Hold On Tight (Man of the Month Book 2) Read online

  He’d started slowly, his fingertips tracing patterns on her skin. His mouth trailing kisses over her body. But then he stepped up the sensual torment. Teasing her erogenous zones. Sucking hard on her nipples, nibbling at her earlobe, licking the back of her knee. And, yes, teasing her clit mercilessly.

  And with each stroke and each tease, the pleasure built and built until she twisted away, trying to escape it for just a little while, trying to bring a pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain back to a level that didn’t have her body trembling and craving.

  Trying, in other words, to gain back a modicum of control.

  Bound, it was impossible. She didn’t just experience pleasure, she endured it. And as that pleasure built and grew and rose and climbed, she couldn’t deny that it was probably the most erotic experience of her life.

  “Please,” she begged, when she couldn’t take it any more. When his teasing her in one spot and then moving to another had her body so on edge that it felt like every cell was on fire. “Please, Spencer, take me over.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, oh, please yes.”

  He used his mouth and expert tongue to take her the rest of the way, his hands holding her hips as she tried to squirm and twist under the unrelenting onslaught of pleasure. But it was no use, and she felt the power of a massive orgasm building inside of her, drawing her higher and higher until, finally, the intensity of sensations knocked her over the edge, sending her hurtling wildly into a maelstrom that rivaled the most violent of thunderstorms.

  When, finally, she was breathing regularly again, Spencer untied her, then held her gently as she sighed with complete satisfaction. “Amazing,” she said. “Wanna do it again?”

  As she’d hoped, he laughed. “Yes, but let’s wait for a night when it’s not past three in the morning. Right now, I just want to hold you.”

  Since she was perfectly fine with that plan, she didn’t protest. But she also wasn’t sleepy, and her mind was spinning.

  "Why didn't you do the final season of Spencer's Place?” she asked, snuggled up close to him. “Was it because of Brian?"

  "Mostly," he said. "My money was still tied up with him. So I'd be working, and he'd be stealing. Seemed like a bad deal all around for me."

  "I'd say."

  He stroked a lazy pattern on her arm, and she sighed with bliss.

  "On top of that," he continued, "the bloom had worn off. Back when I pitched it, I'd wanted the show for the work."

  "I remember. You wanted to show people how to make repairs on their own place and flip a few properties at the same time. Don't stop that," she added, when he started to move his hand away.

  He chuckled, but complied. "It was all Hollywood bullshit. Or it felt like it. It just..." He trailed off with a shrug. "It wasn't fun."

  She shifted out from under his touch, suddenly uncomfortable under the weight of a fresh guilt. "I'm sorry to pull you back into all that. I wouldn't have if—"

  "No." He pressed a finger to her lips. "I didn't want to at first for a whole hell of a lot of reasons. But those reasons are gone. And now I'm having one of the best times of my life."

  "Yeah?"

  "Absolutely."

  She snuggled close. "I'm glad."

  "In fact, I was thinking that maybe we should try this again."

  "This? You mean the show?"

  "I've got another one waiting in the wings, remember? Would be a hell of a lot more fun fixing up the mansion with you."

  "Oh." For a second, Brooke wasn't sure she could breathe. She told herself he wasn't proposing marriage. All he wanted was to work with her installing drywall, laying tile, fixing plumbing, and the other eight million things the Drysdale Mansion needed. But that didn't change the fact that it was their place. That they'd be doing it together.

  "Brooke? If you don't want to, it's okay."

  "No," she blurted. "I do. But are you sure? We'll be on television. That whole celebrity thing, only this time we'll be under the microscope as a couple. Won't that drive you crazy?"

  He squeezed her hand. "Why should it?" he asked. "After all, isn't that what we are?"

  Chapter Eighteen

  Spencer learned two things during Monday's Happy Hour. First, that Brooke looked sexy even when she was wearing reading glasses and pouring over the notes she'd made in her tiny, cramped handwriting. And second, that Parker Manning was a pig.

