Hold On Tight: Spencer and Brooke (Man of the Month Book 2)

by J. Kenner

  "No," he said gently, taking her chin and tilting her head up to look at him. "You're not. But I'd like to help. Is there anything I can do to make it better?"

  "You already do," she said honestly, her chest swelling from the tenderness in his eyes. "But maybe right now you could kiss me."

  Something like regret flickered in his eyes. "I don't think this is the kind of thing I can kiss and make better. But, Angel," he added, pulling her close, "I'm definitely willing to try."

  Chapter Sixteen

  "That stage is a work of serious genius," Reece said, holding up a beer in toast.

  "Hear, hear!" Brent added, clinking glasses with Tyree, who was starting his second bottle.

  "Are we allowed to do this?" Cameron asked. "I mean, it's after two." He shot a glance toward Tyree. "And you once told me you'd fire my ass if I sold a drop of liquor after closing."

  As soon as he finished speaking, he winced, then tilted his head toward Casper, the cameraman, as if Cameron had made a major faux pas on tape.

  Casper, however, appeared completely uninterested. That wasn't his name, of course. But on the second day of filming, Mina had announced that since they weren't supposed to know either cameraman's real name—and since the men were supposed to be invisible to all of them—they'd name them appropriately. Thus, the shorter cameraman was Casper and his taller counterpart was Nick.

  "Nick?" Cam had asked, and Mina had rolled her eyes. "As in Nearly Headless? A ghost, right? Like invisible. Fades away."

  Cam, Brooke noticed, was still eyeing the beer suspiciously. Tyree, however, was unconcerned. On the contrary, a wide, delighted grin split his face. "And that's why my boy here is going to be getting that weekend assistant manager gig," Tyree said, directing the comment to Spencer and Brooke.

  Then he waved his hand, indicating the spread of beer and liquor covering the desk in his office. "But this, my law-abiding young friend, is my own private stash. No sale, no problem. But don't drive home."

  Cameron laughed, obviously relieved. "Fair enough."

  Mina, who was sitting on the desk, pushed out her foot and bumped Cam's chair. "You are way too law-abiding."

  "Just being careful," Cam protested, but he looked down immediately, and not for the first time Brooke wondered if he'd ever get up the nerve to tell Mina how he felt. Maybe if he downed a couple more beers...

  It was after hours on Sunday, and the impromptu party was in celebration of the completion of the sectional stage. "I am completely willing to take a bow," Spencer said. "And I can do it with complete and total humbleness since it wasn't my brilliance that designed the thing. That would be the lovely Brooke Hamlin."

  "Thank you, thank you," she said, taking a bow as they all applauded. "I honestly can't believe the contest is only a few days away."

  Tyree nodded. "It's amazing how much you two have gotten done."

  "Not just us," Brooke said. "You guys and your staff all helped." In the interest of the show, they'd decided to forego hiring laborers when they needed an extra pair of hands. Instead, when Brooke or Spencer needed help, management or one of the waiters or kitchen staff kicked in. And so far, they hadn't needed to pull in outside contractors like plumbers or electricians.

  "We did," Brent agreed. "But you two still make a great team."

  "Yeah," Spence said, hooking his arm around Brooke and pulling her in for a quick kiss, "we do."

  "I think you have a pretty good shot on Wednesday," Jenna said to Spencer. She was drinking club soda with lime, and took a long sip before continuing. "I saw more than a few of our lunchtime regulars watching you work the last few days."

  "Can't blame them. He looks hot in a T-shirt," Brooke said. They'd decided to work through the lunch hour in order to keep the show interesting by having customers in the place. "Especially with the sleeves rolled up to show off his ink."

  "Which is excellent, by the way," Reece said, raising his glass in another toast. Considering the beauty and intricacy of his own tats, Brooke figured that was high praise.

  "Right back at you," Spence said.

  "I figure you'll score some points with the tats," Mina said.

  "Wait." Brent frowned. "Wednesday? Points?"

