Hold You Close Read online

“Don’t say a word,” I warn him, lifting my glass to get a little more. I’ve earned it.

  I’ve known Toby a long time. He and I started out the same way, promoting the hottest clubs on the strip, partying at them so we could bring in more girls who would spend all their money. He’s good people and I never have to worry about cash missing from the register.

  He refills my scotch. “That’s a first.”

  “I’m experiencing a lot of those lately.”

  First time driving a fucking minivan, dealing with a five-year-old who doesn’t want to talk to me, remembering to feed other people, kissing London and thinking about doing it again . . . the list has been endless since Sabrina’s death.

  “Never thought I’d see the day,” he laughs.

  “Yeah, me either.”

  Giant. Fucking. Pussy.

  That’s the next tattoo I’m getting, right across my forehead.

  “How is it having the kids in the house?”

  “It’s a mix of being tortured and being happy at the same time. This will be the real test, though.”

  “How’s that?” he asks.

  “Because now we go back to living life. I’m working, they’re in school. We were sort of living in a world of false security before, you know?”

  Toby’s parents died when he was sixteen. Instead of going to a family member, he went into the system. No one wanted an emotionally fucked-up teenager, so he was pretty much between foster homes and on the street.

  He told me a few stories back when we drank way too much in our early days.

  “Look,” he says as he stops wiping the counter. “You’re doing a good thing. Whatever anyone says, you’ve got my respect. Those kids need you, and no matter what you’re giving up, it’s worth it.”

  Some days it feels like I’ve given up nothing. I may be an idiot most days, but I love those kids. There was never really a question of keeping them. Hell, even if Sabrina chose someone else, I would’ve been a part of their lives.

  It’s just that the timing that sucks. This club is brand new. It needs time and attention, just like the kids do.

  Who the fuck thought I could handle this?

  London didn’t and maybe she was right. The fact is, even if she is right and I’m the wrong man for the job, I won’t fail those kids. I love them too much, and they’re all that’s left of my sister now. I have to do right by her and prove that she was doing the right thing in choosing me over her best friend.

  Then there’s London. She’s a whole other set of issues. Our relationship is changing, or at least the way I think about her is, which is scaring the shit out of me.

  It’s weird, because for so long I’ve focused on hating her, and now I can’t seem to stop imagining being around her. She’s a pain in my ass, but she’s also saving it at the same time. If it weren’t for her help, I’d be totally fucked.

  I have to make sure those kids feel secure in their new life. London and I can at least agree that they come first.

  “I appreciate it. Listen, I’m going to need some extra help around here. I’d like you to start training a new bartender so you can help out with more management stuff. My niece has some things coming up, and apparently it’s an entire weekend where I’ll need to take off. There will probably be a lot more of these too. I’d like to have you and Drea run the show when I need to be at home.”

  There’s no one else I would trust to do this. He knows how this scene works and how to grow. Drea can manage the customer side and Toby can cover the business aspects when I’m gone.

  “Are you sure? I mean, I’m cool with helping out, but . . .”

  “Yeah, man, I’m sure.”

  “All right. There’s a few bartenders from another club looking to make a change. I’ll see if any are available on the nights you need me to do other stuff.”

  I look down at my watch and groan. “I need to get going, it’s already three and I have to get the kids to school by eight.”

  He laughs. “Better you than me.”

  “It would be better if it was their parents,” I say before draining my glass.

  “Yeah, see you tomorrow, Ian.”

  I head out the back door, getting into my Porsche, and leaning my head back. I’m fucking beat. I’m used to long, late hours but I usually can sleep in. Now, I’m up at o’dark thirty and still have to stay up. Once I drop them off at school, I have no plans of getting out of bed.

  A smile forms when I think about what might be waiting for me in that bed.

  London Parish.

  I want nothing more than to get home and find her lying there, hair spilled across my pillow. I’ll crawl in behind her, wrap my arms around her, and then I’ll fuck her senseless. If I can just get this crazy lust I feel for her out of my system, then maybe we can go back to normal.

