘Good.’ Hudson ignored the knowing glint in Bluey’s astute gaze. ‘She’s got talent. I’m casting her as the lead dancer in the revue I’m producing at Embue.’
‘Well, well, well.’ Bluey folded his arms, his grin smug. ‘This should be interesting.’
‘We’ll be working together in a professional capacity,’ he said, sounding like a pompous ass and hoping he could keep it that way.
He needed to delineate clear boundaries from the start: he would be Mak’s boss, she’d need to follow his orders. He couldn’t afford to blur lines. Not when he had no frigging idea how he’d go seeing her dance for him every single day. Just because he’d coped at her audition didn’t mean he had a grip on his memories.
Seeing her dance for those few minutes already had him thinking about her way too much and imagining how their future interactions would go, professional or otherwise.
Bluey sniggered. ‘I have no idea why you two fell out and I haven’t seen that darling girl in years but you tell her I said hi. And if you’ve got half a brain in that big head of yours, you’ll treat her right this time.’
‘What do you mean, this time?’
Bluey rolled his eyes. ‘Because, numbskull, it’s always the man’s fault, and if you haven’t figured that out by now, you’re thicker than I thought.’
Hudson managed a wry grin. ‘I’m going to miss you.’
‘Right back at you, kid.’ Bluey’s eyes glistened before he turned away to cough, the harsh sound raising the hairs on the back of Hudson’s neck.
Life wasn’t fair. He’d figured that out pretty damn early when his mum did a runner and he was left in the custody of a mean drunk. But losing Bluey would hit hard and he knew it.
When Bluey’s cough petered out, he turned back around. ‘Now get the hell out so I can do some work.’
‘Propping up the bar, you mean?’ Hudson stood, moved around the bar, and enveloped him in another hug. ‘You call me, okay? Any time, day or night, if you need anything.’
‘Thanks, kid.’ Bluey shoved him away with half-hearted force. ‘You always were a soft touch.’
Not always. Hudson had taken a hard stand with Mak and look how that had turned out.
‘I’ll pop in next week,’ he said, and Bluey saluted in response, his mouth downturned and worry clouding his eyes.
Bluey had said he had months to live but with a death sentence hanging over him, Hudson understood the old guy would be living each day as his last.
The injustice of it all swamped him anew and he headed for the door, desperate for air before he bawled. He stumbled outside, and it took a while until his eyes adjusted to the sudden glare and he made for the nearby fountain, slumping onto a bench next to it.
Tourists streamed by, snapping pics with their phones or giggling excitedly about being in Australia’s most notorious suburb.
To him, Kings Cross would always be home in a way no one could understand unless they’d lived here. Unless they’d braved the back streets. Unless they’d used every ounce of savviness to survive.
Mak understood. And catching up with Bluey had clarified his situation with her in a way he could never have anticipated.
Life was too short to hold on to the past. Ironic, he’d strived so hard to become successful and put the past behind him yet here he was, back where it all started, feeling as lost and lonely as he had back then.
He’d come a long way. Mak probably had, too. He had no right to judge her. Not any more.
When she came in tonight, he’d keep an open mind. Be friendly. Try to forget the past and focus on the future.
They both deserved that.
CHAPTER FIVE (#uf50f3fa9-cd04-57e2-b9f3-c86166cf370a)
MAK STRODE INTO Embue as if she owned the place, confident that she’d achieved the impression she’d aimed for and then some.
Smoky eyes. Siren-red lips. Sleek blow-dried hair. Killer heels. And a strapless, knee-length, figure-hugging emerald sheath that had got her more second dates than she could count.
Earlier today, auditioning for Hudson had rattled her. Tonight, she wanted to assert her dominance and show him who was boss.
A tad overdramatic, maybe, and in reality she’d have to be deferential and respectful because she really needed this job. But dressing like this ensured she felt good and the way her insides quivered with nerves she needed all the help she could get.
Her mum had taught her many life lessons, and dress to impress had been one of them. It didn’t matter whether she was doing a yoga class early on a Saturday morning or picking up groceries on her way home, she always wore lipstick and mascara. She felt naked without them. And while her budget might be verging on dire, she managed to find outfits at second-hand shops that garnered compliments.
As she caught sight of herself in one of the many mirrors lining the club, she squared her shoulders and stood tall. She could do this. Meet with Hudson. Convince him to hire her. Dance her ass off for however long this show ran. Definitely doable.