  "That's right," Jenna said. "You missed that conversation. Spencer's competing for Mr. February."

  Brent laughed out loud. "Oh, man. Better you than me, buddy."

  "Please. You are so getting on that stage one of these days," Jenna countered.

  "Hell, yes, he is," Reece agreed.

  Brent, however, merely pointed a finger at both of them and shook his head before turning to Spencer. "Good luck with that."

  "Hey," Spence said. "I'm gonna own that shit." He flexed his muscles, and they all cracked up.

  "Well, my money's on you," Brooke said.

  "Mine's on Cam," Mina said. "Come on, Cameron. You know you want to."

  "The hell I do."

  "You should," she pressed. "We're still one guy short."

  Tyree frowned. "Are we?"

  Jenna nodded. "We don't have a hard rule that it has to be twelve contestants for each slot, so I wouldn't say we're short. We did manage to get twelve. But then one guy had to drop out. He got called out of town on business."

  "See?" Mina pressed.

  "Could he do it?" Brent asked. "I thought we were having local celebrities narrow down the applications to the final twelve."

  Jenna lifted a shoulder. "I could get his application to them on Monday. I know they'd say yes."

  "Um, hello. Right here."

  Mina started to say something, but Brent pointed a finger to hush her. "If Cam wants to enter, he can tell Jenna later."

  "Fine." Mina lifted her hands in surrender.

  "I've had way too many of these," Brooke said. "I'm going to the ladies room. Back in a sec."

  She was still thinking about the expression on Cam's face when she left the restroom a few minutes later. Maybe he would enter. She hoped he did. He was damn sure good-looking enough. True, he had a sweet, shy streak that made him seem younger than his years. But toss a little confidence his way, and—

  "Oh!" She jumped, then realized that the hard body she'd walked into in the dark was Spencer.

  "I was looking for you." Heat infused his voice.

  "Were you? How interesting."

  "Mmm." He pressed her up against the wall, caging her in. "Wasn't that long ago I held you like this with a completely different motive."

  "My, how things changed." She hooked her arms around his waist then rose up on her toes to kiss him. "Did you find me out here for a tryst?"

  "Actually, I have news. The tryst is just a perk."

  "News?" She heard the excitement in his voice. "Spencer? What's going on?"

  "I got an email from Richie's attorney."

  Brooke's heart started to beat double-time. “This late? That can’t be good.”

  “Actually, it is. She said she was working late on his case and realized she hadn’t given me a heads-up.”

  "His case? I thought he was out of appeals."

  "He's up for parole." Spencer's voice was tight with hope.

  "What? That's incredible."

  "I know. He's already had his interview."

  "When will he hear if parole is granted?"

  "We're not sure." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Fifteen years, Brooke. It's forever, but if he can get out now, he can still make a real life."

  "This is amazing news," she said, clutching his hand. "And even if he doesn't make it this time, he's in the rotation, right? So he'll come up again with another chance. They don't always grant the first time."

  "I know. I need to call his attorney. I'll do that in the morning. Find out all I can."

  "In the meantime, we'll send Richie all our good thoughts."

  "Hell, yes." He looked into her eyes, his filled with love and hope and vulnerability. "And in the meantime, I'm also taking a kiss for good luck."

  "You don't have to take it," she began. "
I'll give—"

  But she didn't finish. His mouth closed over hers, gentle at first, but then hard and demanding, as if he could foist his will on the parole board through her. His fingers twined in her hair, tilting her head back, and his other hand went around her waist, pulling her to him so that she felt his erection straining against his jeans.

  Her knees were weak, her body tingling, and she clung to him, as desperate for him as he was for her.

  A low wolf whistle brought her back to her senses, and she leaped back, banging her elbow against the wall.

  Reece chuckled. "You might want to think about getting a room. Before Casper decides to turn on his camera."

  Spencer caught her eye and grinned. "You into exhibitionism?"

  "Really not."

