Know When to Hold Him

by Lindsay Emory

  “Put Nora on speaker. I hear her laughing.”

  “Not laughing!” Came Nora’s breathless voice over the speaker phone. “Just sad for you. No cell phone at JT Buchanan’s birthday party. What ever will you do?”

  A flash of a shirtless, wet Liam raced through Spencer’s mind. “Well, I can’t leave yet, I haven’t had any cake.” Spencer drawled. “How are things there?”

  As Rainey had promised, the business had managed without Spencer’s guidance for twelve hours. “Good,” Spencer said. “Have I gotten any personal calls? Since my phone drowned and all.” Another flash–of Liam dropping said dunked phone into her hand, the water rolling off the back of his long, tanned fingers. Distracted once again by thought of his body, she didn’t pay much attention to Nora.

  Glancing down at her wrinkled clothing, she decided it was time to make herself a bit more presentable.

  …

  The Buchanan ranch house had grown quiet about four o’clock in the afternoon, as guests returned to their rooms to sleep off their beers and shower and change for round two. Liam showered quickly, throwing on a favorite college T-shirt and his best jeans.

  For the fortieth time that afternoon, Spencer’s face flashed through his mind. Not that he was super religious, but it seemed kind of like a miracle that she’d walked out on the pool deck like that, a vision in white with legs that went on forever. And she’d literally been thrown into his arms.

  If that wasn’t a sign, Liam didn’t know what was.

  This woman was different. He’d seen it at the party the other night. Knocked down, she came right back up, ready to fight or, alternatively, take care of business in a scarily efficient way.

  There was a toughness to her, as well. After being thrown in a pool, many women would have shrieked, or stormed off, or shrunk into a corner, bemoaning their ruined hairdo or makeup. Spencer laughed it off, played it cool, and calmly informed the dunking perpetrator that he’d have to replace her phone. And he’d said yes. Liam bet that most men agreed to do whatever Spencer told them to do. After having held her in his arms, he knew he’d be putty in her hands, too. Willingly. Often. Nightly, in fact.

  He headed down to the party, feeling better than he had in months.

  …

  Ten of JT’s closest friends had gathered in the large great room of the ranch house, overlooking a valley and a breathtaking spring sunset. A buffet of barbeque brisket, beans, coleslaw, rolls, and cobbler was laid out, and most of the guests were pouring themselves drinks at the well-stocked bar in the corner of the room.

  Spencer sat quietly on the hearth of the large stone fireplace that anchored one end of the room. JT settled himself next to her. “I can see you plotting.”

  Spencer shook her head. “Not plotting. Assessing.”

  “Assessing what?”

  Spencer used her glass to point to the group at the bar. “Your future political donors.”

  “These are my friends, Spence,” JT sighed. She ignored him as she continued to analyze the room.

  “There are three close relatives to Texas presidents. Two of your friends are related to people who control approximately one-third of the crude petroleum in the United States. There are five Colorado winter retreats, three beach houses in Malibu, Maui, and Maine, and four yachts. This is who gets you to the attorney general’s office, Bucky.”

  JT raised his eyebrows. “Attorney general? Why not lieutenant governor? Hypothetically. And don’t call me Bucky.”

  “Lieutenant governor is fine and extremely powerful in Texas. But it limits your opportunities outside of Texas, for any future-hypothetical-national political office. For a hypothetical candidate starting out, attorney general is your best first run. Or congressman.”

  “Or senator? What would Dad Hightower say if he had some competition in the primary?”

  Spencer looked grim. “Yummy. Breakfast.”

  JT chuckled at her joke. “What if I had you on my side?” He was teasing, but she could tell he was trying to get a sense of where her loyalty might be.

  “I couldn’t be on your side, Bucky.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I was on one side of a race and my father was on the other, that means one of us would lose. And Hightowers never lose.” Spencer took a sip of her drink, skimming over the assembled guests again, finally focusing on Liam relaxing easily on the couch, his denim clad legs stretched out.

