Page 65 of Hard to Hold

Change gears, Lennox.

Save your sanity.

I reach out and run a hand through his hair. “I was working here, you know.”

“I know, but you’re also working with me, and since I seem to be getting the short end of the stick on your attention as of late, I figured I’d insert myself right where you can’t ignore me anymore.” He opens his eyes to meet mine.

“I’ve hardly been ignoring you.”

“Then why am I the only one lying horizontal right now?” His grin widens, which is a welcome sight after the worry etched in the lines of his face moments ago.

But as much as it’s a welcome sight, I emit a sigh. It’s all I can do. The man most definitely wins an A for effort and being relentless over the past week.

Between walking around in those damn LFC sweats that ride low on his hips to making sure to occupy every single space of the house I’m in, he’s definitely determined to wear me down until I cave.

If I’m on the phone pacing with a client, he plops down, props his feet up right in my path as if I’m not there, and starts scrolling on his phone.

If I’m working at the dining room table on the computer, he turns a game on, any game, and commentates to drive me crazy.

If I’m in the kitchen, he hops up on the island right where I’m preparing food, taking samples of whatever I’m preparing.

I’ve held out, I’m proud that I have, but the more he’s around and the less I’m around the outside influences in my life that were making me feel inadequate, the more I’m beginning to agree with him that it’s no one’s business who I sleep with.

“You have to stop doing this,” I scold.

“Doing what?”

“Thinking my time is your time.”

“But isn’t it your job to make me happy? So essentially your time is my time.” His grin is back and when I avert my eyes, I’m looking at his chest. The intricate tattoos cover his left shoulder and down to his wrist. They’re a mosaic of images and words, the most substantial one a compass of sorts that all the rest revolve around, and I study each one while he watches me do so.

“Do you have something against wearing shirts?” I murmur.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, I do. It’s a shame to wear them when the weather is as great as it is here. You should try it sometime.”

“We’re not as free here in the States when it comes to women going topless.”

“You should be. I won’t tell anyone if you take it off if you don’t tell.”

“Funny.”

“Tell me something, Lennox.”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you here? There’s more to it than just the MLS. I’ve heard you on the phone with your sisters and dad. You miss them.”

My smile is soft as a swell of emotion hits me, and how right he is. “I do.”

“Care to expand?”

“Only if you care to?”

Our eyes hold for a beat, a silent challenge highlighted with an undertone of sexual tension that neither of us can deny. His heartbeat pounds under my hand I have resting atop his chest and in this moment, I know my defenses are all but nonexistent.

“You’re upset.”

“Sometimes family does that to you even when it’s unintentional.”