TOO MUCH TO LOSE
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
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter One
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.
Yanking open the desk drawer, I pull out a pack of pills and the bottle of water from my handbag. The last pill jams in my throat as a man approaches.
To be more accurate, a sexy, brooding dark haired man in a leather jacket and worn jeans. I bite back a groan. The one I just nearly knocked out with the door. Heat rises in my face.
He strolls over, affording me a proper look at him. I’m now totally flustered. I suspect my jaw drops open. There’s a confidence to him that you don’t normally see in men. They’re all brash and cocky but you can see it’s a front. He’s almost enjoying this moment, as if surveying his territory and I fight the desire to shrink into my seat when his gaze locks onto mine.
“I have an appointment.”
Oh crap. Just my luck. I try to hold a wobbly smile. “Mr O’Reilly?”
“That’s me.”
“Take a seat.” I gesture to the spindly padded metal chair opposite. He settles and I pity the poor chair, trying his hold his long frame. Forcing my jaw shut and my gaze upwards, I try not to think about how long it’s been since a man kissed me, because that is exactly where my thoughts are headed as I eye his lips.
“Can I…” Kiss you? Fuck you? “Uh… can I… get you a coffee or anything?”
He runs a hand through his dark hair and shakes his head. Both draw my attention. The hair and the hand, that is. He has thick fingers and his hands look strong and capable. His hair—too long for a businessman—is lush with a slight curl to it. I wish I was those fingers.
A tilted smile sits on his lips as he lifts his gaze to mine. It’s wry, not amused, as if he can’t believe his crappy luck. Maybe he’s holding a grudge for the door incident. Those eyes—the ones that snared me earlier—are now holding me captive. One of them is weird though. No, more like unusual, because weird implies I don’t like it and I do. He has some green in one, just a tiny portion of his iris stands out against the deep blue of the rest of his eyes.
I make a show of studying the computer screen even though the words are blurred and I’m aware of his confident posture and the worn lines of his jeans in the periphery of my vision.
“Mr O’Reilly, I—”
“Hunter.”
“I—what?” I throw a puzzled glance his way.
“Mr O’Reilly makes me sound like my father, Hunter will do fine.”
“Yes, of course.” What am I thinking? I should have stuck with formalities.
“And you’re Jessica.”
“How did you know?”
He nods to the badge pinned on my suit jacket and the warmth swirling through me cranks up to sizzling. “And they told me at reception.” He grins.
Now I wish I could sink under the table and hide. This is not going well. “So… I understand you want to take a mortgage holiday?”
“Yes. I’m self-employed so I’m dependent on clients paying me. I just need a month until I get the payment I’m waiting on.”
“I understand that, Mr O’Reilly—Hunter—but you’ve missed the last two mortgage payments. When we tried to take them again, they defaulted and now you’ve got two penalty payments to pay too.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
His expression grows tense and his eyes harden. When he’s not smiling or looking smouldering, he’s a daunting man. Tall, wide shoulders... definitely a bad boy. Lines of muscle fill out the dark T-shirt underneath his jacket.
“If you’d have come to us before the missed payments, we could have arranged something.”
“That’s all very well, but I didn’t know I was going to miss them.”
“Yes—”
“Look, I’ve made all my payments up until these past two. I’ve never had any problems. I’ve got a payment coming in and I’ll be all caught up. I just need a month.”
“Do you have anything to say that this money will be coming in? An invoice or anything?”
“No, not at the moment.”
“Can you put one together? What is it you do?” I glance at the screen. “Investigations?” That puts a knot in my throat until I remind myself he’s not investigating me. Why would he care what I did in the past?
“Yes, and some security work. It pays well usually, as you can probably see.”
“Hunter, the bank’s policy is to look at repossession as a last resort. We don’t want to make anyone homeless and it’s costly. We’d far rather get the payments and with customers who have a credit rating, we are normally happy to offer payment holidays, but with these missed payments—”
; “Are you saying I’m going to lose the house?”
I exhale slowly. “No, I’m not saying that, but we need some kind of proof that you will be able to catch up on your payments.”
He runs a hand through his hair again, burying his fingers in those lush curls. I clench my hands until my nails bite into my palms.
Hunter sighs. “What do you need?”
“Some proof of incoming payment. Preferably from the source.”
“Right.” He nods. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Great.” I let loose a smile and his eyebrows dip. I’m not sure why but he looks confused by me. “We could also look into switching you temporarily to an interest only mortgage. Is that something you might consider?”
The line between his brows deepens. “No, I don’t need that. I can make the payments. I just need a month.”
“I understand, but if you need to consider other options, we can go over them. I’m happy to offer advice. As I said, it’s not in our best interests to repossess.”
“Sure.” He stands, towers over me.
I gulp. “Is there anything else I can do for you today, Mr—Hunter?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“If you could make another appointment with reception, in—a week’s time?—and bring the invoice and something from the client, then we can arrange your mortgage holiday.”
“Can I get your number?” he asks abruptly. “If I need advice,” he explains.
“You can always phone me here.” I gesture to the phone on my desk.
“Do you have a card?”
He’s got me there. I pull out a card and hand it over. It has a mobile number on it. The bank likes us to be available to customers and provide a phone. It’s the only one I have now as it saves me a little money not having a personal one.
Hunter’s lips twitch and he eyes the card. “Great. See you soon.”
With that, he turns and I find myself watching the way his jeans cup his ass when he strolls away. A flip-flopping sensation in my stomach forces me to clench my arms around it. Why am I ridiculously excited about him having my number? He can’t like me, not after I looked like a total idiot and then threatened to take his house away. And I definitely don’t like him. Having a man in my life is not for me. I learned that the hard way.
Too Much to Lose Page 1