  “Sometimes they do. I don’t recall you living in the White House after Dad Hightower ran for President.”

  JT’s voice teased, but a brick sank in her stomach at his words.

  “Sorry, Spencer,” JT apologized under his breath.

  Spencer gave him a faint smile and nod. She had learned the gracious art of ignoring jokes and jabs about her father’s failed Presidential bid years ago in grade school. JT’s gentle teasing was nothing compared to the viciousness of middle school mean girls. Outwardly, she remained calm, good-natured, even. Sometimes Spencer could make a distant, well-worded comment on how her father loved being a Senator from Texas. Or how her mother was relieved to not have to find an oval rug to fit an oval office. And after so many years of moving on and ignoring it, it was mostly true that she didn’t care.

  Mostly.

  Of course, it was fine that the country hadn’t elected a President Hayes Hightower. But in a family that prided itself on always winning, the fact that Spencer had been part of the defeat still didn’t sit well.

  Her high school therapist had said Spencer wanted absolution. The competitive grown up Spencer wanted a recount, hanging chads and all.

  She focused on her friend again, elections fresh on her mind. “You definitely do not want to run against my father.”

  “So, attorney general, huh?”

  “You have the resume, the experience, the contacts. It’s nonpartisan—well, it has the appearance of being nonpartisan—and you can pick your cases. And you make sure to only pick cases you can win.”

  “Like you do.”

  She didn’t only pick cases she could win. She just won no matter what. It was deep in her DNA. She caught the attention of Liam across the room, and her solar plexus tightened again.

  “So any more advice? Especially for free?”

  JT was asking her for help. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from Liam. But she knew he was still there, watching her, with a sharp stare that seemed to tear right through her. Spencer collected herself and focused back at the rest of JT’s friends. “These people are important, but you’re loyal, Bucky. You need to make sure there are no skeletons in their closets.”

  “I know these guys. They’re good people…”

  “Yes they are. And good people do bad things.”

  “God, you’re jaded. What do you want me to do, hire a private investigator?” JT scoffed.

  Spencer ignored JT’s simplistic suggestion as she straightened, smoothing out the wrinkles of her shirt. “There are more cost-effective and efficient ways to get information.”

  Forty-five minutes later, when the dinner dishes were cleared and refills of drinks were poured, JT announced that before the traditional birthday weekend Texas Hold ‘Em game started, there would be a new game… Never Have I Ever.

  …

  Everyone knew the rules. Each player had to make a statement starting with “Never have I ever…” and ending with something they’d never done. If another player had completed the activity, they took a drink of their beer, wine, or, in Spencer’s case, Liam suspected, club soda with a twist. She wasn’t getting giddy or protesting when she sipped, and when she drank, it was always to the most vanilla statements. “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping.” Please. Who cares? Lame as it was, the idea of skinny-dipping distracted Liam for a good minute before he realized he was next. And he was going to come up with an outstanding contribution-just for Spencer.

  The guy next to him, Paul, gamely finished his drink after no one admitted to also once propositioning a police office
r to get out of a ticket. Then it was Liam’s turn. He sought out Spencer’s observant gaze. “Never have I ever…” He paused, making sure he had her full attention. “Sent naked photos to someone.”

  “Oh, GEEZ!” Zach’s girlfriend Tiffany exclaimed. Everyone laughed as she, Zach, and another woman tipped back their glasses. Liam lifted his glass to Spencer, and with a slight wink, took his own drink.

  “Never have I ever…eaten cheap sushi,” said the curly haired guy next to him. Liam drank.

  “Never have I ever…done a belly flop,” said JT. Everyone laughed, as the group recalled Zach’s horrifying belly flop of the century earlier that day. Liam drank.

  “Never have I ever…used someone else’s toothbrush,” said Neil, another buddy from JT and Liam’s law school days.

  “Ewww!” Several of the ladies responded.

  Liam drank.