  To be fair, Spencer didn't even know Parker's name when he made that assessment. But Spencer's radar had started ticking when the guy had entered the bar, noticed Brooke at a table with her laptop and notebook, and made a beeline straight for her.

  Not surprising, of course. Parker was a man. And Brooke had that ethereal beauty coupled with the kind of easy curves that make a man take notice.

  All well and good, except that Spencer didn't like it when a man other than himself did the noticing. And he especially didn't like it when Brooke leaped out of her chair and threw her arms around any guy who took it upon himself to look at her that way.

  "Who is that?" he'd asked Mina. They'd been in the process of making a list of all the things that had to get finished before the bar opened its doors on Wednesday. An essential task, no doubt about that. But at the moment, it paled in the face of Spencer's need to know the identity of the pretty boy macking on his girlfriend.

  Mina lifted herself up out of her seat and craned her neck. "Oh, that's Parker Manning," she said, and Spencer decided that not only was Parker a pig, but he had a prissy-ass name, too.

  "Who the fuck is Parker Manning, and why is he hugging my girl?"

  For a second, Mina looked like she was going to make some speech about how Brooke was her own woman and she was allowed to have male friends and on and on and on. But she probably caught sight of Spencer's face, because all she said was. "You know. Parker Manning. His dad's Bertram Manning."

  Spencer shook his head, and Mina rolled her eyes. "Serious old Texas money family. Ranching. Oil. Tech. The whole nine yards. Parker could probably buy and sell this whole town just off the interest on his trust fund."

  Yeah, definitely not liking the guy.

  "As for the hug," Mina added, "you'll have to ask Brooke. But if I had to go out on a limb, I'd say they know each other."

  "Then I guess it's time for me to make his acquaintance. Why don't you finish that list?"

  "Okey-fine," she said, her lips trembling from withheld laughter.

  "What?"

  "You're such a guy, Spencer."

  He considered that, shrugged, and said, "Thank you." Then he headed across the bar, fully intending to lay flat Parker Manning.

  He didn't make it that far. Instead, he was stopped by a familiar female voice calling his name. He turned, and found Amy Rice standing behind him, her arms crossed over her chest, and her expression wary.

  "Amy?" She'd been one of the production assistants on Spencer's Place, and as a general rule she didn't look so small and fragile. "What's the matter?"

  "I keep trying to call you, but I couldn't. So I came here."

  "Call me?" He pulled out his phone, but there were no missed calls.

  "No, I meant that I tried, but I couldn't."

  He frowned. The words were clear enough, but he wasn't catching the meaning. "Do you want to sit down? Maybe take this a little slower?"

  She nodded, and he tried to swallow his worry. She'd been a freshman in college when she started working for the show, taking classes around the crazy production schedule. She'd been a hard worker and never shy about asking for projects or help or even a raise. So this hesitancy was completely out of character.

  "It's okay, Amy. Whatever it is, I'll try to help."

  The words worked like magic, and he watched as her shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you. I really appreciate—well, just, thank you."

  He waited, not wanting to rush her.

  "So, the thing is—it's about Brian Shoal."

  Spencer forced his expression to stay neutral. "Go on.
"

  "Well, I know that you and he—well, he screwed you with the money stuff. I know that's all gossip, but—"

  "It's true. What of it?"

  "It's only—I mean—well, I thought if you knew something, then seeing as you probably don't much like him, you might be willing to tell me."

  "Amy, you're going to have to back up and give me a little more information."

  She sucked in a breath. "He raped me. He drugged me at a party and he raped me and I'm pressing charges. And my parents are helping me sue him civilly, too, and my attorney says if I can find someone else he did that to, then it will help my case a lot, and that's why I'm here. Can you help me?"

  She blurted it out so fast he couldn't process all the words. But that was probably a good thing. Any more detail than what he picked up on, and he'd be too livid to think straight.

  "Brian Shoal drugged and raped you?" He wanted to at least clarify that one, salient point.

  She pressed her lips together, and she nodded. "I'm not lying. You might—"

  "I believe you."

