She gave his shoulder a shove. “You know what I mean. I was limited to cookies.”

The words had no sooner left her mouth when a decidedly naughty thought crossed her mind. She reached for the tube of frosting and her gaze dropped to Hudson’s already hardening arousal. Slowly and deliberately she swept her tongue over her bottom lip. “Of course there’s one way to level the playing field, so to speak.” Shifting off of Hudson’s lap, she slid to the stair below. “If you’re game for a rematch, that is.”

He grinned as he repositioned himself against the stairs, bending a knee and dropping back on his elbows. “I’m not stopping you, baby.”

Chapter Twenty

The doors to the walk-in closet stood open, and in the bathroom steam still hung in the air. On the bed a deep crimson silk tie lay strewn across a crisp dress shirt. At Allie’s insistence, formal had been ditched for comfort. So in a quick shift, Hudson ducked his head through the neck of a navy V-neck sweater and pulled the cashmere down his torso. He had offered to take her out to some fancy dinner, as was the thing among the Gold Coast crowd she ran with. Shit, and according to his address, so did he. But Allie had wanted to cook for the three of them. She’d had enough formal holidays to last a lifetime and wanted something small and intimate, the opposite of what her mother used to throw to please her whims and fancy.

On his way out of the room, Hudson paused in front of the full-length mirror for a quick check of his fly. He stared at his reflection and thought of the way his life had played out and an unfamiliar feeling took shape. He was happy. The two things that mattered most to him were coming together.

One was his brother, who he’d do . . . had done, the unimaginable for. The other was the woman who owned him and was probably making a damn mess of his kitchen. Like he gave a flying fuck. As it was, women’s clothes were multiplying by the day, and for some reason he didn’t care if tampons appeared next to the toilet paper. Then he thought of the time he’d spent shaving and arranging his hair. And the gel, he’d even used goddamn gel and it still looked like shit.

He hit the lights on his way out, laughing quietly at what a whipped sonofabitch he was, and set off for the kitchen. In front of him Mother Nature was delivering a white Christmas to Chicago and snow swirled outside the floor to ceiling windows. But it was the sound of the door slamming shut on a Viking oven and the clanging of pots and pans that drew his attention. The scents wafting through the living room teed off his hungry stomach as he closed in on the source of all the noise.

Allie, in his kitchen.

God, she was a sight.

He leaned against the wall just on the periphery of the room and watched her, absorbing her determination to make this dinner the best damn one in history.

She pirouetted to grab pot holders that were taking a nap in between two mixing bowls. When she pulled them up, two wooden spoons clattered to the floor. Allie was clearly in way over her head. His lips twitched on a suppressed laugh as he surveyed the damage. The granite counters were littered with bowls, spoons, knives, and cutting boards of every size, make, and model. The sink was piled high with colanders, more bowls, and what must have been his entire set of All-Clad. He wondered if there was still a clean dish left. If there was, it was only a matter of minutes before it would be used and abused.

She bent over to check the bird in the oven, giving him one hell of a view of her ass. As he watched her body move, he felt himself begin to harden. And knew just how long it would take him to get her out of those pants and be buried deep inside her.

“Looks good.” Hudson grinned. When she straightened, he saw she wore a white chef’s apron, the string wound twice around her waist and knotted in the front. He owned an apron? Who knew.

“You think so?” Allie bent down and looked through the window once again, then popped back up.

His head cocked to the side. “Absolutely.” He moved toward her like a predator, his shoulders rolling with his stride.

“The turkey should be done right on time. The potatoes are done, the stuffing . . .” she ticked each item off with a finger “. . . rolls, cranberry sauce . . . from the can, as requested.” As if reading his mind, she started to back away from him, only to bump into the counter.

He stopped in front of her, his arms coming around her and settling on the small of her back, urging her closer.

“Hudson.” Allie tilted her head to the side at the same time his lips made contact with her neck. “There’s still so much to do.”

“Numerous things,” he said, his hands slipping under her sweater and smoothing up the sides of her ribcage. His cock hardened between them and he sealed his mouth over hers.

“I want you,” he murmured.

“You just had me just a few hours ago.”

“Wasn’t enough. I feel like I can’t breathe unless I’m inside you.” He covered her mouth with his once more and she melted into his kiss. As she leaned into him, the pressure increased against his cock and he groaned into her mouth. “Fuck.” He drew the word out, his pecs tightening as his fingers flexed against her skin. He would have moved into position lighting-fucking-fast, but sweet hell there wasn’t an inch of counter that wasn’t covered with kitchen appliances he didn’t even know he owned or have shit spilled on it from her sojourn into Martha Stewartdom.

His palm cupped her breast and kneaded it through the thin lace of her bra, his fingertips brushing over her nipple. Then his tongue slipped into her mouth, lazily fucking it, before sucking her bottom lip between his teeth.

“God, yes,” Allie breathed against his lips. The sound she let out was part hum of approval and part moan. Screw the counter action, the floor would work just fine. He wanted his mouth on her, his tongue thrusting up inside her so he could taste her slick sex. He needed her naked skin against his, her breath hot and pleading in his ear. She was right, it had only been a couple hours but that length of time was a goddamn killer, making him more aware of the heartbeat pounding at the head of his cock.

Just as he was going to prove to himself how fast he could have her out of her clothes and flat on her back with his face between her thighs, the dull ding of the private elevator sounded in the distance.

“Your brother is here,” Allie mumbled against his mouth.

Hudson growled before dropping a kiss on her mouth and adjusting the hard-on in his pants.

Nick cleared his throat. “Yo, dude, you have eighty rooms in this joint. Get one.”

Hudson flipped his brother the bird over Allie’s shoulder.

“Nice. Real Christmas spirit.” Nick chuckled. “Where’s the fuckin’ love?”

Allie started to laugh. If it wasn’t snowing like a bitch outside, Hudson would’ve tossed his brother out on his ass and made him wait while he made love to his woman in every-single-mother-fucking-room. Twice.

A sharp gust of wind rattled the windows. “Weather dude is predicting record snow and shit.” Nick shook out his jacket and tossed it on the back of the couch.

“What the hell, Nick? Get your wet coat off the couch.”

“Seriously? You going on all fancy schmancy on me?” Nick grabbed his jacket, stopping short at the sight of Allie’s version of Santa’s Village. “Holy shit.”

As expected, she really had overdone it. Hudson’s penthouse looked like one of the window displays at Macy’s on steroids. If there was free space she’d thrown garland and lights on it. Christ, there were enough tiny lightbulbs to land a 747 in his living room. But he knew her heart had been in the right place, and it gave her something to focus on besides it being the first holiday without her family. Plus, the expression on Nick’s face was priceless. Hudson hadn’t seen that look on him since they were kids. And seeing the two people he loved most in the world happy was all that mattered to him. Even if his house looked like Clark Griswold’s.