Elisabeth Naughton - Hold On To Me

Or so he hoped.

“I think we need to do something to take our minds off everything.” He swiped his sweaty palm against his thigh and moved for the cabinet in the entertainment center he’d discovered earlier.

“I don’t think I’m up for watching a movie. If it was baseball season, I’d totally watch a game with you, but football really isn’t my thing.”

No, football definitely wasn’t her thing, and that didn’t bother him in the least. He only watched it this time of year because there wasn’t much else on after the World Series wrapped up. Memories of the games he’d taken her to at AT&T Park ricocheted in his brain, especially when he’d surprised her with tickets to see her beloved Orioles. And the way she’d thanked him after when they’d celebrated the Birds’ win over the Giants back at his house.

“Um”—he swallowed the lump growing in his throat—“I wasn’t thinking of a movie.” He grabbed the box in the cupboard and turned. “I was thinking of something a little more involved.”

Simone’s brown eyes widened when she saw what he was holding. “You want to play Monopoly?”

“We’ve got hours to kill. What do you say?”

Simone eyed him like he had a second nose smack in the center of his forehead. And yeah, maybe it was a stupid idea, but if he didn’t do something with his hands soon, he was going to reach for her, then all his plans about keeping things platonic so she’d stop avoiding him would be shot to hell. And if that happened, she might run before he had his answers.

“Come on.” He tipped his head and shot her his most devastating smile. “Unless you’re scared I’ll win. In which case, we could just call me the champ right now and find something else to do.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he saw it then—that flash of challenge, of interest, of strength. And in that moment, it was like looking at the old her. Not the victim he’d seen the night his house had been attacked. Not the one who was afraid to hold on to what she wanted. And definitely not the one who was ready to give up her life and run. No, in that second, he saw a spark that told him the confident, take-charge woman he’d fallen in love with was still in there.

She leaned slightly forward and pinned him with a look. “You do not want to challenge me at Monopoly. Trust me.”

His smile widened, and he set the box on the coffee table in front of her. “Why not?”

“Because Shannon and I play this all the time, and I never lose.”

“You take advantage of a ten-year-old? I’m pretty sure I can hold my own.”

“That ten-year-old will probably end up with an MBA. When it comes to Monopoly, she’s got claws as sharp as Ryan’s. Regardless, though, if you insist on playing, I will destroy you. Be forewarned.”

Mitch’s heart squeezed tight, and his smile faded. Sweetheart, you already did that. He pushed the hurt down and flipped the box lid open, then sat in the chair across from her and worked to keep things light. “We’ll see. Here. You can be the dog. I know how much you like to bitch at me. I’ll be the car.”

She lifted her brows and took the piece he handed her. “Good thing it’s not a minivan.”

His hand hesitated over GO. Yeah, good thing it wasn’t. There was a time he thought he was minivan material, but that was slowly drifting away. And right now, he wasn’t sure how, or if, he ever wanted it back.

“North Carolina Avenue with one hotel…” Simone looked down at the back of her card. “You owe me one thousand, two hundred, and seventy-five dollars.”

Sitting on the ottoman with his elbows resting on his knees, Mitch glanced over the measly stack of Monopoly money on the coffee table in front of him, then frowned across the board at her.

“What?” she asked with an adorably innocent, one-sided smile. “I warned you before we started. I always win.”

He was not going to let her win, even if it did brighten her eyes and bolster her mood. He counted his money, then flipped over his three yellow properties. “I had four houses on each of these and they cost a hundred and fifty each, so that’s—”

“You’re selling properties?”

“—seventy-five times twelve equals…nine hundred bucks. Hand it over, JP Morgan.”

Her smile widened, and she counted out the money, then slid it across the coffee table. “You still owe me three hundred and thirty-five dollars. You know, you could make this easier on yourself. I’ll forgo the rent this time if you give me Boardwalk and Park Place.”

He snatched up the money. “You are higher than a kite. I’m not giving you the best properties, especially when you’re about to come around. I’ve got you just where I want you.”

She laughed, the sound like silver bells, and brushed her dark hair back from her face. “You can’t win this, Mitch. Look at the board. You’re going down fast.”

He was. Even he could see it. The woman was more ruthless than Ryan and Julia put together, but at least when he played Monopoly with them he could hold his own, because they were usually going after each other. Simone the shark was another story. He wasn’t ready to give up the fight yet though. He was having too much fun. And sitting on the floor cross-legged across from him, smiling up at him like she hadn’t in days, Simone seemed to be having fun too.

He grabbed what was left of his cash and threw the entire bundle at her. “There you go, miser. If I could pay you in pennies, I would.”

Her hands darted out, she laughed again, and Monopoly money went flittering through the air all around her. “You are such a sore loser.”

“I haven’t lost yet. It’s your turn. Roll the damn dice.”

“This is Ford in the security center.” Simone’s hand froze over the board. They both looked up at the sound of the voice coming from somewhere in the ceiling. “We’ve had a security breach on the property. Quickly make your way to the safe room.”

The color drained from Simone’s face. She jerked to her feet, sending the Monopoly board and pieces flying. Mitch shot up and grasped her arm at the biceps. “Come on. Hustle.”

They jogged into the library. Mitch felt all over the center shelf molding and couldn’t find the release. “Dammit.”

“Bottom of the third shelf.” Simone’s panicked voice drifted to his ears. “Hurry.”