  Her shoulders sagged with obvious relief. "Can you help me?"

  He drew in a breath, temper warring with pity. "Whatever you need, you've got my full support."

  "Then you know someone?"

  Unfortunately, he thought he did.

  Chapter Nineteen

  "You're sure nothing's bothering you?" Brooke frowned at Spencer, who had his hands locked on the ten and two position of her sky blue Mini Cooper's steering wheel. "You can't possibly be jealous of Parker. I told you, he's an old friend from high school. And only a casual friend, too. We never even dated."

  Spencer had always had a little bit of a jealous streak—she knew that. In the past, it had tended to show up when they met friends from her old neighborhood. As in, guys with significantly more money and definitely more pedigree. But back then she could usually get him to admit it and then laugh it off.

  Today, not so much, and it worried her. Especially since Parker was a total non-issue. He'd noticed her, they'd talked, he'd left. End of story.

  And yet here was Spencer, an hour later, still all bent out of shape.

  Either he had some other bone to pick with Parker, or Parker wasn't really the issue at all.

  Brooke's money was on the latter. But the problem was that she didn't have a clue what was going on. And so far, Spencer wasn't talking. Instead, he seemed to be seething.

  Frankly, enough was enough.

  "Look, you know what? Drop me at home. You can keep the car for tonight. I'm not in the mood to deal with it or with you."

  "I'm walking you in," he said, pulling into her driveway.

  "Is that so? Are you leaving the attitude outside? Because if not, I think I can find my own damn door." Honestly, she wanted to cry. Which was stupid. This was just a dumb fight because Spencer got his hackles up about her talking to a gorgeous guy. Give it a day and it would fade away. It wasn't like they fought often, and in the grand scheme of things this was nothing.

  Except it wasn't nothing. Because he wasn't talking.

  And the silence was making her crazy.

  He killed the engine, got out of the car, and headed to the front door. Which meant she either followed or slept in the car.

  Fuck.

  She followed, of course. And since he had a key to her place, he was already inside by the time she stepped into her foyer. "Enough," she called. "Tell me what's wrong or—"

  "Tell me about this." He thrust a scarf at her. One that he'd used to bind her wrists just the other night.

  She blinked up at him, confused.

  "You said you trusted me." He waved the scarf in her face. "You had me tie your wrists so I'd know how deep your trust ran."

  She felt her blood go cold. "Spencer," she said slowly. "What the hell is going on?"

  He grabbed the scarf in the middle and actually ripped it in two. "Goddamn it, Brooke. You trust me with your most intimate emotions. With your fears. Your nightmares, but you don't trust me enough to tell me that the man who fucking raped you was a friend of mine? Of ours? That Brian fucked you a thousand times worse than he screwed me?"

  Tears streamed down her face, but she didn't even realize she was crying until she tasted the salt in the corners of her mouth. "What— I mean, how—"

  "He did the same thing to another girl. A woman who used to work for me. She came to me, told me because she was hoping I had evidence. She's pressing charges. I put the pieces together."

  "I see." Since her knees were no longer working properly, she sank down onto the floor.

  "You didn't trust me, Brooke." He held out the scarf. "This isn't trust. Not when you lie to me and tell me you don't know who did that to you. Not when it's a man we both once called a friend."

  "No," she finally said, her voice steady. "I didn't tell you. Because I know you, Spencer. And if someone's fucking with your people, you're going to take action. And I couldn't lose you like that. You'd just told me that you wanted to put Brian in the ground after what he did to you. Do you think I don't know that you would do a thousand times worse for what he did to me?" A sob ripped out of her. "Do you think I wanted to see you arrested for assault? Or worse?"

  "Like I said. You don't trust me."

  "The hell I don't."

  "No, you didn't trust me to protect you. You didn't trust me to handle myself. And you know what? Maybe you were right. After all, blood will tell, right? And my blood definitely isn't as blue as Parker's."

  "Parker!"