  Not wanting to wait another second, I start driving home.

  It takes about fifteen minutes and when I turn on the street, the house is pitch black. Being as quiet as I can, I go inside.

  First, I head upstairs, open each of the kids’ rooms, and check on them. I don’t know why, but being away from them was an oddly uncomfortable experience. I wondered if they were okay all night long. Did Morgan finish her homework? How was Chris’s attitude? Did London make sure Ruby had her ratty panda to go to sleep with?

  Then I thought about her.

  Once I’ve checked on them all, I go to my room. I’m not sure if she took me up on the offer to sleep in my bed, so I use the light on my phone, but the bed is empty.

  I should’ve known. She’s way too fucking stubborn to give in. London would rather sleep on a bed of nails then be anywhere near me.

  She has no idea that even after all this time, I still want her.

  I walk out to the living room and sure enough, she’s on the couch.

  “Why can’t you ever give in?” I ask quietly as I brush her hair back. “You make everything a fight.”

  Nothing has ever been easy with us. I hardened myself to everything pertaining to her once I fell on my sword to ensure she had the life she deserved. London would’ve lost everything if I hadn’t walked away. Hurting her that day was the worst thing I’ve ever done, but it was the only option.

  Still. It was like someone cut me open when I saw her tears at that party. She would never forgive me, and I’d never forgive myself.

  I look down at her, hating that instead of sleeping where she’d be physically comfortable, she’s here to be away from me.

  Maybe I’ll never be able to get her to see me differently. Should I even try?

  “Fuck it,” I mutter and lift her into my arms. She doesn’t deserve to sleep on the couch.

  “Ian?”

  “Shhh,” I tell her, holding her to my chest. “I’ve got you.”

  Her arms go around my neck and I breathe in her vanilla and almond perfume. I make my way to my room, being careful not to wake her again. When I place her down, her eyes shoot open.

  “What? Ian?” She scrambles quickly across the bed. Away from me.

  “Relax, it’s fine. I’m going to sleep on the couch for a few hours, you stay here.”

  The moonlight hits her face and I have to stop myself from rushing over to her and kissing her until neither of us can breathe.

  Has she always been this beautiful?

  Yes, she has. I’ve just been too angry to see it. Her hair hangs down around her shoulders, brushing the tops of her breasts. It would be too easy to push her down, crawl on top of her, and make her beg for me.

  London represents everything I’ve ever wanted but didn’t deserve.

  She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s also brilliant, funny, kind, and loving. I loved her once and let her go because she needed to fly.

  Even in my selfish sex-crazed twenties, I knew that.

  “No, no, this is your bed and . . .”

  “Go to sleep, Lon. You should be comfortable.”

  “I can sleep on the couch.”

  “And so can I.”r />
  Stubborn. As. Fuck.

  “What time is it?” she asks, looking around.

  “It’s about three-thirty. Get some rest, I’ll see you in the morning.” Leaning over her, I kiss her forehead and get up.

  “Have it your way.”

  If I had it my way, I’d be next to her.

  “This isn’t my way,” I tell her.

  “Well,” she sighs as she lies back on the pillow. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  Anything for you.

  I push that thought out of my head. I can’t seem to pull myself back anymore. All the feelings that were dead and gone have been resurrected. I want her. I’ve always wanted her, that was never the issue. It was that I’ve never been good enough for her. London is the sun, the stars, the light at the end of the tunnel that I’m so desperate to reach, but know I’ll never touch. I have to remember that she dislikes me for good reason. If only she didn’t look so beautiful in my bed . . .

  “Goodnight.”

  I look over, shake my head, and shove the thoughts from my head. “Goodnight, London.”

  I hear the sheets move as she gets comfortable, and I need to get out of these fucking clothes and out of my head.

  That’s the one thing about nightlife in Vegas, you reek of it. It clings to you, reminding you of the booze, smoke, desperation, and perfume you enjoyed hours ago. I used to love that smell, but now, I want it gone.

