Hold on Tight (Man of the Month 2)

He trailed the finger down from her lower lip, then along her neck to stroke her collarbone before dropping lower to brush, ever so lightly, over her nipple. And then, to her mortification, she drew in a breath that shuddered

with desire.

He didn't move, but she saw the realization in his eyes. And when his lips quirked into a grin, she knew that she'd lost this round.

"You want your show?" he said. "Well, I want revenge."

And then he turned and left the alcove, disappearing into the dark as Brooke's knees gave out, and she sank to the floor ... and into her memories.

Chapter Six

Five years ago

"You're crazy," Spencer said, laughing as he pulled Brooke into his lap. "You know that right?"

She snuggled close, breathing in the scent of sawdust and turpentine. "Just because I think we should drive away after the wedding on your bike instead of a limo? That doesn't make me crazy. Just crazy for you."

She lifted her head long enough to kiss his lower lip, right above his beard, then relaxed as his arms tightened around her.

"Well, then we're equal. Because I'm nuts about you, too." Humor and love laced his voice, and she smiled to herself, happy to hear that tone of joy. These last few days had been so damn hard for him. Hell, for all of them.

Honestly, the news was so tragic--so heartbreaking--that she'd even suggested postponing the wedding. But he wouldn't hear of it. "Postponing the wedding wouldn't change anything. And besides, I can't give you the chance to find someone better, can I?"

His tone was joking, but the words made her wince. Because even though she loved him with a ferocity that sometimes scared her, she knew that he secretly feared that she'd come to her senses, realize her parents were right, and find a man with an MD and a trust fund to marry.

As if.

Brooke might only be twenty-three, but she knew who she wanted. And that was Spencer. And she didn't give a flying fuck what her parents thought of him or his family.

Spencer had never hidden his background from her. He'd told her over and over that he knew her family would disapprove, and he wanted her to go into the relationship with eyes open. And because he'd wanted her from the first moment he saw her, he'd told her his story on the night they'd met.

It had been getting on toward midnight almost two years ago when he'd pulled up on his bike and helped her change a tire. Well, help wasn't entirely accurate, as she'd been doing nothing other than searching her purse for her AAA car so that she could call for assistance. But assistance had materialized in the form of a dark man with an unkempt beard, a leather jacket, and the kind of tight jeans that had made her breath catch in her throat.

He'd changed the tire in record time, then asked if he could buy her a beer. She'd never known for sure what made her say yes, but she thought it was something in his eyes. The flecks of gold in the brown that looked like starlight and seemed to promise her the universe. As if he held the power to lay the world at her feet.

Her yes had been barely audible, but it had been enough. And she'd followed him in her car to a divey joint tucked away in a section of East Austin into which she'd never ventured.

They'd played pool, drank beer, and swapped life stories. And he'd made no bones about the fact that he'd grown up piss-poor in one of the roughest neighborhoods in East Austin. Or that his brother was on death row. "I want you to know," he'd said. And she'd desperately wanted to hear.

"My dad--Billy--was as white trash as they come, and in his teens and twenties, his gang was his family." But then Billy met Carina, the woman who would become Spencer's mom, and he'd sworn to clean up his act. He managed to extricate himself from gang life and made a decent living doing construction work. They got married, had Richie, and then seven years later, Spencer came along.

But Carina died when Spencer was four. Complications from a third pregnancy, and neither mother nor child made it.

"I only remember bits and pieces, but my dad pretty much spun out. And that's when Richie stepped in to be the man of the house. All of eleven, and he was supporting all of us."

"That's not possible."

"Yeah," Spence had said. "It is. He just had to find another kind of family."

"A gang."

"The Crimson Eights. Fingers in drugs, guns, probably human trafficking, though I don't know for sure. Heard of them?"

She'd shook her head. "I don't think so."

"You said you live in Westlake, right?"

She felt embarrassed to admit that she came from such a well-off Austin neighborhood, but she gave a little nod. "So?"