Page 79 of Hard to Hold

“What?” I ask as he backs out of the bathroom.

“Ten minutes, Nox. Better get that fine arse of yours moving.”

Fifteen minutes after hearing a horn honking from the driveway, I stroll out the front door, purse under my arm with my bikini inside, since he had board shorts on, and stop to a halt. There’s Rush sitting behind the wheel of a bright red, convertible Mustang, engine revving, grin as wide as can be.

“What are you . . .” My words fade off and I laugh as I lift my phone to take a picture of him. Right now, it’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. Smile wide, eyes alive, and so excited. “You sure you can drive that thing? I mean, aren’t you on the wrong side of the road?” I tease.

“I’m skilled. You can vouch for that.”

This man does things to my insides. “You’re getting your wish. To drive a classic American car.”

“I am.” He stretches across the car and opens the door. “Hop in. Come for a ride with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Wherever we want.”

And we do. Rush navigates through the endless traffic of Los Angeles’ freeways out to the Pacific Coast Highway until we’re traveling north. The congestion of the city makes way to the winding road that follows the coast. The ocean is sparkling to our left as we fly with the sun on our faces, the wind in our hair, and with Rush’s hand on my thigh.

It feels like freedom after being confined in a sense to Johnny’s house for so many weeks with only the contract with MLS, my work, and his training as part of our everyday routine.

There’s even something liberating sitting beside Rush and not being able to talk. The wind whipping around us as we drive simply allows us to enjoy each other and not feel forced to fill the time with nonstop talk.

I’m not sure how much time passes before we exit the freeway in the outskirts of Santa Barbara County. I glance over to Rush and notice for the first time that he’s watching the GPS on the dash. I never realized there was an address input into it.

The street we pull down is lined with trees and the brine of the sea is in the air. Our eyes meet briefly before he looks at the addresses of the houses to our left and although it’s a second, I know he’s up to something.

But I don’t say a word.

I wait for him to pull up to the gate, punch in a code that has it swinging open, and then turn the engine off once we’ve driven through.

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?” I ask when he just looks at me with a mischievous grin.

“A little R&R.”

“R&R?” I laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“This is ours for the next two days,” he says nonchalantly as he climbs out of the car and rounds the hood to where I’m staring at him with surprise on my face.

“What do you mean for the next two days?” I stare up at him to where he’s standing with the door open.

“You told me you didn’t want anyone to know that we’re doing whatever it is we’re doing . . . so, now,” he says and waves his hand around us, “no one will know. We have a private beach, a secluded house away from everyone—”

“And no food or clothes or toiletries or so many things.” I laugh the words out, stunned at this gesture.

“The fridge is fully stocked as per my request to the owner, and who needs clothes? We have a private pool, and I’m sure there are those fluffy white robes if you want them. Toiletries were also on my request list. Remember I share a bathroom with you so I know what you like, and when it comes to the so many things part—”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Johnny deserves to have his house back to himself for a few days,” he says as he takes my hands and pulls me up and into him. “And, darling, I really want you alone for a few days so I don’t have to worry about getting caught every time we have our horrible, unsatisfying sex.”

“It is terrible sex, isn’t it?” I ask and savor the tender kiss he places on my lips.

“Dreadful.” Another kiss. “You come. Then you come again. Then I come. It’s completely unsatisfying.”

“I’m glad you have this all planned.” That, of course, is a gross understatement. I’m astounded. To think that this man thinks he’s a bastard. Selfish. A hard client to deal with. Well, aren’t all clients? They should be since it’s their life they are advocating for. But the rest? No. He’s nothing like the man people think he is.

Like I said to him the other day, I think it’s the façade he wants people to see. And yet, he’s selflessly brought me away. For R&R. No one has ever done something like this for me. And I’m shocked. In awe.