Christina’s POV
Hudson’s lips were everywhere—my neck, my ear, my collarbone. His hands gripped my waist firmly, kissing as if he were morizing every inch of my skin.
"You’ve lost weight," he murmured against my cheek. "You need to eat sothing other than toast and coffee."
I opened my mouth to respond, but he captured my lips again, harder this ti.
My back sank deep into the cushions until I was struggling for air. With one arm, he pulled up without breaking the kiss.
He wasn’t drunk. I didn’t want to imagine what he’d be like if he were.
When I agreed to give us a shot yesterday, I had no idea I’d be flipping so primal switch inside him.
"Your mind is wandering," he whispered, teeth grazing my earlobe.
In one fluid motion, he lifted up, one hand under my thigh, the other cradling my nape. His lips never left mine as he carried upstairs.
Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. It felt like the ground had vanished beneath . His grip was tight, possessive. My feet dangled in the air, toes brushing against his legs as he walked.
I felt the pressure of his palm against my lower back, keeping steady. He kicked my bedroom door open.
Monts later, my spine t the mattress.
I gasped for air like I’d just surfaced from deep water. The second he released , I rolled to the edge of the bed and yanked the blanket up to my chin.
"I’m tired. Seriously, Hudson, I’m exhausted."
He pressed one palm against my shoulder and leaned closer. "You’re the one who agreed to give us a shot."
I tried to scoot further away, dragging half the blanket with . "Is this your definition of ’a shot’?"
To , "giving us a shot" ant dinners, movies, goodnight kisses that might eventually lead to the bedroom. He clearly had skipping straight to the naked part in mind.
I pulled the blanket over my head. "I’m tapping out. Seriously. I’m about to pass out."
It wasn’t entirely a lie. I’d been busy all day—calling suppliers, researching past competition entries, and chasing that factory contact who insisted on a 7 AM call.
I was already dozing off on the couch earlier.
Now, with my legs tangled in sheets and my lungs oxygen-deprived, sleep was dragging under.
Hudson lowered himself, his weight sinking into the mattress. His breath was hot behind my ear.
"I’m flying out tomorrow. Won’t be back for days."
"Got it. Safe travels," I mumbled, already halfway gone.
"I’ll miss you." He propped himself up on one elbow.
I didn’t respond. My eyes had drifted closed on their own.
Hudson brushed his thumb softly over my cheek, then got up, tucked the blanket around my shoulders, lingered by the bed for a mont, and left.
When I ca downstairs the next morning, he was already gone.
"Alpha Hudson has already left," Geoffrey announced.
"Noted."
It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. My mouth and neck still ached, and I had no interest in being his personal chew toy. Each session lasted at least thirty minutes. My spine deserved hazard pay.
As I ate, Geoffrey hovered nearby like a polite British ghost.
"Luna Christina," he said, "it appears the heating in your bedroom is malfunctioning. Maintenance will arrive today. Do you have any valuables in your room?"
"No," I said between bites. "They can go in."
I hadn’t noticed anything when I got up. I felt fine, just groggy.
I pushed the thought aside and spent the rest of the day buried in fabric samples, delayed orders, and a client who changed her entire design concept because rcury was in retrograde.
When I returned ho that evening, ate dinner, and walked into my bedroom, I nearly scread.
The air was dry and bitter. The chill cut right through my clothes. Like walking into a at locker.
"Geoffrey!" I retreated to the hallway. "Is the heating still broken?"
He appeared from sowhere down the corridor. "Yes, Luna Christina. The system in your room is quite complex. They’ll need to return tomorrow."
I stared at him.
This house had five floors, marble tiles, radiant heating, and smart toilets. Why was only my room’s heating malfunctioning?
"Is the heating working in other parts of the house?"
"In certain sections, yes."
"Then please arrange another room for tonight. Any room will do."
He smiled.
I counted eight molars and imdiately found it suspicious.
"The entire guest wing’s heating is down," he said. "All bedrooms are cold as a crypt. The HVAC system is broken as well."
"You’re joking." I rubbed my arms through my sleeves. "So you’re saying every room is uninhabitable?"
"Not entirely. Alpha Hudson’s suite still has functioning heat."
I stared at him. "Why? Isn’t there central heating? His room is on the sa floor as mine."
Geoffrey folded his arms. "Yes. However, his room operates on an independent system. Alpha Hudson’s suite was custom designed during the last renovation, on a completely separate grid."
"Is that so?"
It sounded like complete bullshit.
Who renovates a mansion and installs an independent temperature control system in just one room?
But Geoffrey’s posture suggested he was on a witness stand during a murder trial.
Besides, what reason would he have to lie to ?
Then he suggested, "Since Alpha Hudson isn’t ho, why not sleep in his room tonight?"
I glanced at the closed door at the end of the hallway.
Heavy, imposing, and looking distinctly forbidden.
No way I was stepping foot in there.
Bedrooms were sacred territory.
He was away on business, and I wasn’t about to crawl into his bed uninvited.
"No thanks. Just get another blanket. No, make it ten."
"As you wish."
I walked back into my room and sat on the bed.
Five minutes later, Geoffrey knocked and handed a stack of blankets.
They looked thick.
They were useless.
Akira growled inside . This is ridiculous. You’re going to freeze to death because of your pride.
"I’m not going into his room," I whispered. "That’s crossing a line."
What line? You’ve already shared a bed.
"That was different," I argued, wrapping myself in three blankets at once. They barely offered any warmth.
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