Holding on Tighter Page 2

  friends like them.

  “Qualified?” Karis blinked, her chocolate eyes wide with incredulity. “I know you like to pretend that you’re dead from the waist down but surely even you must have noticed Heath Powell is scorching hot.”

  Jolie let her sister’s jab slide as she took her seat. Of course she’d noticed the man. The moment he’d walked in her door and shaken her hand, he had rattled her with his big presence. He spoke with an economy of words she appreciated. He’d obviously catalogued everyone and everything around him with a single glance. And he’d been so damn male, she couldn’t deny he was shiver-worthy.

  But this emotional shit wasn’t her speed, so she tucked it away as she reached for her computer. “Karis, I love you, but I’m only going to say this once. Mom isn’t a role model to aspire to.”

  “Just because I’m interested in a guy—”

  “You’ve been interested in far more than one, and you’re not listening. You have to be a complete person before you can have a meaningful relationship with someone else.”

  “I am,” she defended.

  Jolie shot her younger sister a skeptical stare. “You don’t know your father. God knows I’d like to forget my biological dad. Like you, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen that scumbag. They didn’t want either of us, and that hurt, but expecting some father figure with a penis—no matter how attractive—to fill the void in your heart now won’t work. Ask Mom. Ten bucks says she’s headed for divorce number four.”

  “I won’t give up on finding someone to share my life with.” Karis whipped out her phone, tapped a few keys, then sent Jolie an accusing stare. “I don’t know what happened to you. Maybe you had to sacrifice too much of your childhood to raise me and Austin. Maybe you enjoy being miserable and alone. Or maybe you’re too afraid to risk your heart. I just emailed you everything I found about Heath. Read it. He seems like a great guy. And I think he needs someone to make him whole.” She raised her chin. “He needs me.”

  Jolie tried not to let her sister’s barb hurt. “I’m not afraid. I’m ambitious. Why would I want to surrender my heart when I could conquer the world? Now get back to your desk and start giving me your deliverables.”

  Her sister sniffled. “I won’t confide my feelings to you anymore. I know they’re a terrible waste of your time, and you don’t give a shit anyway. I’ll enjoy the flowers he sent me earlier and ask him out the first chance I get.”

  Heath better not have given Karis flowers. “That’s against company policy. You know that. I’ll remind Powell he can’t cross that line, either.”

  “Why? So you can make sure I don’t have anything in my life but work? Or because you can’t stand him pursuing me when you want him for yourself?” She held up her hand. “Never mind. I don’t care.”

  With that, Karis slammed the office door. The sound reverberated in the otherwise silent room, echoing off the walls. Hurt sliced through Jolie’s chest. She blinked away the acid sting of threatening tears and retrieved the spreadsheet she’d been working on. There was a reason people called it tough love. If it was easy—either to give or receive—it would be called something else. More importantly, Jolie knew she was right. Romance always let a woman down. Ambition never would.

  But if she had to break up the budding office fling between her temporary security contractor and her sister to ensure no one’s heart was broken and shit got done, Jolie had no problem doing it.

  ***

  AT half past nine, Heath Powell stared into his Scotch. The bar around him was dark and loud, a press of perfumed bodies, despite it being a Wednesday night. Then again, it was smack in the middle of a trendy area a few blocks from Betti’s offices. College students from nearby SMU rubbed against single professionals and a few overgrown partiers. The place thumped with Fall Out Boy and drinks flowed freely. With his back to the wall, he watched people coming, going, smiling, flirting, and hoping for a good time tonight.

  He was the oldest man in the room. From experience, he knew that could be an advantage. He liked his odds. More than one pretty girl slid her inviting gaze his way. Now if he could just muster up more enthusiasm. Damn difficult to do when his mind was on someone else.

  When he’d accepted the job with Betti, the position had been short term—perfect for his current needs because he didn’t have a home here in Dallas. Hell, he didn’t even have a country at the moment. This job gave him a few weeks to decide if he wanted to stay or start over elsewhere.

  With forty breathing down his neck, Heath wasn’t certain anymore what he wanted out of life.

  Seven years ago, it had been simple. Anna, his wife, had been his world. He’d give anything now to go home to her and the small brood of children they should have had. But an afternoon of tragedy had wiped away that possibility. Six months later, he’d begun working for Marshall Mullins, the world-famous movie director, bodyguarding his daughter after their move to London following her headline-making abduction in L.A. Mystery had been sweet and reserved—at first. She’d given him her trust slowly, blooming gradually, and awakening more than a protective instinct inside him. He’d fancied himself in love with her—and told her as much. Mystery hadn’t felt the same. Instead, she’d paired off with the soldier who had once rescued her. She and Axel would be married soon. And Heath would still be alone.

