Page 22 of Hard to Hold

“In my unspoken words?” He laughs.

“Yep.” I nod. “I can read minds.”

“Suit yourself.” His chuckle is low and seductive and causes chills to chase up my spine as he steps closer.

“Your negotiating skills need some work, McKenzie,” I tease.

“So do yours,” he says, and I yelp when he pushes his sweats off his hips and steps out of them.

“What are you doing—”

“Seems to me we’re sharing the bathroom now, so”—he meets my eyes in the mirror—“you shouldn’t be shocked that I’m having a shower. Since you can read minds and all.”

I throw my head back and laugh. It’s all I can do, really. And it’s way less polarizing than looking at his incredible body. “Good for you,” I say with a definitive nod. “You go do that.”

“I will.”

“For future reference, shock value doesn’t work well with me.”

“Noted. I was going more for the fact that I needed a shower and you’re in my bathroom.” He fights a grin. “Impressed?”

“It takes a lot more than that to impress me.”

“I know. Your loss of negotiation skills is a sure sign you’re still in awe of what you saw earlier by the pool.”

“Oh please,” I say with a roll of my eyes as the shower turns on and he steps into it.

“Don’t worry, love. I’m still recovering from that bikini of yours too.”

My eyes flash up to meet his through the fogged-up glass, and I’m treated to a lightning-fast grin.

All I can do is shake my head and try not to be affected by his words as I walk out of the bathroom, cross the hall into my room, and lean against the door when I shut it behind me.

There’s a smile on my face as I close my eyes and replay the whole exchange in my head over again. He’s a tease and a flirt, and if these are my thoughts after only two exchanges with him, I know I’m in trouble.

The past couple of days have been a blow to my ego and sense of self. Is it such a bad thing that Rush makes me feel a little better about myself? Is it even worse that I’ve been working nonstop for months on end that I haven’t taken care of me?

By taking care of me, I mean reaching out and taking what I want. And damn it to hell, I want him.

I have a feeling Rush isn’t a man who hesitates either. He takes and demands, and if you can’t keep up with his pace, he moves on.

There’s a challenge in that, an attraction.

What is it about me being attracted to athletes? The strong hands, the powerful bodies, the air of arrogance of a man who knows he’s good at something, the dedication . . . it’s like they’re my kryptonite.

“Christ,” I mutter and tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear.

Rush would be a terrible mistake. A terrible, gorgeous, satisfying mistake. I know it after only one day, but the funny thing is, it’s one I know I’m already going to make.

And I don’t feel sorry about it in the least.

I’m a woman who goes after what she wants—without shame or fear . . . and, I want Rush McKenzie.

CHAPTER EIGHT

RUSH

11 years earlier