rel="nofollow" href="#uf50f3fa9-cd04-57e2-b9f3-c86166cf370a">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 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?’