  After losing in love twice, he wasn’t in a mad rush to fall again. But he enjoyed sex and missed a woman’s touch. So tonight, like many others, he found himself in a lamentable cesspool of booze and desperation. Only now he had a completely new reason to find a distraction.

  Jolie Quinn.

  After a summer spent in London and encountering constant reminders of Anna whilst running into Mystery, doting fiancé in tow, Heath had headed back to the States. Once in Dallas, Mitchell Thorpe, Axel’s former boss, had called asking for a favor. Thorpe’s submissive, Callie, did yoga with this lovely up-and-coming clothing designer, and would Heath be interested in shoring up her security, just temporarily of course? He hadn’t turned down the quick cash or the chance to earn a reputation locally for his work. Now he wished he had because he couldn’t get the bloody woman off his mind.

  Blisteringly quick, acerbic, and ambitious, Jolie wore her confidence like a sexy sequined dress. Bright and sparkly, it hugged her every womanly curve and dip—and made her madly attractive. She never bothered with feminine wiles or coy flirtations. When she wanted something, she went after it. She was a green-eyed shark. Damn if he didn’t want to swim in her waters until he got her under him and made her surrender to the bigger fish in the tank.

  A brilliant but risky notion. He wasn’t interested in anything that lasted more than a night. On the other hand, neither was she. But Jolie fascinated him as no woman had in years. He suspected that his desire to stay after the sheets had grown cold might exceed his will to walk away.

  So he’d come to Nite Time, this terrible excuse for a watering hole, looking for a woman who would neither intrigue him nor linger in his memory.

  A few feet away, a young woman sidled up to the bar with a glance from under a thick honey curl. Blue eyes. A smattering of freckles. Slightly crooked front teeth. A little scar on her chin. Given the way she leaned against the surface, she was slightly tipsy but not incapable of making a rational decision. Her short skirt and sky-high heels indicated she’d come looking for something more than a cocktail.

  “Hi,” she murmured. Her lashes were fake. Her breasts probably were, too. But he wouldn’t know for certain until he wrapped his fingers around them.

  “Hello.”

  “Your voice . . .” she said with a hint of a soft, southern drawl. “You aren’t from around here.”

  “I’m not.” He didn’t elaborate because he really didn’t want to talk. He doubted she did, either.

  “Oh, I love your Aussie accent.”

  Heath didn’t bother correcting her, merely glanced down at her empty wineglass. “Drink?”

  “Sure.” She sm
iled and stood, teetering slightly.

  He took hold of her glass, sniffed, then downed the last swallow before motioning to the bartender. “A glass of merlot for the lady.”

  The bartender nodded, and Heath felt relieved that, even after a few visits, the man knew his routine. Helpful to have something of a wingman pouring. “You got it. Another Glenfiddich?”

  “Please.” Heath tapped the bar and turned to the girl with a smile. “Here with friends?”

  Her smile faltered as she glanced toward the dance floor. “I came with a coworker and her boyfriend.”

  “They look busy.” The couple she watched clung to each other like overgrown vines.

  “Yeah.” The girl’s glum voice said she’d soon be having a pity party . . . unless he distracted her.

  When the bartender delivered their drinks, Heath paid, then took hold of his tumbler, waiting until she did the same with her stem. “To finding your own fun.”

  She smiled brightly again. “I’ll drink to that.”

  They clinked glasses, and Heath sipped his Scotch, watching the woman over the rim. She chugged half the glass, then set it down, sending a coy glance his way. “You want to dance?”

  “If you’d like. It’s not what I do best.”

  A little smile tipped up the corners of her lips. “And what is it you do best?”

  He eased closer, sending her a weighty glance filled with manufactured seduction. Then he brushed his knuckles down her cheek before sliding his thumb over her mouth. Her eyes widened and her lips parted to form an “O” as his meaning sunk in. She drew in a shuddering breath.

  Now that she understood him, she seemed nervous. He wouldn’t push, of course. Everything he did with any woman was completely consensual. If she declined, another would come along. But so far, she wasn’t walking away.

  “How do I know you’re not bragging?” She studied him, her eyes glittering.

  Ah, the good girl who longed to be bad. By day, she probably had a very responsible job. She paid her bills on time, called her mother at least once a week, and had always done everything expected of her. Tonight she was feeling a bit envious of her friend and didn’t want to be the wally who couldn’t snare a man. Based on the smudges under her eyes and the slightly droopy cast of her lids, he’d bet she hadn’t been sleeping particularly well. Lack of REM, coupled with alcohol, could heighten people’s emotions. She obviously felt more than a bit lonely tonight, so she’d worn the “slaggy” dress she’d likely bought in a moment of weakness or impulse, torn the tags off, tossed on whatever daring shoes she owned, and come to this bar to prove she was both attractive and merely alone by choice.

  “Talking to me, you don’t.” He sipped his Scotch again.

  It didn’t take her long to draw a conclusion. “You’re saying I have to sleep with you to find out what you’re best at?”

