Hold Me - Anne Marsh Page 0,8
expensive stone Liam’s imported from France in the name of authenticity.
Fortunately, Peony’s red sneakers are more sensible than most of the footwear I’ve spotted here. Gravel and hooker heels are a poor combination. Her fingers curl trustingly into mine, stroking my palm. She doesn’t say anything—she just holds on.
The cabana is right where I remember it, a small, vine-and-moonflower covered structure tucked away in the shadows. If I get bonus points for romance, I’d like to cash them in for a blow job because Peony on her knees...
While I punch the passcode into the number pad on the door, Peony watches me. Part of me is afraid that if I take too long, she’ll change her mind about playing a game with me.
“Do you know the owner?”
I don’t want to tell her the truth—that Liam is my best friend—because money changes things. Founder hounders chasing start-up entrepreneurs, gold diggers, desperate people, people who just want to dream a little on someone else’s dime—everyone wants money from me.
“I know his passcode.” It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “He gave it to me.”
I open the door, but there’s something she needs to understand before we do this. “If you want to stop at any point, say stop.”
She brushes past me. “No safe word?”
I follow her inside. “I don’t play that kind of game. You say stop, I stop. You’re always safe with me.”
She nods. “Okay, and ditto.”
It’s cute that she wants to protect me. “Firefly, you can’t do something I won’t enjoy.”
She is a little firefly, all unexpected sparkle in the night. If I take my eyes off her, it feels as if she’ll flash away into the dark, and I don’t want that.
Her mouth twists but then relaxes into a smile. “Promise?”
I flick the lock shut. I don’t want anyone interrupting us, so I also leave the lights off. God bless French doors because I can see fine. “I promise.”
The pool cabana is much more predictable than the rest of Liam’s estate. White and beachy, there’s a small, open kitchen for drinks and snacks on our left and a bathroom to our right. The rest is open space occupied by two large couches, an army of decorative pillows and those round ottoman things that I never know if they’re for my feet, my ass, or my drink. Knowing Liam, the stuff hanging on the walls is either priceless French crap or crayon scribbles from one of his employees’ kids that he’ll pretend is sourced from a hoity-toity San Francisco gallery just to make fun of his own pretensions.
“Wow.” Peony turns in a circle. “Being a billionaire has its perks. Have you seen the guy who owns this place tonight? Do you think he looks like a normal person or is he polished up pretty like his art?” She giggles. “It’s like trying to spot an octopus in the wild. He’s probably camouflaged and lurking in plain sight, but I’ll never spot him.”
This is not the time to confess that I’m also a member of that club. “So you think he’s camouflaged?”
She twinkles at me. “If he’s smart, he is. He’s a hot topic in the ladies’ room.”
“Billionaires don’t do it for me.” I pull her to me. Slowly, so she can let me know if I don’t get it right. It’s like easing into the pool one inch at a time when you’re hot, teasing your skin with all that water.
“What’s your favorite game?” She whispers the words against my mouth. Her lips part on a smile.
“Ladies first.”
“No.” She swallows, the sound loud in our quiet hiding place. The fingers she runs down my throat tremble slightly. I don’t think she’s scared, though. I’m a lucky bastard because I think she’s just as turned on as I am. “Let’s do yours first.”
My mouth goes dry. I really hope I didn’t misunderstand her before. “I could be here because I’m a cop. A bodyguard. Maybe you’re not supposed to be here.”
She nods. “Good cop, bad girl. The cop and the criminal.”
She talks too much, putting labels on everything. It’s so freaking cute.
“The bodyguard and the trespasser. Do you want to play?”
Her breath catches audibly. “Yes.”
“I think you like breaking the rules.”
She grins, the smile breaking across her face. “You’re an excellent guesser, Mr. Valentine.”
Her eyes are darker than I realized, a gray-blue, the color of the Pacific Ocean when it’s stormy. A color I could fall into. It’s easy to imagine her as an ocean girl, a surfer,