  He shot a quick salute to Reece, who was laughing his ass off. "I think that's our cue to leave. Catch you in the morning. I'm taking this party home."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Spencer drove Brooke’s car, and as far as he was concerned, it was the longest ride anywhere. He’d made the journey with his hand on her bare thigh, thanking God and the universe that she’d worn a simple cotton skirt tonight, and not the jeans she wore when they were knee-deep in lumber and paint.

  He’d tried once during the drive to ease his hand even higher up that firm thigh. To move slowly, inch by delicious inch, until he reached the band of her panties. And then he’d fully intended to slip his finger under the smooth satin and stroke her waxed pussy until she pressed her hands hard against the roof of the car, arched her body up, and cried his name while surrendering to one hell of a massive orgasm.

  As far as he was concerned, that was an A-one fantasy. But a fantasy it had remained, because at the first sign that he was inching his fingers toward heaven, Brooke had smacked her own hand on top of his, stalling his progress.

  “If you think that I’m going to risk death on these city streets just so you can cop a feel, you are very sadly mistaken.”

  It wasn’t the most romantic sentiment, but he took her point. And he’d contented himself with simply caressing her thigh and telling her in very specific detail how he intended to fuck her so hard when they got home that she was going to scream for mercy.

  To his satisfaction, she’d closed her eyes and surrendered to his comparatively tame touch. And as for the effect of his words ... well, from the way she bit her lower lip and the prominence of her nipples against her cotton blouse, he was certain he’d hit the mark.

  Now, he turned into her driveway and killed the engine. Finally, they’d arrived.

  He glanced sideways at her. “You know you’re a cruel woman.”

  She didn’t open her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. “Maybe it wasn’t really about car safety. Maybe I just like tormenting you.”

  “Oh, no. We both know who was tormenting who.”

  She turned her head and peered at him through narrowed eyes. “Is that so?”

  “You’re wet, Angel. Don’t even try to deny it.”

  “You think?”

  “I’m certain of it.”

  Her eyes danced with mirth. “I guess there’s only one way for you to find out if you’re right.” She lifted his hand off her thigh, then drew his forefinger into her mouth, laving it with her tongue. “Why don’t you check and see?”

  His cock twitched in response to her teasing tone as much as to the sensual invitation that he eagerly accepted. Moving slowly, he did in the driveway what he’d been thinking about ever since they left the bar. He eased his hand up her skirt to her panty line, then slipped his finger under the soft material.

  He heard her gasp as he stroked her, her sex smooth and so damn slick with desire that he felt himself grow harder still, just from the evidence of how much she wanted him.

  “Inside,” he said, the word bursting out with the force of his desire. He started to push open his door. “Now.”

  “Wait.” She reached over, her hand on his thigh stilling him. “Stay.”

  He tilted his head, studying her. “Stay?”

  She nodded, and his brows lifted.

  “What exactly do you want?”

  “You know,” she said.

  “You want me to touch you?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was like breath.

  “You want me to make you come?”

  “God, yes.”

  He looked pointedly around. “Could have sworn you said you weren’t into exhibitionism.”

  She reached for his hand, then slid it back inside her panties, making a whimpering sound as she did. “Maybe I’m desperate. Maybe the thought tempted me as we drove home.”

  “Interesting.”

  “And it’s dark. And there aren’t any streetlights, and barely any light from my front porch. And it’s after two in the morning.”

  “My Angel has a bit of the devil in her.”

  “And if she does?” With a flick of a lever, she dropped her seat back, putting her almost flat on her back beside him. “What are you prepared to do about that?”

  He hooked a finger under the hem of her shirt. “Oh, I think I can come up with something.” He tugged up her shirt, then with equal deftness, tugged down her bra, so that her breasts spilled out of the cups.

  “Mostly, I want to watch you,” he said as he slipped his hand back inside her panties. “The way the dim light from the porch dances on your skin. The way your skin prickles as I stroke you. The way your nipples tighten when I brush the tip of my tongue over them,” which he did right then in demonstration.