  Her glance had turned slightly disdainful, as if she wanted him to think that men in bars regularly propositioned her. The pulse throbbing at the base of her neck said otherwise. “Not at all. In this instance, sleeping would be rather a waste of time.”

  The woman’s jaw dropped in shock. “You’ve got balls.”

  “I do, indeed. I assumed you hadn’t mistaken me for a female.”

  She tsked at him. “I meant you’ve got a lot of nerve.”

  “You will never have anything you want if you don’t pursue it.”

  The cleavage above her plunging V-neck rose and fell rapidly. Heath grabbed her wrist. Her pulse hammered under his fingertips. Already, her eyes were dilated. He stepped closer and wrapped a hand around her nape, tilting her face to his.

  “And you want me?” she breathed.

  “You’re a beautiful woman.” He caressed his way down the graceful column of her throat. “A man would be very lucky to touch you. In fact, I daresay it would be a pleasure.”

  “Really?”

  A thread of guilt tugged at him for playing on her loneliness. But in truth, sex would benefit them both. He could make her feel treasured and gorgeous for a time. She could distract him—he hoped.

  He downed the rest of his Scotch. It did nothing to quell the ache in his cock he’d been fighting since meeting his new boss.

  “Of course. But everything is up to you,” Heath told the stranger. “We can stay here and have another round. Or I know a quiet spot where we could . . . talk privately.”

  The woman bit her lip as if she couldn’t quite decide. She sent a sideways glance at the couple she’d come with. They danced their best imitation of vertical sex whilst moving to the beat of the music. Desire fused their lips together in an interminable kiss. Heath doubted they would be coming up for air soon.

  The woman beside him tensed, her gaze skittering back to her wine. She swallowed the last half quickly as if downing liquid courage. “Let’s go. And for the record, I don’t want to talk.”

  “Excellent.”

  He led the blonde across the room, toward a cordoned-off staircase. On the far side, he glanced back, swearing someone watched him. But across the loud, smoky bar, no one in the crowd seemed to pay him much notice.

  Heath shrugged off the feeling as he led the woman up to the private area of the club. The sounds below them faded to a dull roar. The lighting grew even more dim. The scents of sweat, alcohol, and desperation choking the first floor gave way to cologne, money, and sex.

  “What’s your name?” she asked with a shy glance when they reached the landing at the top.

  “Does it matter?”

  She hesitated, glanced down the stairs, then back to his face. “No.”

  “Right, then.” Heath led her toward a quiet, poorly lit corner, then turned her to face the wall. He lifted her short skirt and lowered her knickers just enough before reaching into his pocket for a condom. “Brace your hands and feel free to scream.”

  Chapter Two

  Rule for success number two:

  Instinct isn’t synonymous with impulse.

  DAMN it,” Jolie muttered as she watched Heath and a young blonde disappear up the stairs.

  Not surprising that under his seemingly refined British demeanor lay a seasoned skirt-chaser.

  For the past few minutes, she’d watched the two from just inside the doorway, blending with a group of revelers celebrating someone’s birthday. Almost instantly, she’d spotted her security contractor. She wasn’t at all shocked the woman looked willing to spread her legs for Heath after exchanging barely a hundred words.

  But the casual ease with which he’d picked up a stranger just reinforced all the reasons Heath Powell would be bad for her naive sister. Jolie intended to stay right here until she made it perfectly clear that Karis was off limits.

  In her pocket, her phone rang. Probably work, and whatever she didn’t take care of tonight would only be waiting for her in the morning.

  Sighing, she plucked the device from her pocket, glanced at the display, then winced.

  “Hi, Mom,” she shouted over the music as she made her way to the door, then out into the breezy October night. “I’m sorry I haven’t called back.”

  “I’m glad I finally caught you. I’ve been trying for days.”

  Yeah, the three missed calls in the last forty-eight hours kind of spelled that out. “Work has been a zoo. I don’t have much longer to persuade this investor to come on board.”

  “You’ll manage. You’re the smartest, hardest working woman I know.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “By the time I was your age, I hadn’t accomplished much except a handful of disastrous relationships and having you three kids.”

  Her mom had never been the ambitious sort, and Jolie wondered if she ever regretted that. “How are you?”

  “Not very good, baby.”

  Jolie froze. She knew that voice. Diana Quinn-Michaels-Weston-Gale had marital problems—again.

  “Are you and Charlie getting divorced?”

  “How did you know?” Her mother sounded surprised by her insight.

  Jolie
couldn’t imagine why. Mom had been married to Charlie Gale for nearly six years, which was as long as any of her mother’s marriages lasted. Jolie had suspected from the beginning that husband number four was a philandering bastard. After all, he’d hopped into bed with her mom while she was still licking her wounds from a previous breakup—and he’d still been married to someone else.