“Is this your way of apologizing for the closet?” I threw on the white button-down, my fingers tearing up the shirt, closing buttons. “Because it doesn’t sound like an apology. It sounds like the same kind of insinuation.”
Holden’s piercing gaze softened as he watched me get dressed. “You don’t have to go.”
“I kind of do. My date is waiting.”
“Your date is my best friend’s one true love. She just doesn’t realize it yet.”
“Not my problem.” I yanked my arms through a black vest.
Holden set my copy of Catch-22 back on its stack and crossed his arms. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Of what?”
“Exchanging one costume for another,” he said with a nod at my tux.
I played stupid, ignoring how close to home his words hit. “I just threw for three hundred yards, so yeah, I’m tired.”
Holden rolled his eyes. “Spare me your stats, Tom Bundy.”
“Brady.”
“Whatever. Do you even enjoy it?”
I ignored him and wrangled a cummerbund around my waist.
“Cummerbund or vest but not both,” Holden said. “Don’t overdo it.”
“Huh? Oh, the store gave me both to try out…” I gave my head a shake and hurled the cummerbund aside. “Jesus, what am I saying? You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“I did.”
“Right. To rescue me.” I rolled my eyes and slipped a tie around my neck. “I don’t need rescuing. I need you to leave.”
“Come with me.”
The words sank in and spread to all parts of me. My head, heart, and cock all wanting to obey. My hands fumbled with the knot on the tie and the two lengths of silk fell apart.
“Where?”
“Somewhere you don’t have to pretend.”
I snorted and tried the tie again. “Stop saying shit like that. You don’t know me.”
Holden cocked his head in that infuriating way of his, his gaze tearing through me as he took a step closer. “Maybe not. Maybe tonight is the night we find out.”
“Find out what?” I asked, conscious that I’ve been doing a lot of that. Asking. Begging for answers.
Why? He doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t…
Holden moved to stand in front of me. Up close, the devastation of his looks was almost blinding. I had to take him in pieces; my eyes tracing the line of his perfect face, his full lips, the cleft in his chin, and the small mole high up on his left cheekbone. His silver hair was gelled in a thick, full wave on top, cut short on the sides, exposing the long cords of his neck. Everything about him assaulted my senses, making me stupid.
Holden drew closer and I watched, frozen, aware of every nerve-ending in my body standing at attention, my cock twitching in my pants. His hands—elegant, but masculine and stained with ink—adjusted the knot in my tie.
“It’s a tad crooked.” His breath wafting over my lips—smoke and vodka, fire and ice. “Just like me.”
I swallowed, and Holden’s gaze dropped to my Adam’s apple, watching the movement. Then up to my lips, lingering there, while his own mouth parted, the tip of his tongue venturing out to touch his bottom lip.
Oh fuck…
Lust—pure, unfiltered want—ripped through me like a wildfire. But just as potent were the thousands of emotions swirling in my chest. Instead of feeling constricted, I could breathe. Maybe for the first time in months. Years, even.
Holden read all of it; a lazy, infuriating smile spreading over his lips. He lingered in that thick moment—torturing me with possibilities—then backed off, breaking the spell.
“You’re ready for the ball, Prince Charming. King, I should say.” His gaze raked me up and down in the sleek black tux and pale blue tie. “You look every bit the part.”
I’m tired of playing it.
I sucked in another breath, deep and even, while Holden leaned on my dresser again. He pulled a packet of clove cigarettes, black embossed with gold, from his coat pocket.
“You can’t smoke in here.”
“Of course not. Not here.” He arched a thick but perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Somewhere else?”
Inhale. Exhale.
I can breathe…
“Let’s go.”
Chapter Eight
Holden and I snuck out the front door and hurried down my driveway as twilight turned to night. I felt like a thief who’d robbed his own house.
“Let’s take your truck,” Holden said and waved at a driver leaning against the side of a black Cadillac parked just down the street.
“Why? Where are we going?”
“I don’t want you to accuse me later of kidnapping you.” He shot me a heated glance. “Mostly, I just want to watch you drive.”
Fuck.
Everything this bastard said or did, every look that flashed across his eyes, was sexy as hell.
“As to where we’re going,” he said as we climbed into the cab of my Chevy, “don’t worry about it. I’ll navigate.”
I started up my truck’s engine as the black sedan drove away. “That was your personal driver?”
“He was.” Holden turned to me with a grin. “Tonight, it’s you.”
Fuck, again.
In the falling dark, we left my upper-middle class neighborhood and headed south. The houses grew larger, separated by gates and dense trees that provided privacy. It was a short drive—after only a few minutes, we crested a hill and the ocean spread out before us; deep blue streaked the orange of the setting sun.
“That one.”
Holden pointed at a huge modern house in white with geometric windows framed in black steel. Every window was dark.
I gave a low whistle and started to pull the truck into the drive. “You live here?”
“Park on the side,” he said. “Can’t leave grease marks on the driveway.”
I parked,
