Too Much to Lose
Authors: Samantha Holt
Copyright 2014 ©Samantha Holt
Edited
by Destini Reece
All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is
a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as
real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Preview
“I won’t apologize for behaving
like a gentleman,” I snap.
Both brows rise and she crosses
her arms across her chest. “Is that what that was? Behaving like a gentleman?
Because it looked to me like you were acting like… like…”
“Say it.”
“Like a fucking jilted lover.”
Godammit. Now I’ve got visions
of all the things I would do to her if I really were her lover. I can just
imagine peeling off that tight t-shirt, taking down those little shorts.
Tearing
into her tights. Feeling that warm skin against mine. Tasting it. I hold back a
groan and focus on her blazing eyes. And
not
on the way the street
lights highlight her slightly golden skin, or brings out tiny blonde streaks in
her hair.
“You know what, it’s too much.
Just back off, please.”
I stiffen. What the hell?
“Just because I’m handling your
account and you come to the bar a lot doesn’t mean we’re friends. And just
because I—”
“Hit me in the head with a
door?”
“I said I was sorry! Look, I think
you should find somewhere else to drink from now on. The regulars won’t welcome
you back.”
Christ, if I’d been thinking
with my head instead of my cock, I would have played this whole thing better. I
am better than this. Problem is, if I’m not following her or spending time with
her, she’s all I think about. I have been acting crazy. And I’m just about to
screw up the best paying case of my life. I need to salvage this. Fast.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I
take a step forward and see the flutter of panic in her eyes. “I like you.
“Hunter—” Her hands land on my
chest as I come closer. If I glance down will I see smoke rising? As it feels
as though her palms must be singeing a hole in my shirt. I don’t even want to
think about how hot and hard my cock is.
“I don’t know why, Jess, but I
can’t stop thinking about you…”
At some point I’ve stopped
lying. Shit, what is it about this woman that makes me lose control of my
mouth?
“Well, I don’t like you,” Jess
declares.
”Sure about that?” I murmur as
I lower my head.
She looks up at me, the whole
deer caught in the headlights expression on her face, and I feel gratified
she’s as lost as I am. If I don’t get to taste those lips, I’m going to go
insane. I need to know.
“Just one taste,” I whisper
against her lips.
She nods. I think. Well, she
doesn’t move. Jess seems to be frozen but her fingers dig into my chest and I
take that as the go ahead. I skim my lips over hers and dart my tongue out to
sample the seam of her lips. She tastes so good. My body is on fire with need.
Hands landing on her hips, I hold her close and pin her forcefully against me.
She gasps, giving me the opportunity to take her mouth in a deep, desperate
kiss. Her tongue meets mine and I close my eyes so I can concentrate on the
sensation.
Jess bunches my shirt in her
hands. I think I hear a button snap. But it’s not enough. If I’m going to do
this once, I’m going to do it properly. I bring my hands up to her face and cup
both cheeks, bending her back marginally. She’s vulnerable and open to me, her
breasts are crushed against my chest and her heart thuds wildly against my
skin.
Rocking my hips into her, I
press deeper still, holding her face vehemently. The tiniest moan echoes
between us and I answer it with a groan.
“So good.” I break away briefly
to drag my lips across her cheek to her ear. “You taste so good.”
Table
of Contents
Jess
“Oh crap.”
I knew it was a Monday when I
slammed a door straight into the guy behind me. Into his face to be exact. His
very
sexy face. Hand to my mouth, I mutter an apology and back into the
building. He follows me over and rubs the red spot on his forehead.
“I’m so sorry,” I mutter from
beneath my hand.
He offers me a lopsided grin
and my heart bounds. His lips are full for a man, framed by dark stubble and
there’s a slight dip in his chin. It’s square, masculine—the kind of chin that
makes a woman turn into a complete idiot. Then he turns his gaze on me and I
know I’m in full simpering fool mode.
“I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t see
you there and I’m late—” I motion to the bustle of customers in the bank behind
me “—and I’m new... and...” I clutch my bag as if it might stop me from
slithering to the floor. The tiniest flicker of
something
echoes in his
eyes but I’m not sure what. The idiotic part of me hopes its interest.
Which is insane. I don’t like
men. Don’t want anything to do with them. I force my back straight.
“It’s fine, honestly.”
Oh God, he’s Irish. His lilt
rolls through me and warms me in places I didn’t know a man could reach
anymore.