  It was Spencer’s turn again. She met Liam’s teasing gaze, and the corner of her mouth crooked up before she said, “Never have I ever…gotten drunk at JT’s birthday party.” Everyone lifted their glasses with a cheer. Everyone except for Liam. Spencer noticed and tipped her glass in recognition. A silly gesture, so why did he get a thrill when she noticed him?

  The game continued another round, with Spencer mostly watching, and Liam drinking to most everything. If someone was keeping track, and he was pretty sure Spencer was, she’d know that he had worn dirty underwear, slept with a friend’s parent, read all of the Twilight books, and stolen his mom’s Xanax. He finally got Spencer to laugh out loud when he admitted to crying at the movies. The game ended on JT’s admission that he had never cheated at poker, which led to most of the group demanding he prove his mad poker skills.

  As the guests rearranged themselves for the poker game, Liam noticed Spencer slipping out of the room. She liked to do that, he realized. She arranged things and then slipped away, like the special team’s kicker scrambling to the sidelines after a field goal.

  Liam found her on the patio, sitting on the porch swing by the pool. The night was dark, the moon a thin sliver of silver in the sky. The pool lights illuminated her pale hair.

  “I can’t believe you’re still standing,” Spencer said, as Liam made his way to the swing to sit next to her.

  “Why? Because of all the iced tea I just drank?” Liam asked, his weight making the swing tip back a little.

  “I should have known.”

  “And you had club soda.”

  She gave him a sharp stare. “How did you…?”

  “Because you don’t seem like the type to get drunk playing a game.”

  Spencer tilted her head. “I don’t?”

  “No, it’s not your style.”

  She was amused. “What is my style?”

  Liam seriously considered the question. “Wine. You like a nice glass of wine. Sometimes champagne. A margarita at a pool party and a beer with a cute guy by the pool.”

  “A beer?” She repeated, and then she spotted the two bottles Liam produced from seemingly out of nowhere.

  He handed her one, gratified at both her obvious surprise and her not turning him down flat. Spencer looked at the top of the bottle. Damn. Plot foiled. These weren’t screw top lids.

  Spencer twisted around with her beer bottle, placed the top between the links of the chain holding the swing to its frame, and with a smack of the heel of her hand, off popped the bottle cap.

  “You want me to do yours?”

  There were a few different ways to answer that. But that could be dangerous and a tad ungentlemanly, so he just nodded and handed her his beer. She gave him the opened bottle. “So my style again?”

  “Classy. Awesome.”

  There was that smile again.

  “You don’t know me,” Spencer said.

  Liam lifted his beer bottle in a toast. “Here’s to getting to know each other.”

  Spencer lifted her longneck to his with a clink.

  “Why aren’t you playing poker?” she asked him after she took another sip of her beer.

  “I don’t like to beat my friends. Why aren’t you playing?”

  “I don’t play games I’m not sure I can win.”

  Spencer was quick and resourceful. He’d give her that. A woman who could quickly dispose of illegal narcotics and deftly improvise a bottle opener out of a porch swing could handle the simple rules of Texas Hold ‘Em. Plus, she kept a poker face. “Do you always win at everything?” Liam asked.

  Spencer’s cocked eyebrow was her answer. Damn, Liam loved it. Loved her confidence. Loved her calm, cool, contained smile. It made him want to do something outrageous, just to see if he could knock her off her game. So he leaned over, put a hand on the side of her face, and kissed her.

  Spencer paused for only half a moment before she kissed him back. It wasn’t out of politeness. It wasn’t cautious or reserved. It was a full-on, Yes, please kiss. Her lips tasted of lime and cold beer, delicious and addicting. Liam slipped his hand into her hair, the silky threads weaving through his fingers. Spencer’s hands slipped around his neck, locking behind his head and pulling him closer and deeper.

  Fire flashed through him. Her tongue, her lips, her hands on him were a hundred times more intoxicating than the beer he still had in his hand. Why was he still holding that again? He let it drop to the ground, distantly hearing the ping of glass and the fizz of liquid on concrete as he used his now-free hand to cup the other side of her beautiful face.