  I enter my closet, so I can put the light on and get what I need to shower. A laundry basket is sitting on the floor there. What the hell? I take my shirt and pants off, toss them in there and go to grab clothes.

  Okay, this is fucking weird. My very neat and organized drawer has a pair of underwear in with my shirts. My housekeeper would never do that, and I was in here before work and this was not how things were.

  I look around to make sure the sex toys are still in the kick drawer and untouched. Lord only knows what kind of questions I’d be facing in the morning if it was the kids.

  Thankfully, nothing in that drawer was touched.

  But still, I feel like some Goldilocks-and-the-Three-Bears-type shit is going on here.

  I exit the closet and when London moves a little, I can’t help wanting to know what the hell happened while I was at work.

  “Did the kids come in here?” I ask London.

  “Not that I know of,” she mumbles, turning on her side. “Why?”

  What kind of a babysitter is she if she doesn’t even know if the kids came in here? We’ll discuss that after we get to the bottom of my closet issue.

  “Someone’s been touching my clothes.”

  “What?”

  “My shit is moved.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “No,” I correct her. “I’m right. Someone was snooping in my closet today because things aren’t where they should be.”

  “Need sleep, Ian. I can’t deal with your crazy right now. Bed.”

  “Okay, you want me to come to bed? Move over.”

  She leans up on her elbow, probably to chastise me, but then she covers her eyes with her hand. “Ian! You’re naked!”

  I look down. “I have boxers on.”

  “Well, get dressed.”

  “I will after I shower. Unless you’d like to get undressed and join me?”

  London covers her face with the pillow and then groans. “Such an asshole.”

  I chuckle and decide this is too great of an opportunity to pass up. I climb up onto the bed, hovering over her, and start to tickle her sides.

  “What did you call me?”

  “Oh, my God! Stop!” She giggles, writhing underneath me. “Ian!” She slaps my arm.

  The pillow goes flying, and I grin as I continue my assault “What did you say?”

  “Asshole!” She bursts out in a fit of giggles and I stop.

  “You’re so beautiful when you laugh,” I say, and she goes still.

  I don’t know why I said it, but I can’t take it back, and I meant it. She is beautiful when she laughs. She’s beautiful all the time, but I’ve done everything possible to stop seeing her that way.

  “Ian.” Her eyes stay on mine. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

  “I’m not. You’re beautiful and you know it.”

  We both stare at each other. The laughter is gone and my cock is rock hard.

  This isn’t to shut her up.

  This isn’t a game.

  I want her, and there’s no way she doesn’t feel that right now.

  “This . . .” she starts to say, and then her hands move up my chest. “This isn’t . . .”

  “This isn’t what?”

  Her fingers inch up my neck, cupping the back of my head. “A good idea.”

  “Probably not.” I run my hands up her side, waiting for her to tell me to stop. I touch every curve, feel her skin again.

  She was always the smart one between the two of us. I was always the idiot. I hurt her and broke her heart, but I fucking destroyed myself at the same time. She never knew that. To her, I was the asshole who fucked her and never looked back. I made promises that were broken because I got what I wanted.

  None of that was true.

  I wanted her.

  I wanted all of her.

  I ended up losing any chance of that.

  Fuck, I’m a fool.

  “Tell me to stop,” I command her as my hand gets closer to her chest. “Tell me now or beg for more.”

  “Stop.” But her voice is breathless and her hands are in my hair.

  “Stop what?” My left hand is inching up her ribcage, my thumb sweeping the underside of her breast.

  “Confusing me.”

  I’m feeling brave enough—and turned on enough—to brush my thumb over her nipple. It’s hard enough to poke through her bra and her top, and when I touch it, she arches her back, inhaling sharply. “What are you confused about?”

  Her fingers curl in my hair. “You. This. Us. There shouldn’t be an us.”

  “Nope.” I keep rubbing the stiff little peak with my thumb, and when she doesn’t protest, I lift up her shirt. “There shouldn’t.”

