Smoking Holt (11 page)

The other guys waited for him to finish what he was saying, expectantly. He never did. He cleared his throat and shook his head and muttered something
vague.

With a curious glance, Cam picked up the thread of conversation and he and Ash were off again.

But Holt was silent. Still. Because her palm was creeping up his thigh.

When she found his cock, it was hard.

He skewered her with a dark frown as she traced its rigid bulk. Slipping his hand under the table, he captured her wrist, dragging it away from the danger zone. She wrestled it free.

He caught it again.

“Bella,” he murmured in a warning tone.

“What, Holt?”

“Cut it out.”

She smirked at him. “Why
should I be the only one suffering?” He paled when he recognized his words from before. But then he leaned closer and whispered, “You’re gonna pay for this tonight.”

A slash of excitement whipped through her. She couldn’t stop her wicked grin, which made him laugh, though it was a creaky laugh. A pained laugh.

She couldn’t have been happier.

Because she was going to pay tonight.

She turned back to the conversation and her gaze tangled with Kristi’s. She froze.

Shit.

Her sister had witnessed that entire exchange. She was now studying them both through narrowed eyes.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Kristi knew.

Their secret was out.

Apparently Holt
had tipped to the fact Kristi knew, because just then he pretended to stretch and when he dropped his arm, it was around her shoulders. And then he pulled her against his side and kissed the shell of her ear.

“Tonight, Bella,” he rumbled. “I can’t fucking wait.”

No. He couldn’t wait.

Tonight was too far away.

His cock ached so bad it was
difficult walking back to the house. With relentless determination, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. It pissed the shit out of him that Ash had decided to come back with them. He walked beside Bella chatting her up. Every smile she gave the douche was a sword in Holt’s gut.

So it also
took relentless determination not to bash his face in.

He’d hoped Ash would veer off, down the dusty road to his own place when they reached his driveway. He didn’t. He didn’t veer.

Because Cam—damn his hide—invited him over for a beer.

Getting Bella away from her sister and Cam would have been difficult enough. But prying her away from a man determined to cleave to her side would be impossible.

Holt stewed. His thoughts churned. Sweat prickled on his brow, he thought so hard. There had to be a way. Some viable excuse to cut her from the herd.

He needed her. He needed to be in her.

Shit, he could practically taste the cum backing up.

As they all trouped through the back door, he grabbed her arm and held her back.

“Bella,” he said. It was all he could manage and even at that, it was a feral growl.

Still, she seemed to understand. “I know, Holt,” she whispered. He liked that there was a
thread of desperation in her tone as well. “We’ll figure something out.”

But what that could possibly be was a mystery.

So they all got beers and sat around the table and chatted amiably, though how the others could miss the humming sexual tension, Holt couldn’t fathom. Bella sat next to him, her heat, her scent wrapping around him like a seductive fist. Every time she moved or spoke or—for fuck’s sake—breathed, his pulse leapt.  He was about to lose it, just grab her and haul her off to his bedroom, when Kristi saved him.

She
looked at the clock on the wall. “Wasn’t there a hydroplane race today?”

Both Cam and Ash jolted to attention. Cam loved anything that had to do with boats. Kristi was a frickin’ genius. “Shit. Yeah. What time did it start?”

“I think it’s on now.” Wait. Was that a mischievous grin Bella’s sister just flashed at him? It was. Holt could have kissed her.

But Bella would kill him if he did.

The television was in the basement. They’d go down—make sure the race was really on—and then
find some excuse to leave. Popcorn. Or something.

“We should go watch it,” he said. Just in case. Just in case anyone had any other stupid ideas. It was gratifying, that scrape of chairs in response to his suggestion. Everyone stood, except Bella.

“Aren’t you coming?” Ash asked.

Holt’s fingers curled. You know. So he wouldn’t smash Ash’s face or some shit like that.

Bella faked a yawn. It was a patently fake yawn. “No. I think I’ll go take a nap. You guys enjoy the race.”

It was clear Ash wanted to linger. Stay with Bella
. Follow her like a horny pup. Fuck her maybe.

Holt slapped him on the shoulder, ostensibly pushing him toward the basement door.
“This is gonna be a great race,” he said. He kind of remembered there was a rivalry brewing between two of the boat captains. “What do you say to a bet?” As everyone filed down to the basement, Holt hung back, shooting a simmering scowl at Bella. “Don’t start without me,” he murmured. “And that’s an order.”

Bella winced as a bolt of lust whipped through her. Holy crap, she wanted him. It had been agony, holding in the damn egg. Her cunt was on freaking fire. She couldn’t wait for Holt to sneak back upstairs—as surely that was what he was intending to do.

It took forever.

Forever.

For. Ever.

She sat there, stewing in her juices. Waiting. Aching. She was about to head down and see what was taking so damn long when the basement door creaked open. Her pulse leapt. She jumped to her feet, wincing as the egg wobbled inside her.

But it wasn’t Holt’s dark head that appeared. It was Ash.

Her belly plunged.

“Hey you,” he said in
a soft voice. It was a sultry tone. Shit. “I thought you were going to take a nap.”

And
he was coming to find her? She frowned. “In a bit.” And then she added, just for something to say, “I’m not a fan of hydroplane races.”

“Ah.” She didn’t like the way he said the word. The way his gaze drifted downward. She knew her nipples were hard. Hell, they’d been hard all day. Without the cloak of her bra, they were probably beacons to a hungry wolf like Ash.
He stepped closer. She eased to the right, putting the table between them.