  "I'm just the guy with the brother in prison. A guy with a rap sheet for assault who lucked into a decent career because he's good with his goddamn hands. But don't ask him to do a real job, because he doesn't even know how to protect his own bank account much less the woman he loves."

  "Stop it." She slammed her hand back against the wall, making it reverberate through the small entrance hall. "Do not put this on me. You see yourself that way, Spencer Dean. And you know what? That's your problem. I get that you're upset—I am, too. But don't you dare take it out on me."

  She didn't bother to wipe away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. He was such a stubborn, goddamn ass.

  He made a fist, then pounded it against her wall once, and then once again. He stood, breathing hard. When he spoke, his voice was level. "I heard what your father said. The day he came to offer to finance your company. He said that sooner or later I'd disappoint you. Well, I guess maybe today is sooner."

  "Yeah," she said, her body limp with exhaustion and way too tired to fight anymore. "Yeah, I guess maybe it is."

  He took a step toward her, then paused.

  Her heart hitched, and she wanted to reach for him. To tell him that he was her everything. That he didn't know his own worth. That him holding her and making love to her was a thousand times more powerful than his fist in Brian's face.

  But the problem was that she could tell him that every day for the rest of their lives, and until he truly believed that she loved him the way he was, they'd never be clear. And she couldn't live waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  Slowly, she stood up, then walked toward her living room. She paused long enough to look back over her shoulder. "I'll see you at work tomorrow," she said, forcing herself not to cry. "You know the way out."

  Chapter Twenty

  "Is it just Spencer, or are all men thick-skulled idiots?"

  "I think it's all men," Amanda said. She glanced sideways at Jenna. "You got an opinion?"

  "Definitely all. Although I have Reece trained pretty well."

  "That's right," Amanda said. "She does. So, see? Men are trainable. That's good, right? All you have to do is get Spencer one of those little collars with the electric shock, and then when he goes out of bounds, zap him."

  Brooke laughed out loud, which was a good feeling considering she'd cried herself empty last night. She'd come to work as usual, but Spencer was off getting lumber, and so she locked herself up in the office and put in an SOS call to Amand
a. Jenna hadn't started out as part of the conversation, but had poked her head in to deliver a message and gotten waylaid by Amanda. Which was pretty much what happened to most people around Amanda.

  "Thanks, you guys. I have no idea what I'm going to do, but I feel better."

  "I don't even know the real issue here," Jenna said. "But in my experience if a guy goes off the rails, he usually gets himself back on track. I mean, the bottom line here is that he loves you. Anyone who's been hanging around The Fix for the last two weeks can see that."

  "Is that enough?"

  "If it's not, we'll take him out back and throw rotten food at him until he sees reason. Deal?"

  Brooke sighed, then blinked back another round of tears. "I love you guys. And I really hope it doesn't come to rotten food."

  "It won't. Spencer's a good guy."

  True enough. The problem was that Spencer didn't know how good he was. But Brooke had taken enough of Jenna's time, and that wasn't a problem the girls could help with anyway. "Did you say you had a message?"

  "Oh, damn. I forgot. I swear, my head is so cloudy these days."

  Brooke almost said she wasn't surprised, then remembered that Jenna hadn't actually told anyone she was pregnant, so she kept her mouth shut.

  "There's a man to see you," Jenna said to Brooke. "He says he's your father."

  Brooke met Amanda's eyes, who looked back at her with all the sympathy of a true friend. She didn't, however, offer to meet the beast in Brooke's place.

  "I could tell him you have a slight case of Ebola," Amanda suggested. "That he can see you, but he needs a hazmat suit?"

  "It's a thought," Brooke said. "But probably best I get it over with."

  She walked neither slowly nor quickly, not wanting to face him, but also not wanting to prolong the pain. And when she finally reached his table, he was impatiently tapping the dial of his Rolex.

  "There you are."

  "I was in the middle of something," she said. "If you expected to see me at a specific time, an appointment would have been handy."

  "I understand you're still doing this ridiculous show."