by Chloe Cox
Not just the video, though that was, obviously, not a high point. Simone realized, as she sat there in the muggy air, turning her face to the faint ghost of a breeze, that she was most ashamed of how she’d reacted. The video was in the past. It was a version of her that didn’t exist anymore. But how she’d reacted to Crennel’s blackmail? That was her, today. Now.
Not telling anyone. Hoping it would just go away. Letting that monster continue on for all that time, when she could have maybe done something about it instead.
And then running and hiding as soon as it all came out.
Simone had heard Charlene say no one was ashamed of her, and she knew Charlene wouldn’t lie, but she just couldn’t bring herself to believe it.
And Holt…Holt who always did the right thing…
“It’s coming out shortly,” Bo said as he brought out two glasses of sweet tea. “Drink this up while we wait. It’s hotter than the devil’s balls out here.”
Simone blinked. Bo laughed.
“Smile looks good on you,” the old man said, and his old eyes suddenly seemed to have a lot more sparkle. “Now what are you so scared of, girl?”
Simone laughed in surprise and alarm. “That obvious?” she said.
Bo grunted. That was it.
Simone studied the moisture beading on her sweet tea, and forced herself to speak.
“So have you seen him?” she said. “How is he?”
Bo didn’t say anything at all. Just sat there. Looking at her.
Simone went back to staring at her tea, silently cursing herself. Obviously this was stupid. Men didn’t talk like women did, at least not any of the men she’d ever met, and apparently not Bo; he wasn’t going to give her some clue about Holt, some piece of information that would tell her how this would go before she even saw him. And it was selfish to ask.
“Yeah, I’m scared,” she said finally. “Because I love him, and I know we don’t work. We’re too different.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about that,” Bo said. “But I liked him with you. More relaxed. More like his old self.”
“What?” she blurted out. “What do you mean?”
Bo gave her a thin smile.
“I knew that boy’s mother,” he said, finally. “She made him strong, in a way. You made him better. But I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, of course.”
And the way he said it made it sound final.
Simone opened her mouth anyway. Then she closed it. Her brain was whirring about at about a mile a minute. She’d wanted to see Holt and explain herself, why she made the choices she did, why they clearly weren’t right for each other, because she thought if she did maybe it would hurt less. Maybe it would be over.
She hadn’t once thought about what it might be like for him.
And he’d told her about his mother. Barely. Sort of. She hadn’t pressed him on it, and he hadn’t volunteered anything other than that his mother was an alcoholic. And she’d just let it lie. What must it have been like for Holt, with that history, to see Simone relapse the way she had? What must it have been like for him to see her withdraw from him again, when she decided to hide Crennel’s blackmail from him?
Oh God.
What must it have been like when she disappeared for six days and refused to see him?
Simone was so far inside her own head that she didn’t notice, at first, that Beaux was still looking at her.
“Miss Delavigne,” he said, finally, “what do you want?”
She looked back, once again too tired to do anything but tell the truth.
“I guess want the impossible,” she said. I want him back. “But I’ll settle for everyone being ok.”
Bo grinned at her, his grizzled white bristles dancing on his cheeks. Then he looked over her shoulder, slapped the table, and stood up.
“Well, you better get started on that,” he said. “I believe you have a visitor. Late as always.”
Simone turned around in her seat, time slowing down while she tried to prepare herself for what she suddenly knew she’d see.
For who she’d see.
Holt.
30
Simone stopped.
Everything just…stopped.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, twisted in her chair, her eyes locked on what she saw. She didn’t know how long it was until she remembered to breathe. She just knew it was him.
Holt. Tall, dark, and everything. Standing just inside the dark of the restaurant, the light of day coming in behind him. The light behind him, the shadows in front of him—she couldn’t see in detail. Could just get the set of his strong shoulders, the muscled lines of his body.
And the glint of his eyes.
Somewhere, light was glinting off his eyes. They shone out at her.
This was why she’d tried to prepare, why she’d disappeared for nearly a week. Because she knew seeing him would knock the breath right out of her. Because she thought if she took time, if she prepared, she’d know how to do the right thing. She’d know how to say goodbye to the future she’d dreamed of without meaning to.
And it wasn’t until she saw him standing there that Simone realized that that was all nonsense. Nothing could have prepared her for this.
Nothing could have prepared her for him.
She heard a chair scrape behind her, and vaguely remembered that there was someone else in the room. Beaux. Beaux, who had just reminded her about Holt’s mother…
“Well, all right,” Beaux said somewhere behind her. “You took your time gettin’ here, that’s for sure. You know where I’ll be if you need me.”
Holt didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. Neither did Simone.
Not until the sounds of Beaux shambling out of the room faded and the kitchen door closed somewhere off to the side.
There was a beat. Holt walked forward just as Simone rose from her seat, and by the time she stood he was just a few feet away.
