Burn My Hart (The Notorious Harts 2)
‘You think biology is the only definition of family?’
His back is ramrod-straight.
I expel an angry breath. ‘So what, man? You want to just turn your back on us? Walk out on Jagger and me, like we mean nothing?’
‘No.’ It’s an angry denial. And then he angles his face back towards mine, his eyes like ice chips. ‘I just need time.’
‘It’s been months.’
‘There’s no statute of limitations on this. I’ll get over it if and when I’m ready.’
‘Fine. But just—don’t block us out, okay? I’m here for you. So’s Jagger.’ We’re not much into the touchy-feely stuff—no one who’d lived our childhoods would be—but I feel like I need to say to Holden what I’ve never said to another person in all my adult life. ‘I love you, man.’
His brows lift in surprise and for the briefest moment there’s a grin on his face, so familiar that my stomach clenches because I catch a tiny ghost of my brother, my real brother, the guy I grew up with. He reaches for a pair of socks that are balled up on the bench beside him and throws them at me. ‘You’re turning soft in your old age.’
I laugh, reassured for now, glad to have sighted him and convinced myself he hasn’t drunk himself into a catatonic stupor. ‘Yeah, yeah. I gotta go. See you Sunday?’
‘Sunday?’
‘Pick-up. At the hotel. Don’t be late.’ I throw the socks back at him. They land between his eyes. I laugh as I leave, but there’s a heaviness inside me, a heaviness I can’t shake.
* * *
‘You’re late.’ I pull the door inwards at his knock, and a familiar rush of longing assaults me. Theo Hart in any guise is one of the hottest guys on the planet. I mean, he could basically be Jason Momoa’s body double. Fewer tats, but every inch of delicious rugged hotness. I swear a little drool escapes the corner of my lips.
I love him in a suit, all buttoned up and conservative, every detail immaculate, but I love him most like this, because this is so perfectly suited to the man he is. In low-slung, faded denims and a black T-shirt, he is casual and hyper-masculine.
‘Sorry.’ He grins and my stomach flip-flops. His eyes drop from my face, scanning my body slowly, so sensual heat licks my flesh as though he’s touching me. The gown is couture, a gift from a designer friend. I traded her a signature Fleurs Sauvages luggage set for the entire Spring-Summer collection. This piece is black silk and it hugs my breasts, hips and falls to just above my knees. It’s a simple slip but the detail is in the design. The cut of the fabric enhances curves without being overstated. ‘You look beaut—’
‘No time.’ I reach for him, pulling him inside. He kicks the door shut with his booted foot, stepping out of them shortly after so his feet are bare. He lifts me against his body, all his hard planes and muscles making my insides turn to mush. ‘Where were you?’
He kisses me and my hands tangle in his hair. It’s styled into a messy man bun on top of his head. I dislodge it unapologetically.
‘Got held up. Doesn’t. Matter.’ He’s pushing at my dress but I shake my head.
‘I have to go out soon. I literally have twenty minutes.’
‘Fuck.’ The word makes me smile because it speaks volumes regarding our mutual desperation. It’s unsurprising. It’s been two weeks since last we saw each other—the longest since we started this bizarre and mutually satisfying agreement. ‘Cancel your plans.’
It’s easy to forget that Theo is one of the wealthiest men on the planet. There’s something low-key about him that puts me at ease, then he fires commands like that at me and I remember he runs the shipping and maritime branch of the behemoth that is Hart Industries, that he’s used to commanding tens of thousands of employees.
‘I can’t. You’re going to have to go fast.’
His grin widens. ‘I don’t think that’ll be a problem.’
I laugh, because where a mere mortal might feel the need to insist they could never come quickly, Theo is secure enough in his manhood, and has given me more than enough orgasms, to know that the ability to render pleasure quickly isn’t a bad thing.
He’s only been to my apartment a couple of times before this but he remembers the way to my bedroom easily. We kiss and walk and stumble a bit as we move quickly through the penthouse, shouldering our way through the doorway and falling onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and fabric. He pulls at my underwear, a lace thong, gliding it from my legs with reverence even as he moves quickly, then pushes my dress up. I lift onto my elbows so he can guide it over my head.
‘Don’t let it crumple,’ I instruct, laughing because Theo is the last person on earth to give a crap about preserving clothing. But I have to wear the dress tonight and wrinkles will kind of be a giveaway as to what I’ve been doing.
With a droll expression, he drapes it at the foot of the bed but I don’t watch. I decide I don’t really care about crinkles. I don’t really care about anything in this moment except him and this.
His fingertips caress my flesh and I tremble, pleasure bursting through me. My hair is long and red. I used to hate it and dye it black, but somewhere in my early twenties I gave myself over to its natural colour and let it grow. It falls to the small of my back in thick, voluptuous Titian curls, and I love how obsessed by it he is. His hands fist the lengths and he drops his head, kissing my mouth, holding my hair, the weight of his body on mine a pleasure beyond compare. My hands fumble at his belt, undoing it, pushing his zip down, freeing his cock, my fingertips curling around his length hungrily. I release a jagged sigh of relief. It’s been way too long—a mistake of circumstance. His life is busy, and mine is the same. Coordinating our schedules is hard but, oh, so worth it.
‘Protection,’ he grunts, pushing his clothes off impatiently at the same time he pulls a condom from his wallet and slides it over his dick. He’s impressively efficient with this stuff and never forgets the practicalities, which I love, because sometimes I’m so caught up in what’s happening between us that I can barely recall my name.
‘I will move heaven and earth to avoid having children,’ he joked one time, when I thanked him for always being so prepared with his condom supply.