Until she caught sight of him striding towards her, and her tummy went into free fall, her confidence following suit.
This was Hudson.
The guy she’d secretly crushed on for years.
The guy she’d idolised.
The guy who’d been the best friend a girl could wish for.
The guy who’d seen her stark naked, at her most vulnerable, and turned his back on her.
Crap.
‘Hey, Mak, glad you could make it.’ He held out his hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world they shake in greeting, when it had once been customary for them to exchange a kiss on the cheek. ‘Let’s head into the studio to talk.’
Mak managed a mute nod, surreptitiously swiping her palm against the side of her dress when he released it. Yeah, like that would stop the tingles creeping up her arm.
It had been years since she’d seen him, so why the same irrational reaction, as if her body recognised on some visceral level what her brain refused to acknowledge?
She should hate him for how he’d treated her, how he’d dismissed their friendship without a second thought. But she couldn’t afford to let her residual bitterness towards him flare now. This job had to come first.
‘How was your day?’ He cast her a sidelong glance, as if he couldn’t gauge her mood. Join the club. She didn’t have a clue how to act around him now that her faux confidence had dwindled on sight.
‘Same old,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I work part-time at a patisserie. Le Miel. You may have heard of it?’
Of course he had, considering his boss Tanner had worked there temporarily while his brother Remy had been laid up in hospital following a fall. And Abby knew him, which meant he’d know she worked there, too. But she wanted to see how honest he’d be, how their new working relationship would pan out from the start.
He was staring at her as if he knew she’d been trying to trip him up somehow. ‘Tanner’s my best bud, so yeah, I know it. And I’ve met Abby, she’s lovely.’
Relieved he’d been honest, she nodded. ‘They’re both good people.’
He cast her a quizzical look. ‘Are you okay?’
No, she wasn’t. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t pretend they didn’t have a past. Like the argument that had ruined their friendship never happened. Like she wasn’t still hurting that he’d thought so little of her; that he hadn’t known her as well as she’d thought he did.
‘Honestly? I’m having a hard time accepting you as my potential boss considering we share a past.’
He didn’t react. In fact, she couldn’t see a flicker of acknowledgement on his stoic face bar a slight clenching of his jaw. How did he do that? Hold his emotions so closely in check when she was having a hard time not blurting every single thing she wanted to say to him?
‘Let’s talk in here.’ He pushed the double doors to the studio open and waited until she’d passed through before closing them.
Makayla should’ve relaxed stepping into the studio with its familiar set-up of stage, mirrors, steel rails lining the walls and spotlights. The space was new, or rarely used, because it didn’t have the familiar smell of stale sweat and greasepaint. Maybe that explained her nerves.
A crock and she knew it. Her nerves had everything to do with the man staring at her with trepidation, as if he knew she was about to unleash years’ worth of home truths.
Before she could speak, he held up his hand, annoyingly imperious. ‘I know we need to talk about what happened back then. But before we do, I want you to know you’ve got the job of lead dancer. Your audition blew me away and I’m not saying that out of some warped case of guilt because of how things ended between us, I’m saying it because you’re incredibly talented and I need this show to succeed, so I want you in it.’
He blew out a long breath after his ramble and in that moment she realised he was nervous, too. Hudson didn’t do long-winded speeches. Less was more for him when it came to words. So the fact he’d blurted all that indicated he was just as nervous as she was.
‘Thanks, I’m thrilled to get the job.’ She sounded formal, stilted, and cleared her throat, wondering how long she’d have the job for once she said what needed to be said. ‘But the last time we saw each other you basically called me a whore and it’s difficult getting past that.’
He flinched as if she’d struck him. ‘I didn’t—’
‘You didn’t use the word but it was pretty damn clear from everything else you said what you thought of me.’
That night was imprinted on her brain. The night she’d been so desperate to give her mum the funeral she deserved that she’d shelved her principles and done whatever it took to get the money she needed.
Hudson hadn’t given her a chance to explain. He’d taken one look at her stripping on stage and flipped out. She’d expected better from her best friend. She’d expected so much more than what she’d got.
While time should’ve eased her resentment it hadn’t, and seeing him again seemed to bring it all back in a mortifying rush.