“Are you going to be okay? Do
you need an ambulance?” My face heats but I don’t know what else to say.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Well, erm, I have to go.” I
glance around the busy bank. I don’t want to be late. I’ve only been working
here a week. “Sorry, again.”
The dark haired man gives me
another smile and waits for me to leave. I feel his gaze follow me and wonder
if I should be freaked out at his weirdly quiet interest. Maybe I hit him
harder than I thought. A swirling sensation of excitement builds in my stomach
when I see him stride after me to the elevator out of the corner of my eye.
The metal doors slide open as I
arrive and as I wait for everyone to file out, he sidles up next to me. We walk
into the small space together and several people follow, forcing me up against
him. His arm brushes mine and I’m sure my knees tremble. I glance up into his
blue eyes and smile apologetically.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“Don’t be. I have a hard head.”
I meant about knocking into him
but clearly I made more of an impression when I thrust the door into his face.
The elevator jolts and I steady myself against the wall, fearful of banging into
him again. In a leather jacket and a black T-shirt, he looks edgy and when I
glance at him again, his smile has dropped. Without it, he’s kind of dark and
overwhelming and now I’m stuck in an enclosed space with him. It gets harder to
draw breath.
The smile returns and he leans
into me. “You work at Murphy’s, right?”
“Yeah, how do you know?”
“I saw you there the other
night.”
How did I not see him? To top
up my wage, I still work nights at the Irish bar. But few genuinely Irish
people go there. It’s more for tourists. And I can’t believe I didn’t see this
insanely gorgeous man there, even if we are busy on weekends.
A few people step out on the
next floor, giving me room to move so I step back, but someone has the same
idea and shoves into me, pushing me into the man. My palms land on his chest
and I’m instantly aware of heat and muscle.
“Careful,” he steadies me with
two hands to my elbows and gazes down at me. Under a strong brow, his eyes are
intense and again intimidating. So why the hell can’t I look away?
I try to swallow as I stare up
at him but my throat doesn’t want to cooperate. For several moments, we stand
there, his gaze searching mine, my pulse pounding in my ears. The oddest
dropping sensation in my stomach startles me and I jerk back.
Finally drawing myself away
completely, I swipe a strand of dark hair from my face and straighten my suit
jacket. If he’s seen me at Murphy’s, he knows a prim suit and careful up-do
isn’t my usual style. But then, I have no idea what my style is these days. The
one I adopted after moving to London is more rock chick and was always intended
to be a disguise. But no one would expect to see me wearing a grey suit and
working in a bank either.
When the door pings again, it
takes me a moment to realise this is my floor. I practically stumble out,
breaking the weird connection flying between us. I can’t even bring myself to
mutter a goodbye or anything that makes sense as he follows and goes to the
customer service desk.
Head down, I straighten my suit
jacket, draw in a breath and stroll past the desks sat in rows. A few of my
co-workers smile or say hello and I return them while my heart threatens to
beat out of my chest. I still feel like a fraud. The fear that someone will recognize
me always haunts me. Will it ever go? Still, with my dark hair and my careful—if
slightly heavy—make-up, hopefully it’s unlikely. It’s been years since the
incident with Pete and no one has figured me out yet.
A bounce enters my stride as I
make my way to my desk, the episode with the sexy stranger almost forgotten.
Finally my life is coming together. After passing my exams, it took me a while
to get a job. Having few references aside from one from my boss at Murphy’s
didn’t help, but I found someone willing to give me a chance. Thankfully
studying hard and getting good grades paid off.
Once I’m settled at my desk, I
fiddle with the stationary, get the computer turned on and draw in a breath.
Soon I’ll be earning enough to leave my crappy flat in Peckham. I’ll have to
continue working at Murphy’s for a bit. Living in London isn’t cheap, but it
will be worth it. For so long, I’ve been scraping by. This is me sorting out my
life and behaving like a proper adult. No more relying on tips or wondering
where the next bill payment is going to come from. And I’ll never end up back
on the streets like I did at seventeen.
Turning to the computer, I scan
my diary and a heavy pit of dread settles in my stomach. I tap my pen against
the name on the screen. The customer is behind on his mortgage payments and
wants to take a payment holiday. While the last thing the bank wants to do is repossess
the property, unless he can prove he’ll be able to starting paying again after
the holiday, there’s no way I can grant it. Not with his recent history of
skipped payments. I skim over his accounts and there’s virtually no money going
in. Pressure builds behind my eyes and I squeeze the bridge of my nose. Great,
if I get a migraine, I’m screwed and I can’t afford to take a sick day after
only a week on the job.