Holding Her Close

by Lexi Ryan

  I lift my martini and take a long drink, nearly draining it. “I’m grrrrrreat!” I say it like the tiger on that cereal commercial, but Cade does not seem amused.

  “Are you—” I’m guessing the end of that sentence was going to be something along the lines of fucking kidding me? or trying to drive me insane? but he snaps his mouth shut again. He gives a dark look to each of my male companions before releasing a breath. “I need to make a call. Don’t. Move.” He looks at a guy standing a few feet behind him and points to our table before pulling out his phone and disappearing around the corner.

  “That must be our babysitter,” I say, studying the tall man who’s watching us with folded arms. “My babysitter hired a babysitter. You think that means he’s come to his senses and now he’s going to ditch me?”

  “I don’t think he trusts you enough to ditch you.” Jamaal gives me a look. “Looks like the princess is in trouble.”

  I’m sorry I told them about Cade calling me princess. But damn, it annoys me when he does it. “He’s definitely angry,” I mutter. “What’s new?”

  Matt grins. “Girl, he’s not just angry. There’s so much sexual tension between you two, it’s like he . . .” He rubs his hands together, trying to think of the words.

  “Like he wants to spank your ass,” Jamaal fills in, and I giggle. I can imagine that, strangely. I’ve never been spanked before—sexually or otherwise—but I can absolutely imagine Cade pulling me onto his lap, pulling up my skirt, and smacking my ass with his open hand. Something buzzes up my spine at the thought and then spirals low and hot in my belly. I don’t actually like the idea, do I? This man seriously screws with my brain.

  “He may have been in love with Cara,” Matt says, “but he never looked at her like that. Damn. Please let me get you two in front of a camera. If you could talk him into just one interview . . .”

  I glare at him. We’ve been over this. “Did that look like a man who could be talked into anything?”

  Cade reappears at the end of the table, meets my gaze, and lifts his chin. “Let’s go.”

  As in, go back to that hotel room and have Cade glare at me like I’m the worst thing that ever happened to him? “I’m not going anywhere,” I say. I don’t care that I sound childish. Life kind of sucks right now, and I think I’m entitled to a little childish behavior. “I’m having a good time, and I’m not ready to leave.”

  “Do you want me to throw you over my shoulder and drag you out of here?” Cade asks.

  Folding my arms, I return his glare. “Is that what a loving boyfriend would do?”

  Jamaal wipes the humor from his face and leans forward enough to send the message that he’s with me, and I won’t be going anywhere I don’t want to. Jamaal is as mean-spirited as a kitten, but no one knows that by looking at him. He gives intimidating glares like it’s his job. And since my brother still has him on retainer, tonight, it is.

  Unfortunately, Cade is unfazed. “Test me, princess.”

  Jamaal’s badass expression falters. He snickers and says under his breath, “Gonna spank your ass.”

  Matt slides out of our corner booth and motions to the spot next to me. “Come on, man. Join us!”

  Cade sneers at him. Then he turns to me. “You want to stay?”

  “Yes!” I drain my martini and hold the empty glass to the passing waitress. “Another round, please! And a beer for my boyfriend this time, too.”

  “Fine,” Cade says, grabbing my extended hand. A trickle of foreboding creeps down my spine as he sets the glass on the table and pulls me from the booth. “Then let’s dance.”

  He drags me to the dance floor, moving so fast I practically trip over my own feet trying to keep up with him. When I open my mouth to complain, he pulls me into his arms.

  I didn’t sleep after my shower. I was too busy making arrangements for tonight and trying not to stare at how gorgeous Cade was when he slept. I caught a brief nap on the way here, but days of sleep deprivation are catching up to me. I want to melt into Cade and have his big hands stroke my back. I want him to be the boyfriend he’s pretending to be and make me believe everything is okay.

  But he isn’t my boyfriend, and he doesn’t relax at the contact of our bodies. Not at all. He’s one solid block of tension. I’ve spent most of the night second-guessing my decision to let him do me a favor he doesn’t owe me. The resentment rolling off him in waves is only feeding my doubts.

