Page 50 of Hard to Hold

It’s definitely sexy.

And it’s also a pain in my arse because Christ, that woman and her pussy have left their mark on me. Maybe not so much a mark—other than the scratch marks—but a hunger.

But isn’t that the problem? I’ve had her and know how good it is. Unlike all the other fuckers wondering if she’s as fucking sensational as she looks.

I raise my hand because I can vouch—she is.

I’ve had her. I want her again.

Maybe telling me she’s off limits has fed that fire.

Or maybe I just want her.

Either way, while I admire her restraint, her reasons are shit. And I’ll tell her that the first chance I get when she’s not surrounded by Cannon or the other bastards vying for her attention.

“She’s definitely not a hardship to look at, is she?”

Speak of the devil. I glance at Cannon, notice his eyes looking the same place mine are.

Lennox is standing in one of those business suits she wears—navy-blue trousers, a matching jacket, and a soft, silk camisole beneath—and a pair of nude high heels. Her hair is back in some kind of thick braid with a few escaped pieces framing her face. Her sunglasses are on and her phone is pressed to her ear as she paces back and forth in the tunnel leading into the stadium. She’s gesticulating as she talks, and her laugh can be heard across the pitch.

“Nah, mate, not hard on the eyes at all,” I murmur as every part of me revolts at the fact that he’s watching her.

“You can thank me for pulling her on board for this project. Finn tried to talk me out of it, you know, but can you blame me?”

Why the fuck would Sanderson do that? And surely Cannon hired her on skill and merit, not because she’s hot—

“I had dinner with her last night. She’s definitely enough to challenge any man. Good thing I like challenges.”

My hands fist reflexively. Like hell you’ll be touching her, arsehole. “I wasn’t aware the two of you were a thing.”

“We’re not.” He shrugs and emits a laugh that is one hundred percent arsehole. “At least not yet anyway.”

“Good luck with that. Heard she’s already smitten with someone else.”

“Mr. McKenzie? We’re almost ready for you,” one of the public relations people says to me.

“Okay. I’ll be right there.” I glance from her to Cannon before walking the short distance to where Lennox is pacing.

She’s finishing up her call when I approach, but when our eyes meet, I can tell by the sudden slouch of her shoulders and shock in her expression that I’m right: she’s definitely avoiding me.

“You’re here,” I state as she closes the distance between us. She smells like sun and coconut oil. Like sex and desire. Like exactly what this man needs and wants.

“It’s my job to be here,” she says, looking anywhere but at me.

“Are you going to stand there on your phone and ignore me like you have the past few days or are you actually going to pay attention?”

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m a busy woman and this isn’t my only responsibility.”

“You’re avoiding me. It’s the tattoos, isn’t it? They either scare women away or make them flock to me in droves?”

“Droves?” She breaks a smile. “I doubt it’s the tattoos,” she murmurs, but through her sunglasses I can see her eyes dart down to the winding mess of ink on my bicep.

“Then it must be the size of my dick. Though I can’t say I’ve had many complaints when it comes to that.”

“If you’re trying to get me to like you, that’s not the best way to do so—by telling me I’m just one notch on a bedpost filled with many.”

“I’m? As in present tense? So you’re still thinking of us in the present instead of the past.” I lift my eyebrows.