HOLDEN (Billionaire Bastards, Book Three) Read online

  My throat constricts. Would he?

  Of course, he would.

  Stacks of research confirm what I’ve assessed in less than an hour with this man—he commands respect, even fear, but at his core, he is a player. A guy used to getting exactly what he wants.

  Ridiculous fortune.

  Celebrity fame.

  And the undivided attention of any woman in the world.

  I pick at a piece of skin on the edge of my fingernail, and lower my voice, praying it won’t give out. “I’m not sure I fully understand the parameters of this proposed arrangement.”

  “Let me spell it out for you then,” he says, with a hint of sarcasm. I lift my gaze just as his tongue sweeps across his teeth. And damn if my traitorous pussy doesn’t clench in response. “Ten hours, ten questions. Ten…” He cocks his head to the right. “…acts of pleasure, of my choosing.”

  My spine stiffens. “That’s extortion.” His eyebrow quirks in confusion and I quickly stammer out a correction. “Prostitution, I mean.”

  Information in exchange for sex? For Christ’s sake, what kind of person does he think I am? I blow out a breath of disgust. My hands tremble in my lap. By suggesting such a ridiculous idea, it’s obvious Holden doesn’t think much of me at all.

  “That’s certainly one perception, but I prefer to describe it as a business arrangement.”

  My blood boils hot at his blatant nonchalance. “I suppose you already have the paperwork drawn up?” I snap, sarcasm my only defense.

  Holden looks genuinely confused. “We can certainly make that happen if it’s a condition of your terms.”

  My terms? Well, isn’t that just fucking rich?

  My gaze sweeps across his stoic face and I realize he’s absolutely serious about this. Fuck it. All of it. As tempted as I am to succumb to those smoldering eyes and ripped abs, this proposal is an outright insult, not only to me as a grad student.

  I’m offended as a woman.

  As a damn human being.

  “You’ve got to be joking,” I whisper.

  He’s not.

  My pulse spikes. “And if I refuse?”

  “The decision is yours,” he says. “But my offer is firm. Ten questions, ten hours, ten sexual acts.” I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off. “The other option is for you to walk out that door and find another source for your dissertation.”

  I remain very still, fighting the urge to scream or cry. I’m desperate for answers, but I can’t—won’t—stoop to this level. Not even to find out the truth about my father. I couldn’t live with myself if I sold out that way.

  Holden’s eyes are predatory. “What is your answer?”

  I stand, gathering my courage, my voice. “My answer is that you can go to hell.”

  Chapter 3

  I expect Holden to react, but he barely flinches while I’m ready to spit nails. My cheeks burn with humiliation and anger.

  “Fine,” he says, and shoves away from the desk. “You’ve made your decision. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a very busy man. Please show yourself out.”

  I get a whiff of his spiced cinnamon scent, and my knees go a little weak.

  I sling my purse over my shoulder with full intent to walk out the door. Something holds me back. The need to confirm—or deny—my mother’s steadfast belief that there are good people in this world.

  “Why did you even agree to this meeting?” I ask, my voice quivering.

  Holden’s expression darkens. “Your compelling email.”

  Right. The Mrs. Kratky connection. I should feel more guilt, but I’m consumed by rage. The tips of my ears have grown hot, and I’m thankful my hair covers yet another sign that I’m losing—have lost—control. My pulse thrums at my temples, creating a white noise of anger.

  “I have to believe Mrs. Kratky would be ashamed by your behavior right now,” I say, through grit teeth.

  It’s a low blow and I take a step backward, gripping my purse so tight my entire body shakes.

  “Get out,” he says, pointing a finger at the door.

  I do as he says, my entire body shaking with fear and rage and even sexual excitement, which is the most humiliating feeling.

  But maybe I don’t need him after all. Holden Quinn isn’t the only survivor of my father’s madness. I take another step backward, anxious to leave, desperate to stay. “There are others at this company I can speak to.”

  Holden’s eyes go stormy. “I’d advise you against that.”

  My chin lifts. “You can’t stop your partners from talking to me. It’s a free country.”

  He takes a step toward me.