  “Why are you so angry with me?” I link my hands behind his neck. “You’re always so angry with me.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Rising onto my toes, I position my mouth by his ear. “No one’s going to believe you’re my boyfriend if you hold me like you’re afraid you might catch something.”

  One second we’re standing there, barely moving on the dance floor. The next, he’s spinning me around, and I’m trapped between his body and the wall. He has one hand at my neck, the other at my waist, one thick thigh between my legs.

  “You wanna know why I’m angry?” He presses closer. My already-short skirt hikes higher up my hips, and I’m treated to the delicious pressure of his thigh pressing into the lace of my panties. “Maybe because you’re reckless. Selfish. Immature. Maybe because for the last three hours you’ve been boozing it up with your buddies while I was picturing you bound and helpless to some obsessive maniac.”

  Before I can reply, his mouth is on mine. This isn’t like the seductive kisses we shared on our first night together, and it lacks the tenderness of the kiss he gave me at the station. This kiss matches his mood. It’s hot and angry. Demanding and possessive. This is the kiss of a man who very well could throw his woman over his shoulder and drag her home. The kiss of a man whose woman would relish such treatment.

  I shouldn’t be that woman. I shouldn’t even pretend to be her. But should has nothing to do with the way I open my mouth and slip my tongue inside to taste him. Should has nothing to do with me shifting my stance, lifting one knee to give his thigh better access to my aching center. When Cade touches me, should goes out the window and is replaced by must.

  I must pull him closer. I must learn how his neck tastes. I must dissolve into his kiss until the world disappears. Then even must falls away and I am nothing but this ache where need becomes pleasure and pleasure becomes need. He called me reckless, and right now I am. With him, that’s what I become.

  When he tears his mouth from mine, I gasp at the loss.

  “Is that better?” he asks, rubbing his face against my neck and marking me with his stubble. “If I hold you like this.” The hand at my waist slides down until he’s cupping my ass. “Touch you like this.” The hand on my neck dips to skim the tops of my breasts. “Would that be enough?” He opens his mouth against my neck and sucks. Hard. “What’s it going to take to get you to listen to me?”

  “Cade . . .” Maybe that last martini was a mistake, or maybe his mouth and hands on me are just too much, because I don’t understand what he’s talking about. I knew Cade wouldn’t be happy about me leaving without him, and I knew even with Jamaal by my side, my decision to spend time in public would make him uncomfortable. To be fair, that was why I left the note instead of waking him. I knew he wouldn’t approve.

  The flash of a camera tears me from my lust-induced trance and reminds me we’re not alone.

  “Janelle!” a man calls behind me. “Is this your new boyfriend?”

  Jamaal is there before I can blink, stepping forward to block me and Cade from the photographer.

  “How does it feel to know your girlfriend is fucking around with her ex-husband?” the photographer shouts from behind Jamaal, and the question makes my blood chill. I don’t want to be here anymore.

  “I’ll leave with you now,” I tell Cade.

  He doesn’t miss a beat. He leads the way to the door as I mouth thank you to Jamaal. I catch Matthew’s eye on the way out, and he looks way too pleased with himself.

  Somehow I’m not surprised to see Cade has
a car waiting, and yet the press of the crowd and the flashes of more cameras startle me.

  Fucking Matt. No doubt I have him to thank for this.

  The babysitter from earlier opens the door, and Cade wraps his arm around my shoulders as I lower my head and climb in. Cade takes the seat beside mine then takes my wrist and tugs me toward him until I practically tumble sideways into his lap.

  “Come here,” he says, his voice gruff as he leads me to straddle him.

  I obey. Instinct overtaking reason, I position a knee on either side of his hips and loop my arms behind his neck. My skirt hikes up my thighs and the hard length of him presses against me through his jeans. And thank God, because I don’t care about anything but getting my body as close to his as possible as quickly as possible.

