Page 67 of Hard to Hold

I laugh, as I scoot out from my seat so that Rush’s head falls to the cushion, while gathering my contracts and papers that had fallen during our kissing.

“When I agreed to the two of you staying here, I didn’t think I was going to have to sterilize the whole house from your infectious lusting,” he says as he strolls into the family room. “Wow. A football game on the telly and a hard-on in your pants. Let’s hope that hard-on was for you, Lenn, and not the game.”

I hold up my middle finger to Johnny, conscious that for the first time in my life, I’m embarrassed about getting caught in this position. Considering the fact that Johnny and I were roommates in college, we’ve both caught each other in compromising situations, but there’s something different about this time.

Something that unnerves me, and it’s not until I collect my things and am heading up the stairs to Rush and Johnny’s banter in the background that I realize what it was.

Rush made me feel. In the moment, our kissing was incredible, but now that I’ve been able to step back, I realize it was too tender and too reverent. I usually shy away from anything that makes me feel like that.

Pleasure and desire and lust are what I prefer. It’s what I bury my heart beneath. It’s what I swear I want, but for some reason I’ve let Rush dig down to.

Shit.

Well, lucky for me there was Johnny.

Lucky for me I was saved by the bell.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

RUSH

THE BREEZE IS COOLER TONIGHT, as it whispers up the canyon and through the trees surrounding the house.

On any given night the view is one for the ages, but tonight it’s even better. Lennox is standing at the edge of the patio, hands braced against the railing, face held up to the sky.

And almost as if she’s tempting every part of my willpower—that was tested with that snogging session earlier—she’s in an all-white bikini with a sexy chain wrapped around her waist that’s glinting off the moonlight. Her hair is wet, and water runs down every inch of her body.

I take in the curve of her arse, the length of her legs, how you can all but see her skin beneath the wet fabric . . . and have to stifle a groan by the sauna that I just stepped out of.

Who is this woman and why is she owning way too many of my thoughts? It’s more than her body. That, in and of itself, is devastating, but add in her no-nonsense attitude on the phone when she’s on business calls, and there’s no denying sexy is an understatement when it comes to Lennox.

But, what am I going to do about it?

I understand her side of things—why she’s saying no and the corner she’s backed into on this. And I also have to be aware of the fact that maybe I do want her as my agent. Someone who believes me and tells me straight versus looking at me as a damn paycheck is a fucking rarity.

My fingers itch to touch her. To claim her. To have her.

And yet, I don’t keep women around long, I never have. So what does that mean when you’ve shagged and discarded a woman who you might want to be your agent? How the fuck does that work?

“I know you’re standing there, Rush,” she says in that husky rasp of hers before looking over her shoulder to where I’m standing. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“It’s a beautiful night,” I murmur as I walk out from behind the shadows. “The stars. The view. The—”

“Me,” she says and turns to face me.

I whistle. The woman is more than enough to bring any man to his knees. I take in the whole of her. The intensity of her eyes. The delicate curve of her shoulder. That chain that rests right beneath her belly button.

And I was right. That wet, white swimsuit clings to her skin so that even by the pool light, I can see the dark pink of her nipples through the fabric.

She’s bathed in complete confidence—that only makes her sexier—and owns everything about me in the moment.

“Yes. You, Nox,” I say as she crosses the distance and steps into my personal space. Without hesitation, I reach out and run a hand down the side of her abdomen before twisting my fingers in that damn chain and tugging her gently into the shadows with me. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”

Her breath hitches, and there’s something different about her now. Earlier she was soft and . . . seemed vulnerable for lack of a better term, but right now, she’s a straight-up siren. Her eyes are telling me the same thing her body is, and I cannot complain about them finally aligning.

I run the backs of my fingers down her cheek, as our gazes lock in the moonlight. “We’ve been skirting around whatever this is, Lennox, for way too long.”

“Around what?” she asks in a rush of breath.