His fingers slid over the button, and he pushed it. The shelving unit angled out with a hiss. Grasping Simone’s hand, he tugged her in after him.

He let go of her hand and pulled on the metal bar, then turned the handle, locking them in. One look at the monitor showed Ford wasn’t making shit up. Someone was on the grass on the east side of the property, heading for the house. Someone he didn’t recognize.

“Oh God.” Simone shuffled backward, and Mitch looked her way just as she hit the cold cement wall. Her eyes slid closed, her hands landed against the cement at her sides. What little color was left in her features was draining away quickly. “I told you to leave. I told you you were better off without me.”

She was panicking again. Like she’d done in Ryan’s office. He crossed to her, cradled her face in his hands, and slid his fingers into her hair, tipping her face up to his. “Look at me, Simone.”

She shook her head and squeezed her eyes, but he only held her tighter. “Open your eyes and look at me.”

Fear swirled in her chocolate irises when she finally did. The same fear he’d seen the night his house had been shot up. The same fear he’d noticed the night she’d come back from DC, but which he’d ignored because he’d been too hurt to do anything but focus on his own misery.

“I told you,” she whispered. “I told you not to get involved with me.”

His pulse, which was already fast, took off, and pinpricks of heat raced down his spine. Because this fear wasn’t for her—it was for him.

Holy shit, she still cares.

“No one’s getting in here.” His voice was thick. His hands damp. Dammit, why hadn’t he figured this out before?

Because you were too pissed to do anything but mope.

But he wasn’t now. Now he was thinking clearly. And knowing she’d called their relationship quits because she was worried about him changed everything. “No one’s getting to us. Nod your head so I know you hear me.”

She closed her eyes again, but he held her firmly. “Simone, focus. No one’s getting in here. Nod for me.”

Slowly, she did, and a lone tear escaped from beneath her lashes, then slid down her cheek.

All those walls he’d erected to protect himself came crumbling down. He let go of her with one hand, slid the other to the back of her head, and pulled her in close, wrapping himself around her. Her head rested against this chest, just under his chin. Her arms closed around his waist. The beat of her heart pounded against his, reminding him of every moment he’d held her like this in his bed, in her bed, anywhere he could get her.

”You’re okay,” he whispered. “We’re both okay. Nothing’s going to happen.”

She sniffled, and he felt the wetness of her tears soaking into his shirt. “I hate this. I hate being this weak, helpless female. This isn’t me.”

But it was her. This vulnerable side he hadn’t known existed was as much a part of her as was the strong, confident lawyer. “You’re not weak.”

“I feel like it.” She let go of his waist with one arm and swiped at her cheek. “I’m on the verge of a breakdown when I should be running.”

He eased back, slid his hands to her face again. “No more running. If you do, they’ll just follow you wherever you go.”

He saw the defeat in her features. “Mitch—”

“No. We’re in this together now, and I’m not letting you give up your life again for these people. They’re just trying to scare you. We will figure it out and find a way to beat them. Do you hear me, Simone? This isn’t the end. It’s not even close.”

Her eyes held his, damp, worried, filled with so many emotions, he felt every one in his very soul.

She did care about him. He saw it in her features, felt it in the way she held him tight, and knew it in his heart. Even in the midst of all this chaos and uncertainty, hope bloomed in his chest. A hope that he could win her back, that they could fix everything that was broken between them, that maybe they could somehow—in some insane way—have that minivan future he’d thought was gone for good.

Heat encircled him, and his gaze flicked to her lips, held. Her pulse sped up beneath his fingers, her breasts rose and fell with her shallow breaths, and the need to kiss her, to taste her, to make her his again, overpowered every sense.

A click echoed in the room, stopping him from doing just that.

“All clear,” Ford said through a speaker somewhere near the monitors. “The situation’s under control. You can both come out now.”

Mitch didn’t move, and neither did Simone. They just continued to stare at each other. And in the thick, sultry air, one thing became crystal clear.

No matter what had happened, no matter how far they’d strayed from where they’d once been, she still wanted him, still needed him, still craved him with the same soul-deep intensity that he craved her. The hope he’d felt before exploded inside, giving him the strength and purpose he’d been missing. Because that meant he only had one thing left to do.

Before he confessed his secret, he had to convince her she was still his.

* * *

A crazed Kendrick fan.

That was how Ford had identified the man who’d stumbled onto the property from the beach. According to Ford, the guy had seen a car pull through the gate the night before and had heard Kendrick had a house here, and had put two and two together, hoping to find the rock star at his retreat home.

Instead, he’d found the police for trespassing.

Wrapped in a plush white towel fresh from a shower, Simone stood in front of the mirror and swiped the steam from the glass with a hand towel. Her eyes still looked tired this morning, and she wanted to blame another restless night on what had happened yesterday, but she couldn’t. While yes, all that did weigh heavy on her mind, and she was happy it had turned out to be nothing, the truth about her insomnia had to do with only one thing. One man. One aggravatingly, sexy, incredible man she wanted with every inch of her being.

An image of Mitch in his room, stepping from the shower, filled her mind. His skin golden from hours outdoors beaded with water, his hair damp, the muscles in his arms flexing as he wrapped a towel just like hers low around his lean, sexy hips. The breadth of his muscular chest, the cut of his strong, carved stomach, and that thin line of dark hair that started at his belly button and stretched downward, like an arrow pointing toward what she wanted most.