  “Cameras,” he murmurs softly as he reaches to power down the windows. As they open, his hands are in my hair and he’s crushing his mouth to mine.

  If it weren’t for that word, that reminder that this is just pretend for him, I’d probably be grinding against him right about now. I’d be kissing him with all the need I feel every time I’ve set eyes on him since the party. Instead, I hold back. I sweep my tongue across his lips and angle my head for the cameras outside the car, but I don’t throw myself into it. I don’t allow myself to fantasize that this is more to him than a role he’s determined to play.

  When the car slides smoothly into traffic, I break the kiss and press the button to roll up the tinted windows. “Thanks,” I mutter, forcing a smile. “You definitely played the part of Janelle Crane’s boyfriend like a pro tonight.” I start to climb off his lap, but he puts a hand on each thigh and stills me.

  “If you think you can just put yourself in danger and go clubbing anytime you like, there’s no point in me acting like your boyfriend,” he growls in my ear. “If you’re going to leave without giving me the slightest clue where you’ve disappeared to, we might as well forget all of this.”

  I pull back so I can see his face. His gaze dips to my lips, and his eyes are clouded with lust. “I wasn’t in any danger in there,” I say, and his jaw goes tight with anger.

  Tonight, Cade’s different somehow. As if his anger has cracked open his hard exterior, exposing a hint of the vulnerability he hides behind it.

  “Fuck, Janelle, did you hear nothing I told you earlier? This guy is—”

  “That’s why I called Jamaal. He’s a professional bodyguard, and a trusted family friend. He worked for my brother for years.”

  He mutters a curse, and his grip tightens on my thighs. He flips a switch on the door and a divider slowly rises from the seats in front of us, giving us privacy from our driver. “Do you know who I was calling when I first found you? The police. I had to call Gormong to tell him you weren’t actually missing.”

  “Why would you tell the police that I’m missing?”

  “It’s not just that you made me look like a fucking fool,” Cade says, going on as if I didn’t speak. It’s as if now that he’s started touching me, he can’t stop. One hand releases its hold on my thigh and settles at the small of my back. His thumb slides under my shirt and across the skin just above my waistband. “It’s not just that I’ve spent the last three hours worried sick looking for you.” The anger rides low in his voice, a wicked undercurrent I’d be wise to remember lurks beneath his lust.

  “You’ve been looking for me for three hours?” It’s a struggle to focus on our conversation when every brain cell wants to examine the way he’s touching me. The rough pad of his thumbs against the skin; how the slow, rhythmic sweeps across my spine feel like the most intimate touch we’ve shared.

  I shake my head to clear the fog. “It took you three hours to check the place I named in my note?”

  “I thought I’d check here, even though I was sure you weren’t idiotic enough to— What note?”

  I smile. This guy is unreal. I can see it beneath the anger. The honest-to-God worry. The kind that eats you from the inside, frazzles your brain, and makes you literally ill. The kind of worry that makes a man run all over LA looking for someone. I rest my head against his chest. “I left you a note on the end table, by the remote control. Matt wanted to meet. I thought I should bring him up to speed on where we stood. I thought it’d be better to do it without you, given your history.”

  “And why the fuck did you turn off your phone?”

  Fumbling, I pull my phone from my back pocket and press the power button. Frowning, I turn the black screen to Cade. “I guess it died.” The martinis are probably to blame. I don’t know the last time I went three hours without looking at my phone. Unless we’re counting the night of Halloween when I was naked and Cade had his mouth on me.

  He swallows hard. “You left me a note.”

  “You thought I just took off while you were sleeping and didn’t tell you where to find me?”

  “I— You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’m sorry you didn’t see it.” I can’t help it. I have to touch him. I drop my phone in the seat beside us and lift my hand to run it along the edge of his jaw. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It was still a stupid decision. Matt could have met you in our room, or you could have talked on the phone.”

  I’m not going to spend the length of this investigation cloistered in some hotel room, but I decide not to charge into that discussion. Not now, when the tension is finally oozing out of him, slow but steady.