They both stopped. Simone tried to breathe in the thick, humid air and gripped the chair where she stood. She could see him now. He got better looking every time she saw him, his powerful features shaded with a day’s beard, his gray eyes shining out from a heavy brow.
But there was darkness under his eyes, too. Simone swallowed. She had done that.
“I was going to come see you,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “Beaux called me when you got here. Figured I’d save you the trip.”
Simone swallowed again, and licked her lips. She had so many things she wanted to say, and suddenly there weren’t words for any of them. Her senses were firing on overdrive. She could smell every delicious thing cooking in the kitchen, hear every sound of the swamp around them, see every little line around Holt’s eyes, but she couldn’t talk. It was like that day, that first day, in the Club Volare bathroom.
Holt’s eyes narrowed, and he took another step forward. He was studying her again. She could feel his eyes on her. Just like she had then.
“You think I want to ask why you didn’t tell me,” he said, his voice even. Unreadable. “But I already know the answer.”
“You do?” Her voice sounded tiny. A frightened, flying thing.
Holt didn’t answer. Not right away. He looked her up and down while her brain misfired in every direction at once like a fireworks show gone horribly wrong, and all Simone could do was struggle to stay present. To try to stay with what she was feeling. Even if it was overwhelming her beyond—
“I do,” he said, cutting off her thoughts.
Then Holt took another step. He was so close. She could hear his breathing.
“Wait,” she said, and tried to stay with it. “Please. I need to try to get this out.”
She needed to get this out before he said anything, or she’d never find the courage again. She needed to apologize. She needed to stand up and own it all.
And again the words turned to ash in her throat.
And again, Holt saw.
He closed the remaining
distance between them quickly, so quickly she didn’t have time to react. In the space between her fevered heartbeats he was there, his eyes pinning her where she stood, his big hands finding hers.
And then slowly, deliberately, almost tenderly, he pinned her hands behind her back.
Holt held her wrists at the small of her back with one huge hand and pulled her to him. The pressure was just right, just this edge of painful, just this edge of secure. Just this edge of restrained. She couldn’t get away, and that made her feel free.
And then he spoke.
“You will say what you need to say,” Holt said, his eyes holding hers while his voice—that voice—reverberated through her with the certainty of command. “Now.”
It was an order.
Simone sighed as the command spread through her body, releasing her. She didn’t need to fight herself anymore. She had an order. She could just…obey it.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Once the words were out of her mouth, she found she could look up. She needed to look up. She needed to see him as she said this. And as soon as she started talking, the words kept coming. “I’m sorry for the way I handled everything. For the mess I made of everything. For lying to you, on purpose and accidentally. And for the way I broke up with you. And for not…”
Simone stopped, her chest constricting. She took a deep breath, and Holt’s hands tightened on hers.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to do the right thing,” she said. “I’m sorry I was selfish. I wish I could apologize to every other woman in that horrible place, but I can’t. And I’m so sorry if I hurt or disappointed you while I made this…mess. Of everything.”
Simone blinked, felt the tears come, and almost smiled. Of course she was going to cry. Somehow, this time, she was ok with it.
Holt wasn’t.
“I told you not to talk that way about yourself,” he said, his deep voice somehow hard and soft at the same time.
Simone blinked. He said that like he was…
Like he was her Dom.
“Crennel threatened you,” Holt went on, in that same voice, “and that’s when you ended things?”
“He said he would send it to everyone,” she said. “And I just…I panicked. I’m so sorry.”
She was about to start crying when Holt’s grip on her tightened, and he pulled her closer. She gasped as he pressed her against him. The tears stopped.
Holt looked her up and down, and the sensation that followed his gaze on her skin was definitely not sad. Simone didn’t know she could feel grief and arousal at the same time, but apparently she could. Even if it was confusing as hell.
“Holt…”
“You didn’t trust your Dom,” he said, his voice lower.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. How could he blame himself? “It’s not like that. I trust you completely.”
Slowly, Holt shook his head.
“You didn’t trust me not to break your heart,” he said.
That shut her up.
She didn’t know what to say, because she knew it was true.
“There’s a reason for that,” Holt said, still easy. Still confident. Always a Dom. “I broke that trust once.”
“There should be a rule about leaving a girl speechless while also holding her immobile,” Simone said eventually. “It doesn’t seem fair.”
“None of this is fair,” Holt rumbled, and his thumb brushed against the inside of one her wrists. His other hand, his free hand, was still at his side. Simone’s brain couldn’t help but imagine all the things he could do with it. “Look at me,” he commanded.
She did. His gray eyes stared into hers, and held nothing back.
“There’s no rulebook for how to deal with what happened to you,” he said. “You did it right, however you needed to do it. And now we need to talk. There’s some things I need to ask you, and some things I need to tell you. But first I need to know one thing.”
