Page 32 of Holden

Holden’s jaw tenses. I can almost see the war playing out in his mind. He’s in another mood, and unless I find some way to crack it, then I’m afraid he’s going to send me home—without touching a single part of my body.

Which would suck, since I’m quite comfortable in his apartment.

“No strings,” I say, with a shrug of nonchalance that doesn’t even fool myself.

“I’d fuck you regardless of whether you asked me a damn question or not,” he says. His fingers move deftly through the fridge as he withdraws marinated chicken, and an assortment of cut vegetables. Each dish hits the countertop with a flinching thunk. “Do you like stir fry?”

I’ve offered to cook—whatever mess that would be—but he deflects with some kind of excuse every time. I guess it’s easy to throw something together when your chef does all the prep work. All food becomes convenient, at that point.

“Stir fry sounds nice.”

He grunts out some kind of approval, and then pulls out a wok from one of the bottom kitchen cupboards. Once the chicken is sizzling, he pours me a glass of white wine. Another bottle of something expensive, this label too long for me to pronounce. I take a sup. “It’s good…light.”

Another grunt.

Yeesh. I can tell how tonight’s conversation is going to go.

“What about you?” I say, nodding my head toward the empty glass. “Not having wine?”

He shakes his head. “Whiskey.”

I blow out a sigh. At this crossroads, I have a couple of choices. I can stick it out, hoping that his mood improves. Or I can leave.

Holden tosses the vegetables on top of the chicken and puts the lid on, allowing the steam to cook through our incredibly delicious-scented meal. Leaving without eating doesn’t make much sense.

“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” he says, finally, after taking a long pull from his drink. He holds the edge of the glass almost absent-mindedly.

“I can see that.” He turns and shakes the wok, mixing all of the ingredients together, and leans up against the counter. I can almost feel the stress radiating off him. “Is it work?”

His expression darkens.

I take a deep breath. “Okay fine. Your job is off limits.” Along with a bunch of other shit, which is only just now beginning to annoy me. Sometimes it’s like navigating a mine field trying to tiptoe around his mood swings.

My pulse thrums. I slide off the stool and come up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist while he tends to the wok. His whole body stiffens. I slip one hand beneath the waist band of his pants, and grab his cock. He sucks in a breath. “What the hell are you doing?”

Ignoring the edge to his voice, I begin sliding my hand up and down his shaft, loving the way it begins to thicken under my palm, needing to make him feel at ease. I cup his balls in my hand and squeeze. “Maybe you just need a little TLC.”

I’m acting bold, but the truth is, I’m trembling. Whatever darkness lurks under the surface of Holden’s cool facade is clawing its way out. Instinct tells me I should get out of there—but my damn heart has other plans. It’s too late to run. I’m already in way too deep.

Holden flicks off the stove and turns. The look in his eyes is raw desire, and my pulse spikes with a dangerous cocktail of fear and excitement. He’d never physically hurt me, I know that, but there’s something so hot about sex with him when it’s a little rough.

He pulls me close and plants his mouth on mine, effectively ending any further conversation. His hips grind up against my crotch while his tongue probes between my lips. His moves are frantic, almost desperate, as if for one second, he thought I might walk away too.

A girl could get lost in that power.

I don’t protest when he lifts me off the kitchen floor and carries me blindly to his bedroom down the hall. His hands hitch up under my buttocks and dig in as I wrap my legs around his lean torso. My teeth sink into his shoulder.

“I hope you know what you’re asking for, sweetness,” he growls.

My heart skips a beat.

In the bedroom, he lays me on the mattress and climbs up next to me. One hand is on my breast, and the other yanks my T-shirt up to expose my stomach. I tense under his scrutiny. My skin feels electric, almost alive. It amazes me how my body responds to his touch. Like I’m the only woman in the world he wants to kiss, to hold, to fuck.

A goose egg-sized lump lodges at the back of my throat.

My damn fantasies are taking over again. But how can they not when Holden’s gaze travels up and down my body with a hunger that makes my knees go weak. He shoves his hand down my skirt and grazes the top of my pussy through the underwear.

I curse myself for not wearing something sexier.