“Stop that! Put those back.”
She saw he had set her small suitcase on the bench at the foot of her bed. “Maybe I own a lot of beige tops. It happens to be one of my best colors for TV. It’s part of the job description to look the part.”
The zebra panties arced past her head and landed in the open suitcase. She gave Hudson a glare that only had him chuckling.
Luckily, he moved away from her underwear drawer—BOB tucked away in the bottom—and came to perch on the edge of the bed, watching her pack.
After only a few minutes, she zipped the suitcase and lowered it to the floor.
“That’s all you need?” He arched a brow.
“Yes. Why?”
“You pack the same way I do.” He shook his head as if in disbelief. “You just might be the perfect woman.”
Reeling at his statement, she blinked. “Why do you say that?”
“You could pack in a moment’s notice and fly to another country.”
Her insides quivered. She didn’t need to hear that because there was no hope for going on any trips with Hudson Steele.
No hope for athem.
Their gazes locked. Her heart gave a hard pulse.
Suddenly, he shot off the bed and grabbed her. In three steps, he had her backed against the wall, his lips hovering a whisper away from hers.
“Hudson—”
His mouth crashed down on hers, swallowing whatever protest she was about to make.
The kiss was nothing like any of the others that came before it—this was pure, hungry, raw need that seemed to consume all the air in the room. His hands framed her face, fingers threading through her hair as he angled her head to deepen the contact.
Izzy’s knees went weak. Every nerve ending in her body came alive as he kissed her like he was trying to memorize the taste of her, like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go. She could feel the controlled desperation in the way his body pressed against hers, pinning her to the wall with delicious pressure.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer even as her rational mind screamed warnings about letting herself believe in impossibilities.
But God, the man could kiss. He turned her insides completely upside down, made her forget every reason why this was complicated and dangerous and bound to end badly.
When he finally lifted his head, they were both breathing hard. His forehead rested against hers, his silvery-gray eyes dark with the kind of intensity that made her stomach flip.
“Izzy—”
Her phone buzzed on the bed where she’d left it, the tone sharp and insistent in the heated silence.
Hudson’s jaw tightened as he reached for the device before she could move. He scanned the screen, and she watched his expression shift from frustrated desire to the mask of a SEAL.
“Your producer.” He handed her the phone. “Says you need to meet the film crew.”
She glanced at the message, her heart sinking as reality crashed back in.
The investigation.
The dangerous game they were all playing by putting her on display.
“We better get to the rally,” she said softly.
Hudson’s hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her lips with devastating gentleness. “This isn’t over, Izzy. Not by a long shot.”