Simone knew, instantly, that whatever it was, she would tell him. All of her caution, all of her clear thinking, all of her rationalization about how this couldn’t work…
None of it could stand up to the feeling of Holt Manning holding her.
“What?” she said.
Holt’s eyes darkened and softened at the same time. Like they held fire and depths, somehow. Like she could fall into them. God, she wanted to fall into them.
“Do you want me to earn back that trust?” he said.
For a second, Simone was too shocked to understand what he was asking. Too stunned to overthink things.
“What?” she said again.
The corners of Holt’s lips turned up slightly. “A yes or no will suffice,” he said. “Do you want me to earn back that trust?”
Simone searched his eyes as hard as she could. She searched his face. And eventually she remembered to breathe.
She couldn’t quite believe this wasn’t a dream. She thought she would apologize and then never see him again. She thought she’d have to go back to her apartment, alone, that she’d have to go back to avoiding him at the club. That she’d have to go back into hiding while she licked her wounds, until she became someone who deserved the love of a man like this. And now, for the first time, hope was sparking somewhere in her heart.
So she answered the only way she could. Honestly.
“Yes,” she said.
Holt growled softly, pressed her aching body to his, and kissed her. Not a soft kiss. Not a hungry kiss. A claiming kiss. A kiss that burned away her fear and her shame, a kiss that spread from her lips to her core and warmed every part of her. A kiss that told her who her Dom was.
When he pulled away, she almost whimpered. Holt smiled.
“Now get in the damn car,” he said.
Holt was already sliding into topspace. He’d felt it the moment he saw Simone, sitting there waiting on gumbo like it mattered if she brought him something. Like she wasn’t the only woman in the world he wanted.
He inhaled deeply, enjoying the heightened senses that came with the start of a scene. Negotiated or not, the second he’d touched Simone, they’d begun. It was another gray area.
Good thing someone had taught him how to handle those.
He held open the passenger side door on his muddy truck, turned around, and held out his hand.
They locked eyes at the same time she put her hand in his. The contact surged through him, and he closed his hand around hers, the places where they touched on fucking fire. He held those beautiful baby blues with his eyes until the swell receded, until he was sure he wasn’t just going to press her against his dirty truck and kiss her until she melted. Until he was sure he could be more than just an animal, needing to feel her against him, needing to feeling her move while he was inside of her.
Holt wanted more than that. He wanted Simone’s heart. And he knew there was only one way to get her to where she needed to be. Only one way to find out if they would work.
And that was at the club.
“Come on,” he said. “You know where we’re going.”
Silently, Simone nodded, and he helped her into the passenger seat. His Dom senses picked up everything: the tension in her neck, the dilation of her pupils, the pace of her heart beat, visible in the vein on her neck. She was nervous. Scared, turned on, her heart open and her mind unable to tell how it would all turn out.
Love was a bitch. If she was ready, and he did his job right, he’d make sure she never had to feel uncertainty again.
He checked his own vitals as he walked around the cab and swung himself into the driver’s seat. His cock strained against his jeans, and his muscles were taut, wired. His balls ached. That tension in his lower belly told him to get going, get the woman. His inner animal wanted her more than anything.
His inner Dom wanted her to have more than just an orgasm. He wanted her to be whole. And the Dom won every time.
Sometimes it just took a second.
“Holt?” she said as he stared straight ahead, his big hands wrapped t
ight around the steering wheel.
The tone of her voice brought him back to the present. She sounded raw. Vulnerable.
He looked at her, and she looked down.
“I’m sorry for one more thing,” she said, her eyes still in her lap. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you about your mother. About…about what this must have been like for you. I’m—”
Holt reached out and grabbed her hand, the touch silencing them both.
“I wouldn’t have let you then,” he said. Then he looked ahead, and started the car. “So we’re both going to do better.”
He heard her exhale, and felt his own shoulders relax. If this worked, they’d get there. It was time.
Time to find out if they had a future.
31
Holt pulled into the empty driveway of Club Volare and smiled. It was a strange sight. Even during the middle of the afternoon, there’d usually be someone here.
Not today.
“Where is everyone?” Simone said as he helped her out of the truck.
Holt climbed the steps to the old mansion and held open the door.
“Somewhere else,” he said, and followed her inside. The place was quiet. “Except for a few people on shift in the office. They’re on the intercom if we need them. Otherwise, it’s ours.”
Simone looked up at him.
“The whole club?”
“I didn’t know which room you’d need,” he said evenly. His senses were still in overdrive. He could practically smell her. “Or in which order. But I do now.”
Her breath hitched beautifully. God, he wanted her.
But first he needed to know if they would work. He needed her to know they would work. And he knew there was only one way to get her there.
“Follow me,” he said.
