much of a screw-up in his family as anyone else.
As much as her.
He tunneled a hand through his luscious, too-long locks and dropped his empty glass down on the bar. “Enough about me. I came here to make sure you’re okay. Unless you’d rather be alone...”
“I’m...” She started to give her standard “I’m fine,” then stopped. She wasn’t fine. She was a churning mass of competing emotions, not one of them “fine.” And the last thing she wanted was to be alone.
What she wanted was Nick. Touching her. Kissing her. Making her forget that the show she’d banked her reputation on was dead in the water, that she’d soon be back in Stockton, living with her parents. And while she didn’t want to go fifteen years without seeing them, moving in with them wasn’t exactly part of her master plan.
Holly knew if she and Nick picked up where they’d left off that day in his hotel room, they weren’t going to stop with touching and kissing. She also knew he’d be gone before she could say off-off-Broadway, back to the sun, surf and starlets in L.A. But she didn’t care. Nick was here with her now.
And it wasn’t as if she was looking for anything permanent. She’d been there, done that, gone down in flames. Clark had seemed so harmless, the prototypical mild-mannered science geek, complete with glasses and pocket protector. Yet marrying him had wound up being the most dangerous decision she’d ever made.
Sleeping with Nick would be dangerous, too, but for far different reasons. He might not pose a threat to her body—at least not the way Clark had—but there was a good chance that, if she let him, he could walk away with her heart and soul. A real triple threat, never mind the whole acting, singing and dancing thing.
So just make sure you don’t let him, she told herself. Easier said than done, but the heat coursing through her body—whether from the alcohol or Nick’s earthy, totally male scent—was telling her it was time she started taking some risks in her personal life. And Nick Damone was six foot plus of heart-stopping, lip-smacking risk personified.
“I’m glad you’re here. I could use some company tonight.”
“At your service.” He gestured toward her half-empty glass. “Can I buy you another?”
“Actually, I was thinking we should...”
“Should?” He inched his bar stool closer to hers.
“Maybe...”
“Maybe?”
She stared up at the ball game on TV. If she looked at him, she’d never get out what she needed to say. As it was, her words came out in a breathless rush. “Go somewhere a little more private.”
She felt Nick tense beside her. Heard him inhale sharply. “Where did you have in mind?”
He rested his arm on the back of her bar stool, skimming her shoulder with his fingers. Heat radiated down her arm and crackled across her chest. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t believe she was going to do this. She took a hefty slug of her mudslide for Dutch courage and turned to him, running a hand up his leg until it came to rest on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch so he couldn’t possibly misunderstand her. His muscles twitched under her palm.
“My place.”
7
H E WAS THE luckiest son of a bitch on earth.
“Are you sure?” Nick asked.
Holly nodded. “Positive.” Her voice, low and breathy, crawled up his spine like naughty fingers, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. “One night before you go. No strings.”
He threw a stack of bills down on the bar, not bothering to count them, and grabbed the hand that was only millimeters from his throbbing dick. “Then let’s get out of here,” he growled, pulling her up from the stool and practically dragging her toward the door. He pushed it open, blasting them with warm air.
“Leaving so soon?” Devin hollered after them.
“I’ll text you,” Holly called back.
“Tomorrow,” Nick added as he hauled her outside, the door slamming shut behind them. He looked left, then right,
As much as her.
He tunneled a hand through his luscious, too-long locks and dropped his empty glass down on the bar. “Enough about me. I came here to make sure you’re okay. Unless you’d rather be alone...”
“I’m...” She started to give her standard “I’m fine,” then stopped. She wasn’t fine. She was a churning mass of competing emotions, not one of them “fine.” And the last thing she wanted was to be alone.
What she wanted was Nick. Touching her. Kissing her. Making her forget that the show she’d banked her reputation on was dead in the water, that she’d soon be back in Stockton, living with her parents. And while she didn’t want to go fifteen years without seeing them, moving in with them wasn’t exactly part of her master plan.
Holly knew if she and Nick picked up where they’d left off that day in his hotel room, they weren’t going to stop with touching and kissing. She also knew he’d be gone before she could say off-off-Broadway, back to the sun, surf and starlets in L.A. But she didn’t care. Nick was here with her now.
And it wasn’t as if she was looking for anything permanent. She’d been there, done that, gone down in flames. Clark had seemed so harmless, the prototypical mild-mannered science geek, complete with glasses and pocket protector. Yet marrying him had wound up being the most dangerous decision she’d ever made.
Sleeping with Nick would be dangerous, too, but for far different reasons. He might not pose a threat to her body—at least not the way Clark had—but there was a good chance that, if she let him, he could walk away with her heart and soul. A real triple threat, never mind the whole acting, singing and dancing thing.
So just make sure you don’t let him, she told herself. Easier said than done, but the heat coursing through her body—whether from the alcohol or Nick’s earthy, totally male scent—was telling her it was time she started taking some risks in her personal life. And Nick Damone was six foot plus of heart-stopping, lip-smacking risk personified.
“I’m glad you’re here. I could use some company tonight.”
“At your service.” He gestured toward her half-empty glass. “Can I buy you another?”
“Actually, I was thinking we should...”
“Should?” He inched his bar stool closer to hers.
“Maybe...”
“Maybe?”
She stared up at the ball game on TV. If she looked at him, she’d never get out what she needed to say. As it was, her words came out in a breathless rush. “Go somewhere a little more private.”
She felt Nick tense beside her. Heard him inhale sharply. “Where did you have in mind?”
He rested his arm on the back of her bar stool, skimming her shoulder with his fingers. Heat radiated down her arm and crackled across her chest. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t believe she was going to do this. She took a hefty slug of her mudslide for Dutch courage and turned to him, running a hand up his leg until it came to rest on his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch so he couldn’t possibly misunderstand her. His muscles twitched under her palm.
“My place.”
7
H E WAS THE luckiest son of a bitch on earth.
“Are you sure?” Nick asked.
Holly nodded. “Positive.” Her voice, low and breathy, crawled up his spine like naughty fingers, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. “One night before you go. No strings.”
He threw a stack of bills down on the bar, not bothering to count them, and grabbed the hand that was only millimeters from his throbbing dick. “Then let’s get out of here,” he growled, pulling her up from the stool and practically dragging her toward the door. He pushed it open, blasting them with warm air.
“Leaving so soon?” Devin hollered after them.
“I’ll text you,” Holly called back.
“Tomorrow,” Nick added as he hauled her outside, the door slamming shut behind them. He looked left, then right,
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