  “Oh, God,” she whimpers as I lower my mouth to the fullest part of her breast. “That feels so good, but . . .”

  Words seem to fail her as I pull down the lacy cup of her bra and stroke her nipple with my tongue. Once. Twice. Then in a lazy little circle.

  “But what?” I reach behind her back, easy to do since it’s bowed toward me, and unhook her bra with one hand.

  “But we’ve been down this road before.”

  “It was a good trip, if I recall correctly.” I slide my palms from her taut stomach up over both breasts. The light from my closet spills into the room, but she’s still in shadow. Her skin is luminous in the dark. My cock is steel in my boxers. If she says no at this point, I will need a long, hot shower during which I will jerk off repeatedly to the memory of her beneath me in this bed, my hands on her perfect round tits.

  “It was good,” she murmurs, her eyes closing while I tease her nipples with my fingers. “But it ended so badly.”

  “It could be good again.” I move to lie above her, settling my hips between her thighs. “Just for fun. Don’t you think?”

  “Oh, fuck.” She can feel my erection through the soft, thin fabric of the yoga pants she’s wearing. Judging from the way her hands go straight to my ass and pull me closer, I think she likes it. “You’re so hard.”

  “Yes,” I say, rolling my hips in a slow, sinuous motion, rubbing my cock against her sweet spot. I put my mouth right next to her ear and speak softly. “You shouldn’t make me so hard, London. But you do. It’s driving me fucking crazy how much I want you.”

  “But Ian.” She slides her hands inside the waistband of my underwear. “We hate each other. Don’t we?”

  “That’s right. We do.” I lower my head to her throat and kiss my way down her chest. When I close my lips over one tight pink tip, she moans, bringing her hands back to my
head. I suck at her greedily, continuing to rock my hips above her. Pretty soon my hands are dragging her pants and underwear off in one long swoop, and she doesn’t stop me. In fact, she sits up and whips her shirt over her head and flings her bra to the floor.

  “Take your boxers off,” she demands breathlessly.

  “Even in bed, you’re bossy.” But I do as she says, then kneel between her legs. My dick has hijacked my pride at this point. I will have this woman one way or another tonight, and I don’t give a fuck about the circumstances.

  “I like bossing you around.” She reaches out and wraps her fingers around my cock, squeezing as she works her fist up and down my shaft.

  “Yeah?” I’m momentarily paralyzed by how good it feels to have her hands on me, and for a second I’m afraid I might blow my load like a teenager.

  “Yeah. You make it so easy.” She dips her head down and swirls her tongue over my crown, and my dick twitches threateningly.

  “Christ. Enough.” I tip her backward and shimmy down her body until my head is between her thighs. “It’s my turn to get bossy now.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really.” I give her a long, slow stroke with my tongue right up her center, lingering at the top, gratified by her tortured sigh. “Now here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to make you come so hard with my tongue you won’t even know what day it is. You’re going to beg for more. You’re going to beg for my cock. You’re going to beg me to fuck you.”

  Just so she knows I mean what I say, I lick her firm, swollen clit again and then suck it gently into my mouth, flicking it with the tip of my tongue. Her hands claw the sheets. Her legs tremble. Her hips undulate beneath my jaw, and her moan grows so loud I know she’s forgotten we’re not alone in the house. “Good girl. But you’re not allowed to scream, London, even though you’re going to want to. I don’t want to be interrupted tonight.”

  She whines faintly as I slip two fingers inside her, and my cock surges with envy at the tight, wet heat surrounding them. I can’t help moving my hips, fucking the mattress like I want to be fucking her. I slide my fingers deeper, searching for the secret place that will put her over the edge, working her clit with my mouth. I know exactly when I find it.

  “Oh, God, I hate you,” she breathes, her body clenching around my fingers, her hands moving through my hair. I go at her even harder, and her hands curl into fists, pulling my hair so hard my scalp stings. “I hate you so much.”