She remembered every single moment of that humiliating night in excruciating detail. Pretending not to care when the club owner leered at her, demanding she strip down to bra and panties so he could see the goods before he gave her the gig. Throwing up before she went on stage. The stench of cheap aftershave and beer when she’d been taking her clothes off.
And in the midst of her degradation, she’d spotted Hudson, staring at her as if she were the worst person in the world.
His opinion mattered to her. He mattered to her and having him witness her shameful, demeaning show had crushed her. She’d been desperate to explain. He hadn’t let her. His appalling lecture had rung in her ears long after he’d stormed out.
Now she had to dredge all that up so they could move forward as professionals. Ugh.
‘I’m sorry.’ He leaned against the nearest wall, looking like a cool, impervious model, not a guy hell-bent on repentance. ‘That was the night I landed the job at Embue and I came looking for you to share my good news. Bluey told me he’d seen you entering Le Chat so I headed there.’ He shook his head, remorse twisting his mouth. It was an improvement on the loathing she’d seen all those years ago. ‘I freaked out. Said some things I shouldn’t have—’
‘You were my best friend! You should’ve trusted me.’ She swallowed down the lump of emotion lodged in her throat, making her voice embarrassingly squeaky. ‘I didn’t owe you any explanations then and I sure as hell don’t owe you any now, but that was the worst night of my life and having you witness my mortification, then berate me for it, sucked big time. Then you turned your back on me...’
Damn, if she didn’t wind this up soon she’d end up crying and that wasn’t the professional impression she wanted to present.
‘Maybe it was for the best, us moving on with our lives separately, leaving the Cross behind, but there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss the friendship we once had.’ There, she’d said it, though she ended on an embarrassing half hiccup that had her wishing the ground would open up.
Hudson didn’t say a word. He just stared at her, sadness down-turning his mouth, before he crossed the short space between them and enveloped her in a hug that squeezed the air from her lungs.
She resisted for a moment, not wanting the physical contact, not wanting anything from him bar this job. But this was Hudson, the guy she’d depended on almost as much as her mum, and if her brain resisted her body had other ideas. His arms were strong around her, crushing her like a steel band, his warmth staving off the chill that had invaded her bones around the time they’d started this conversation.
Breathless, she finally relaxed into him, and as if sensing her capitulation, he hugged her tighter if that were possible. It should’ve ended there. An apologetic embrace between two old friends who’d been torn apart in the past but now had to work together.
Instead, she felt the shift between them, the exact moment the hug became something else. His woodsy aftershave, something expensive, probably designer, made her nose tingle. His warmth turned to heat where it pressed against her. His hand splayed in her lower back, grazed the top of her ass. Something semi-hard nudged her hip.
He pulled away but didn’t release her, as she tilted her head up. ‘I’m not proud of the way I treated you that night and I’ve regretted losing our friendship over it. But I care about you, Mak, I always have, so if you’d let me I’d like to be friends again.’
He sounded sincere and his eyes blazed with untold emotion, but she couldn’t forget how badly he’d once hurt her. If young Hudson had had the power to do that, the older, sexier version would be a lot more dangerous if she let him get close again.
‘We can try,’ she said, sounding flippant, but still caught up in the weird unspoken tension shimmering between them. ‘I’m a professional and I intend on making the most of the opportunity you’ve given me.’
‘I wasn’t talking about work and you know it,’ he said, his low voice rippling over her like a caress, making her all too aware she hadn’t pulled out of his arms yet.
She should. She should establish a clear boundary between them from the outset, but when his burning gaze dropped to her mouth and her nipples hardened in response she knew it would take more than putting space between them to reinforce all they shared was a working relationship.
She’d always been like this around him, hyperaware, like her body was somehow invisibly, intrinsically attuned to his. He hadn’t known back then; she’d been too good at hiding it. It should’ve dissipated over the years, disappeared completely, but the longer he stared at her with blatant hunger, the harder she found it to remember why she had to maintain distance from him.
‘We can try the friendship thing,’ she said, finally willing her legs to move and breaking free of his embrace by backing away a few steps. ‘But I’ll give you a heads-up. I’m not the same naive girl I once was.’
‘And I’m not the same narrow-minded jerk I once was.’ His lopsided grin catapulted her back in time to the many times that same smile had made her young, impressionable heart beat faster. ‘Now we’ve established we’ve both grown up, shall we talk business?’
