Page 17 of Hard to Hold

Problem is, I saw that side of her—the reckless, the carefree—and it’s tempting to find it again when I shouldn’t give a toss.

“Let’s see,” she says as she moves toward the steps of the pool. “I know the code to get in the door so I’m not breaking in.” She moves up a step revealing perfectly shaped tits—not too big, not too small—nestled perfectly beneath the two red triangles of fabric. “I’ve known Johnny for about eight years so I’m more than welcome here.” Another step up, and now I’m treated with the narrowing of her waist where the glitter of a jewel is in her navel. “And last, I don’t have an ounce of interest in you whatsoever, which I’m sure comes as quite the shock to your ego.”

Liar.

It’s in the set of her chin and flicker of her eyes back down to my cock that tells me otherwise.

But when she steps out of the pool, and I’m greeted with the entirety of this woman, I’m knocked off my stride. She’s a good five foot eight, fit but not too muscular, with curves that highlight every damn inch of what holds any normal man’s attention. She’s soft and supple in that perfect way that we men like—to hold on to and sink into—but not feel like we’re going to break her.

Bloody hell.

I take a step forward. “That makes two of us then.”

“At least that’s settled now.” Her lips twitch, because she knows I’m lying just as sure as I know she is. “I’d ask if you’re staying here, but I’ll make the assumption the answer is yes.”

I nod. “I might be lying low for a while.”

Her laugh tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Lying low? In Los Angeles? I think someone may have lied to you about what this city is all about. It’s seen or be seen. If you want to lie low, you go somewhere like Montana and play with horses.”

“There’s only one thing I have in common with horses,” I tease and earn a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head.

“I don’t think Los Angeles is far enough away from the attention you’re escaping.”

“It doesn’t seem anywhere is far enough these days.”

She walks toward me, still sizing me up, and right when I think she’s brazen enough, about to lean in for a kiss I’m more than willing to give, she reaches down for my towel beside me.

She quirks an eyebrow when her eyes meet mine, knowing what I thought she was doing, and I laugh.

I like this woman. Plain and simple.

We stand a foot apart, the towel in her hand, water still beaded on her skin, and for the first time I notice the dusting of freckles across the tops of her cheeks. Cute on a woman who defines the word sexy.

“Lennox Kincade,” she says, and now I’m even more intrigued than I was seconds before. I know the name, I’ve met one or two of her sisters, but never Lennox.

The question is why the hell not?

“Rush McKenzie.”

“So I assumed,” she says as she bends over and runs the towel down each long leg making a production of it as she goes.

Yeah, I’m looking, love. A man would be stupid not to watch.

“I wasn’t aware that you and Johnny knew each other,” she says.

“Johnny knows everyone.”

“True.”

“I met him at the Super Bowl years ago. I was in Stance’s stadium suite during the game,” I say mentioning Johnny’s parents’ company, Stance Sports, “and we hit it off. Since then we meet up every now and again. He extended the offer to get away from the chaos. I took it.”

She twists her lips and puts a hand over her forehead to block the sun as she looks at me once again. “You’re flying at half-mast there, mate,” she says mocking my accent and highlighting it with a smirk.

“We don’t like to show all of our talents right off the bat.”

“So much for first impressions then.”

“Jesus,” I bark.