Page 36 of Hard to Hold

“No one said I was sleeping with you.” The words sound hollow rolling off lips that crave another kiss.

His smile is crooked, and the short laugh he emits is arrogance and desire personified. “You didn’t have to.”

And in perfect timing, Cannon announces Rush to the waiting cameras and public.

It’s only when he climbs the stairs and walks away that I exhale—and I didn’t even know I was holding my breath.

He swaggers onto the stage to the roar of the crowd, which Cannon had drummed up, and he takes the mic, his voice permeating my every thought as I try to tell myself to forget about the kiss.

To forgo messing up this professional opportunity by acting on what I want with him.

So many people say women are weak for giving in when a man kisses her. They say we’re weak when our knees tremble and when we fall under his “spell.” I say screw that. I say, we’re strong. That we’re getting what we want one way or another. It can be by his taking or our owning it. There’s a strength to it. A timeless and resolute beauty to it.

We’re told we’re bitches if we’re too aggressive, and then we’re told we’re feeble and weak-minded if we fall too quickly. Or better yet, we’re sluts if we crave the touch of a man. If we want to and like to have sex.

If we like to be made to feel good.

Well, I’m all of the above. I’m strong to a fault, I’m weak at times and will gladly own it, and hell if it doesn’t feel awesome to tumble into bed with someone who gives as good as they get. From the first moment I laid eyes on Rush, I knew we’d end up a tangled mass of limbs and sheets.

The predatory look in his eyes, the gravelly grit that roughens up his delicious brogue—and the way my body reacts viscerally to everything about him—tells me that we’re destined to explore our attraction.

In those few seconds standing beside the pool, I think I accepted it in my mind.

I chuckle because there’s no denying it: we’ll have sex. It will complicate matters, his brash arrogance will still irritate the hell out of me when all is said and done and ended, but damn, I’ll be satisfied.

And right now, I’m okay with that. I can still be a professional agent, I can be a sexually charged woman, and I can feel proud of myself for both.

“Lennox?”

I’m startled from my thoughts, and make the most ridiculous sound when I look up to see Cannon looking at me from the stage, hand outstretched.

“C’mon,” he says. “I’d like to introduce you to the public as part of the team.”

“That’s not necessary. Really. I don’t mind being in the shadows.”

Then again, maybe I should take his hand and be forced to stand under the spotlight. Maybe the public eye seeing Rush and me together would act as a deterrent for what is destined to happen next. Maybe knowing that Cannon, Finn, other clients, and my family are able to see the two of us together publicly, will prevent me from wanting to cross that professional line into personal.

What a mess.

Or not.

Who knew we’d end up meeting, working together? Who knew he’d become the litmus test on whether I succeed or not in my newly acquired goals?

While I’m back here concerned about public perception, Rush doesn’t care what the public thinks of him.

Maybe I should take a lesson from him.

Maybe as long as I’m happy, that’s all that should matter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

LENNOX

“THAT WAS AN INTERESTING PLOT twist,” Johnny murmurs as he walks into the family room where I’m flopped on the couch in the most unladylike fashion with my heels discarded on the floor beside me. He sets a bottle of wine and a glass down beside me on the table. “Care to share?”

Eyeing him, I wait to see what other snarky comment he’s going to make and when none comes, I shrug. “Apparently, we’re both here for the same reason and didn’t know it.”

“I’m going to trust you on this but it’s not adding up why an agent is in the mix.”