  I graze my thumb over his bottom lip, dying to kiss him again. “Why do you even care what happens to me?”

  “Because it’s who I am. I protect people from bad guys.”

  “You can’t protect everyone.”

  “But I can protect you.” He holds my gaze, as if willing me to understand. “I need to take care of you.”

  My heart tumbles at those words, but I tell myself not to read too much into them. This is a man who needs to be the hero and protector. The worry I see in his eyes isn’t about budding love or affection, even if I want it to be. He’s offering a favor, not his heart. But I’ve never met anyone like him, and I want more. Maybe I’ll regret it, but right now, I’ll take as much of him as he’ll give.

  “Take care of me?” I give an experimental rotation of my hips, rubbing myself against him. “Promises, promises.”

  His fingers slip under my skirt until they skim the lace at my hip. With a long, jagged exhale, he squeezes his eyes shut even as he holds my body tight against his and the hard length of his shaft presses against my center. “You’re killing me, you know that? Resisting you while keeping you close may just destroy me.”

  I slide my hand between our bodies and unbutton his jeans. He curses softly and I whisper, “Then stop resisting.”

  Chapter 8

  Cade

  Janelle’s giving me permission to do exactly what I want to do. Stop resisting.

  When I found her at the club, every ounce of my fear combusted into anger. It was a relief. Anger keeps me sharp. Focused. On my game. I liked the anger and planned to use it like a shield. Then I got her on the dance floor and against that wall. With her mouth under mine, I fought to hold on to that focus, but the lust pumping through me threatened to wash it away.

  Now I’m losing my control again.

  I grab Janelle’s wrist, stopping her before she lowers my zipper. I need to get a handle on my erratic emotions, on my . . . fuck, my need for her.

  Her eyes snap up to my face, and she backs away but I hold her still before she can climb off my lap, my fingers curling into the soft skin of her thigh. “Stay.”

  She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “You send some seriously mixed signals. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “No one’s ever left me quite so conflicted as you do.”

  “What’s the conflict? I want you.” Her gaze drops to my hand on her thigh. “I think you want me.”

  Of course I do. Who wouldn’t? She’s so fucking beautiful. I skim my thumb over
her bottom lip. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “I’m not drunk.” She takes my thumb between her teeth and bites it gently. “Should I remind you that I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol when I invited you to join me in the shower?”

  I groan—at that reminder, and at the feel of her tongue wrapping around my thumb. Need coils in my gut and my cock aches with the ideas that tongue inspires, so I pull my hand away and fist it at my side. “I’m here to protect you.” I’m reminding myself as much as her. “Sex will only complicate things. I don’t know how long it will take to find this guy.”

  “Exactly,” she whispers. “I’m not sure how long I can handle this push and pull between us.” She repositions her hips over mine and shifts until our bodies are notched together.

  After this day, after denying myself what she offered this morning and then being so terrified I’d lost her to some maniac tonight, my need for her is no longer a rational thing. I’m not sure it ever was.

  “I’m not her,” she says.

  “What?”

  “She fucked you, and I can see why you’d expect the same from me. I’m not Cara.”

  Bringing up Cara now feels like an oversimplification of our situation. At the same time, it feels like the only truth that matters. She’s not Cara. It’s true. It took Cara months to have a hold of my emotions in the way Janelle has managed to do in just days. “I know you’re not.”

  She looks so vulnerable. I cup her face in my hands, and I kiss her. I can’t get enough of kissing her. The way she seems to melt into me, the way she sweeps her tongue inside my mouth, the way she tastes—every touch makes me want the next while slowly chipping away at my common sense.

  “God, you make me feel . . .” She bites her lip and looks away.

  “Finish that sentence. What do I make you feel?”

  She turns back to me. “Confused.”

  “I guess that goes both ways, then. You confuse the hell out of me. But that wasn’t what you were going to say. What do I make you feel, sweetheart?”