‘Absolutely.’ Her emphatic nod sent her hair tumbling over her shoulders and she pushed it back, a simple, innocuous action with complicated results when Hudson’s gaze locked on her hair as if he wanted to bury his face in it.
Hell. She could do friendship in a pinch but anything more between them would be disastrous. He might not know it but he’d given her a big break professionally in hiring her for this lead dancer role. She couldn’t screw it up. She wouldn’t. No matter how much intrigue spurred her on to see exactly how hot Hudson was beneath that cool facade.
‘Tell me about the show,’ she said, sounding fake and upbeat and perky, while she couldn’t ignore the way heat flared inside at the way he stared at her like he’d been given the keys to his favourite ice-cream store.
He eyeballed her and in that moment she saw he faced the same inner battle she did. Lust versus logic. Curiosity warring with common sense. Desire battling deprivation.
Crap. She might have just landed a dream job but she had a feeling she’d landed neck-deep in a load of trouble, too.
‘Tell me about you first.’ He gestured at a bar stool, indicating she sit. She didn’t want to. She wanted to stand so she could make a run for it if she needed to.
Because being in Hudson’s arms had resurrected a whole host of feelings she’d long suppressed. She should hate him for how he’d treated her and their friendship. Instead, she’d accepted his apology, even though he hadn’t explained why he’d behaved so appallingly towards her, and agreed to try the friendship thing now.
Was she insane?
‘Not much to tell.’ She perched on the edge of the stool, ready to flee at the slightest sign of awkwardness. ‘I attended uni for a while, doing a bachelor of applied dance in the hope I could teach as well as perform. But I hated the rigidity of classes so lasted less than six months.’
His eyebrows rose, as if he couldn’t believe she’d even consider a career in teaching. ‘I can’t imagine you being an instructor.’
She instantly bristled. ‘Why not?’
‘Because you’ve always had talent and haven’t you heard the old cliché, those who can do, those who can’t teach?’
Assuaged by his compliment, she continued. ‘Guess I’m a cliché then, because once I focussed on dancing, I never looked back.’
‘The agency sent across the CVs of all applicants auditioning.’ He hesitated. ‘You’ve had tons of experience but no starring roles?’
Damn him for homing in on her weakness.
‘What’s with the twenty questions?’ She sounded snappish and didn’t care.
He was her boss, she was his employee, that was where it ended. She didn’t need him treating her like a friend catching up for old times’ sake. It blurred lines and she preferred perfectly delineated boundaries. She couldn’t deal with anything else, not now, when seeing him again had resurrected so many feelings, many of them bad.
‘Because I want to know what makes you tick these days.’ He reached out and touched her above her heart. ‘In here.’
It had been nothing more than a fleeting brush of his fingertips against her skin; a barely there touch that shouldn’t have mattered. But it did, because heat flooded her body, most of it ending up in her cheeks.
‘I said I’d try the friendship thing. Don’t push it,’ she said, easing him away with her index finger.
He laughed, the same rich, deep sound she remembered and damned if she didn’t prickle with awareness. Everywhere.
‘Friends ask about each other’s interests. They chat. They tease—’
‘No teasing.’
It was one of the things she’d loved most about him back then, his ability to make her laugh.
‘You used to love it when I taunted you.’ He leaned forward as if to prove it, invading her personal space, his mouth mere inches from her ear. ‘Just because we haven’t seen each other in years doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten anything.’
Damn.
Did he know how she’d felt back then? Was that why he was torturing her now?
Though it was more than two friends getting reacquainted and she knew it. There was a sexual tension between them, simmering beneath the surface, deliberately ignored but there all the same.
Not good.
‘Then you’ll remember how much I hated you bugging me when I was doing homework and not much has changed.’ She elbowed him away, and he clutched at his side in mock outrage. ‘I’m your employee. I need to focus, not be distracted by...by...you,’ she finished lamely, not wanting to articulate exactly how badly the ever-present attraction between them was making her lose focus and her cool.
‘You find me distracting?’ His low voice made it sound like she’d found him naked.
‘I find you painful.’
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 (#uf50f3fa9-cd04-57e2-b9f3-c86166cf370a)
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 read 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 (#uf50f3fa9-cd04-57e2-b9f3-c86166cf370a)
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.’

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