There was a ping! as the elevators opened, just a few yards away. Annika froze as a young white couple in T-shirts that said Elite Housecleaning Services stepped into the living room, saying something about the heat. Hudson looked over his shoulder at them, took a small side step away from Annika, and called out, “Hey, guys. We’ll be out of your hair soon.”

The couple jerked their heads toward him at the same time, their mouths falling open. “Oh, Mr. Craft,” the woman said. “We’re so sorry. We thought you’d have left by now.”

Hudson held up a hand and walked toward them smoothly. “No worries. It’s my fault. We were supposed to be out of here. I got … distracted.” His eyes flickered to Annika, and she felt her cheeks get warm again. “I need to grab something quickly, but are you ready to go?”

“Yep.” Annika smoothed down her hair and cleared her throat, unable to look at the couple. We weren’t even doing anything! she thought, exasperated at herself. Why was her guilty conscience always so out of proportion to her actual crime? Which, in this case, wasn’t even a crime—it was Hudson’s house; he could do what he chose. And she was a consenting adult.

The young couple made their way to the kitchen with their cleaning supplies, and then Hudson walked into the foyer with a bottle of wine in a bag. “Let’s do this.”

They traveled down the elevator in relative silence, though Annika couldn’t help darting glances at him during gaps in their conversation about traffic out to the Hills and her dad’s culinary skills.

He caught her staring once, and gave her a lopsided smile. “I’m going to finish what I started, you know.”

“What?” Annika squeaked. The elevator doors slid open.

Hudson considered her for a full second, his gaze lingering on her in a way she found maddening, before walking out into the parking garage. A valet greeted him by name and asked if he’d like his car pulled around, but Hudson shook his head. “I’m going to finish that kiss,” he said to Annika when she caught up to him, his voice low and intense.

She almost tripped over her own feet, her muscles going mushy at the command, the husky desire, in his voice. “Probably not at my dad’s house,” she managed weakly, and he laughed.

“No,” he conceded. “Probably not there.”