He followed.

Normally, having a gorgeous guy like Ash stalk her around a table would have been a thrill and a half. But as handsome as he was, and as buff and cocky and determined—he didn’t move her in the slightest.

Well, he moved her. Around the table.

She felt like the secretary in a sixties spoof, avoiding a randy boss. She knew she couldn’t outmaneuver him—especially with that ridiculous egg slipping the way it was—so she whirled and confronted him, thrusting out an arm to hold him back. Her palm landed on his chest.

Before Holt, she might have appreciated the definition
of those pecs. Now, Ash’s proximity, his determination, set her teeth on edge. “Hold on there, buster.”

He blinked. Surprised, perhaps, at her tone.

Surprised, perhaps, that any woman would hold him off. The light in his eyes turned dark. “God,” he rumbled. “You are so damn hot.” He stepped closer and yanked her into his arms, ignoring her pathetic attempt to keep him at bay. “You nearly drove me crazy all through lunch with those come hither looks.”

Come hither looks? What the fuck was he talking about?

He rubbed against her. His cock was hard. “Tell me you don’t feel it.”

Oh. She felt it.

“Ash, let me go.” She pushed at his chest. He ignored her.

Well, not completely. He chuckled. As though her wriggling was a come on.
“I’ve wanted to do this all afternoon.” His head dipped and before she could protest, before she could wrench away, he kissed her.

Put his mouth on hers and shoved in his tongue.

And though her body was aching with lust, though her pussy was swimming with bubbling juice—it left her cold.

God damn it. He’d been distracted. One flipped boat and he’d let himself lose sight of the long game. And Ash had slipped away.

Holt knew exactly where he’d gone, what he had in mind. He leapt to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Cam asked.

Holt stared at his friend, willing his mind to work, willing his mouth to say something that made a modicum of sense. “Popcorn.” It was all he could manage, but it seemed to work.

Cam nodded and turned back to the race.

Kristi
sent him a speaking glance. He was pretty sure it said:
Go save my sister.
He bounded—bounded—up the stairs and burst into the great room.

His heart
stopped. Breath snagged in his throat at the sight he beheld.

Bella. In another man’s arms.

Oh, clearly she didn’t want to be there, judging from the way she resisted, turning her head this way and that to avoid a marauding mouth. In that second, multiple emotions slammed through him. First and foremost, was rage. She was his woman. And another man had his filthy paws all over her.

Next up in the hierarchy of raging sentiment was extreme satisfaction that she had not submitted to Ash’s kiss. He was a damn good looking guy,
and suave and stinking rich to boot. According to Cam, Ash’s dad was a billionaire. Still, all that money, all those muscles weren’t enough to seduce her.

And finally, lust. Simply lust.

Although it was more than lust, really. It was a burning, seething desire to wrench her from the other man’s embrace, bend her over the back of the sofa and lay claim. In her cunt. Multiple times. Again and again until she was so filled with him that every other man ceased to exist.

He’d never felt such an overwhelming sense of possession.
It clawed at his soul, leaving painful scores.

“Bella.” A sharp growl. A command.

They both froze.

Ash lifted his head and
looked over his shoulder. Frowned.

Holt snapped his fingers. He really shouldn’t have snapped his fingers, but he was in caveman mode.

Unholy glee suffused him as she disentangled herself from Ash’s grip and padded to his side. She
peered up at him with wide eyes. Damp eyes. Submissive eyes. He pulled her close, pressing a kiss on her forehead. “Good girl.”

She curled up against him. Wrapping her arms around his waist.
Goddamn, it felt good.

He fixed Ash with a steady gaze. A speaking gaze.

The douche studied the tableau they made, the commanding Dom and his obedient pet. Something, acknowledgement of defeat perhaps, flickered over his features. He blew out a breath. “Okay,” he said. “I get it. Sorry if I misread the situation.”

Holt grunted. He couldn’t manage anything more. He jerked his head toward the basement.

Ash scrubbed his face with a palm and chuckled. Without another word, he headed back downstairs.

The door hadn’t closed on his ass when Holt turned to Bella. Flames
seared his veins at the expression on her face, all soft and dewy and yielding.

She smiled.
“You handled that very we—”

He didn’t let her finish. He couldn’t. He silenced her with a kiss. Ravaged her. Jesus God. He needed to wipe the memory of Ash from her mouth. Needed to wipe the thought of any other man from her mind and heart and soul.

He backed her up against the wall and consumed her.

Her response was feral. She nearly crawled up his body. She f
isted his hair and hooked her leg around his waist and rubbed against him like a cat in heat. Her moans were muffled, her grunts swallowed.

God he wanted her. Needed her.

He almost forgot where they were. He almost yanked her jeans off and plowed into her right there in the great room with Kristi and Cam and Ash just downstairs. But some remnant of sanity flared. What he wanted to do to her required no witnesses. Demanded privacy.

And the door to Lane’s room
had a deadbolt.

Bella nearly swooned when Holt lifted her into his arms—as though she weighed nothing at all—and headed for the bedroom. She wasn’t hardly a swooning sort, but she wasn’t herself at the moment. She didn’t feel rebellious or bitter or snarky in the least.

That was certainly not independence swimming in her veins. It was
raw need. A need unlike anything she’d ever felt.

Normally she was the kind of woman who—when a man snapped his fingers at her—would snap them right off.
But when Holt had snapped his fingers, all her intransigence had melted away, washed away, in a tsunami of lust.