  As he’d anticipated, she drew in a shuddering breath that set her entire body trembling. A trembling that only increased when he teased small circles around her clit, taking her close, but never quite over.

  “I want to watch,” he repeated. “And I want you to beg.”

  “Please.” Her voice was a whimper. “Spencer, please.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You. This. Make me come.” She turned her head and opened her eyes. “Please make me come for you.”

  Her words sank straight to his cock, hardening it like steel. “Come for me, Angel,” he murmured as he teased her pussy. “I want to feel you explode. I want to watch you break apart. I want to see you shatter. And I want to know that I was the one who took you there.”

  And then, as if his command had been the final piece of a puzzle, she arched up, crying out his name as her hand squeezed his with bone crushing strength. Then, when her trembling had stopped and her breath came easy, she turned to him, her features soft and a satisfied smile playing at her mouth. “Your turn,” she murmured. And in that moment, he felt a rush of tenderness that was at least as potent as his desire.

  “Damn right it is. But I think I’ll take my turn inside. I’m not sure this little car would take the kind of rocking that what I have in mind would put it through.”

  She laughed. “In that case, let’s hurry.”

  He didn’t argue, and they were at the door and inside in less than a minute. There was a coatrack by the small table in the hallway, and she glanced at it, then back at him.

  “What?” he asked as she moved to pull off a black, silk scarf.

  “You had scarves tied to bed posts when you took me to the hotel.” She pressed her lips together, then continued. “Is that—is that something you’d like?”

  Hell yes.

  He tilted his head. “Is it something you want?”

  “With you?” She drew in a breath and nodded. “Yes.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I’m damn sure not letting anybody else tie you up. But only if you’re sure.”

  She nodded, though she looked a little hesitant. “I trust you, Spence,” she said, her eyes locked on his. “I’m sure.”

  Bondage wasn’t terrifying, Brooke thought. It was sensual, exciting, and deliciously exhilarating.

  Of course, the key to that assessment was Spencer. Because if anyone else had rummaged in her top dresser drawer for more scarves and then told her
that he was going to tie her down and have his way with her—well, she would have either passed out or run like the wind.

  With Spencer, she’d trembled. But it had been a good feeling. Anticipation rather than apprehension.

  And when he’d told her to strip for him, she’d done so slowly, knowing that his eyes were on her, and that with each bit of skin she exposed, she was driving him a little bit crazy.

  Once she was naked, he’d told her to get on the bed, where the four scarves were tied to the head and footboard of her antique, wrought-iron bedframe. She’d hesitated for just an instant, and he’d kissed her bare shoulder and whispered, “Pumpernickel.”

  The word was so absurd that she’d laughed, but he told her he was serious. That was the word to use if she freaked out. Say that, and he’d have her loose in a heartbeat.

  She believed him, and that sudden rush of absolute trust wiped away the tendrils of fear. She’d climbed on the bed and let him tie down her wrists and ankles.

  Once bound, she’d closed her eyes, assessing how she felt, and was surprised to realize that the dominant emotion was anticipation. She didn’t know what was coming next—not exactly, anyway—and she knew perfectly well that she was tied fast to the bed—and yet her heart pounded with a wild excitement and her body burned with need. Her breasts felt heavy, as if begging to be touched. Her legs were wide, leaving her exposed, and the thought that Spencer would see her open and ready for him didn’t make her shy. On the contrary, she felt oddly powerful.

  Yeah. Definitely exhilarating.

  And wonderful, too. Because after Brian, any movie or book with any sort of bondage scene had made her stomach curdle. And, honestly, she knew that hadn’t really changed. Because it wasn’t the idea of being tied down that she was now open to. It was the idea of being tied down by Spencer.

  “I’m going to blindfold you,” he said now, which added an entirely new layer to the situation. For a moment she hesitated, but this was all about trust, and so she nodded as he tied one more scarf, this one a deep purple, over her eyes.