  Liam nibbled her bottom lip, and when she gasped, he stopped, opened his eyes. Had he hurt her? What he found was blond hair gilded in the pale moonlight. Heavy lidded eyes. A mouth that was full and open.

  He couldn’t deny himself.

  Liam lowered his head and tasted her again, tender at first, then more demanding. He needed more.

  When she moaned into his mouth, he knew she needed more, too, and dammit he’d give it to her.

  His hands snaked around her waist and lifted her into his lap, causing the swing to rock precariously. Liam steadied them with his feet.

  Spencer twisted and pressed her breasts into him.

  There was no way she could not notice the way his body reacted to her. The more she kissed him, the harder he got. The more she stroked his neck, down his chest, the harder he got. The more her breasts tantalized and teased, the harder he got.

  “What the fuck?” A voice came from behind. Spencer’s mouth stilled and pulled away. Liam’s hand reluctantly stopped its excursion up the outside of a perfect, smooth thigh.

  “Go away,” Liam commanded.

  “Believe me, I want to,” JT said. “But I might have to beat you up first.”

  “Go away,” Spencer echoed Liam’s command, breathless. But even as she said it, she was sliding off Liam’s lap.

  His body ached with the loss of her sweet weight on his.

  “You okay?” JT asked, obviously directed at Spencer. Liam could see a slight roll of her eyes in the moonlight.

  “I’ll call you if I need you, Bucky.” There was an answering scoff from JT’s direction.

  “Bucky?” Liam’s question was low as JT’s footsteps faded away.

  “His nickname when we were kids. Meant to remind him that I know where all of his bodies are buried.”

  Liam grabbed her hand as she stood up from the swing. “Do you want me to bury him?” It was supposed to come out like a joke, but it was dead serious.

  Spencer’s low chuckle did violent things below his belt. He wanted to tell her not to go. He wanted to kiss her again, hear her moan again, see what would happen if they just stayed entangled for a night or two.

  But he didn’t get a chance.

  “Good night, Liam.” She said softly and walked away toward the house. Liam literally could not move for fear that the friction might send him over the freaking edge. Classy, Connelly. Super classy.

  Chapter Five

  Spencer grabbed a quick breakfast and headed to the home gym in the ranch house. A good pounding was what she needed. Str
ike that. A good pounding on the treadmill was what she needed. Forty-five minutes later, the restlessness that had overtaken her since kissing Liam the night before hadn’t abated.

  It was like a thousand volts of electricity were shooting under her skin in pure, raw energy. She’d tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, reliving every nibble, lick, and taste of Liam’s very skilled mouth.

  And his hands.

  She’d shivered under her bed sheets thinking about those large hands sliding over her skin and around her neck, her thigh, her breast. And he hadn’t even touched her breasts–yet.

  The fact that this Liam had caused this much internal drama gave Spencer pause. She didn’t do this…this drama with men thing. It wasn’t classy. It wasn’t dignified, and it was way too messy.

  A string of nice guys—guys who were well-off, discrete, and played by the rules—filled Spencer’s relationship history. Even when she had flings, there were always rules. It helped everyone in the end.

  It wasn’t that she dated pushovers, as Rainey and Nora had always accused her of. It was that, when it came to men, Spencer was methodical, careful, making sure she was always in control, always with the upper hand. A life as a senator’s daughter had taught her to be wary of scandal, of losing control, of losing anything, ever. One woman’s pushover was another woman’s safe bet.

  Then there was this new guy. Spencer tried to focus on what she knew about Liam. An image of a tattooed, muscled chest and arms floated into her brain. She thought of his sharp profile, the smile in his eyes, the way his hair always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. She was attracted to him, and who could blame her?

  But the fact that he was hot and threw a mean punch and was friends with JT didn’t necessarily mean he was her type. No offense to JT, but those things might actually disqualify Liam from ever being her type.

  He was there, in the great room when she joined the party, wearing a T-shirt over muscles that looked firm and well-defined. His jeans showed off his firm ass and powerful thighs to perfection. Her body responded with that same tingling energy.