  “The instant you walk out that door, I will alert my partners, my family, every God damned person in this company that they are not to speak to you.” A low growl emits from within his chest. “You will not be permitted to set foot in this building again.”

  I’m almost positive they’re an empty threats—how can one man have so much control?—but I’m wary enough not to challenge him. My bottom lip quivers. Damn him. Bad enough that I’ve chosen to revisit this painful part of my past. Now my best shot of getting to the bottom of what happened that fateful day is slipping away.

  Correction: my only shot. I already know the others won’t talk to me now.

  It was hard enough getting this interview, practically a miracle.

  I think back to how hard I’ve worked gathering information from a million sources, some bad some good.

  Including a police officer (now passed away) who hinted that the accounts from that tragic day may not be fully grounded in truth. The police officer had told me again and again that he believed the three boys were lying about some of their story, although exactly what they’d lied about, he did not say.

  I stare at Holden, studying the steely hardness of his expression.

  “You’re an asshole,” I say, finally, like a child.

  The insult seems to greatly amuse Holden. He simply grins. “That may be true, but I guarantee you won’t be able to forget about me…”

  I gasp in protest.

  “…or my proposal.”

  “You’re wrong about that,” I say. Which is another damn lie. No question I’m mad, furious really, but every second in Holden’s presence has me second-guessing my knee-jerk decision to walk away from all of this. His ridiculous offer. Him.

  Holden Quinn is like a fucking magnet, pulling me closer, weakening my resolve. I can’t give in. “I won’t give you—or your revolting proposal—another thought.”

  I spin on my heel and stalk toward the door.

  Holden’s voice follows me, feathering across my skin. “If you change your mind…”

  “I won’t.”

  “…you have until midnight to accept. Not one minute after.”

  I snort out a laugh. Of all the fucking nerve. I roll my eyes with deliberate exaggeration. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

  Chapter 4

  The halls buzz with animated chatter as I make my way to my small dorm room on the third floor. I keep my head bowed low, not interested in conversation, making nice, playing the game of innocent college student when I’m anything but.

  What I am, as it turns out, is a liar.

  And not a very successful one at that.

  I pause at the door and sigh. My roommate and best friend since high school, Lindsay Reynolds, has hung a sock on the door, which is the universal symbol for “Do Not Enter.” Damn it. My frustration is tempered with envy. I don’t remember the last time I went on a date. Even longer still since I’ve been touched by a man, or liked one enough to want to be touched by him.

  Holden excluded of course.

  My thoughts drift back to his office, where I’m shocked to realize how close I came to actually agreeing to his indecent proposal. It’s more than my need for information—I felt something in his presence. And not just an unfamiliar tingle between my thighs, either.

  Which is ridiculous, because Holden Quinn is a stubborn, hot hea
ded, arrogant jerk—

  The door opens and Reggie—at least I think his name is Reggie—stumbles out, half dressed, a ridiculously lovesick expression turning him into a cartoon caricature. He’s not ugly, but he’s just a kid, while Holden…

  Well, Holden is most definitely a man.

  I clear my throat. “Safe to go in now?”

  He blinks, like he didn’t even see me standing there—which is par for the course, really—and grins. “Oh, hey Chelsea. Lindsay’s inside.”

  “I certainly hope so,” I say. “Otherwise I’d be calling security right now.”

  He just chuckles and walks off.

  I should be used to the revolving door that has become our dorm room, but it’s still so foreign to me.

  I walk into the suite, and the musky scent of sex nearly brings my gorge up. My gag reflex pulses. Gross. I spot Lindsay at the back of kitchen, hanging her head out the window with her e-cigarette dangling between her lips. A cloud of smoke billows from her mouth and disappears into the cloudless sky.

  “You’re going to get us busted,” I say, chucking my purse onto the coffee table. My eyes graze over the couch, the rumpled blanket and scattered pillows a clear signal that today’s lovebirds didn’t bother taking their afternoon delight to the bedroom. “Tell me I’m not going to sit in come if I flop down on that chair.”

  “Okay,” Lindsay says, dragging her head back inside the room, the lingering scent of raspberry floating in along with it. “You’re not going to sit in come.”

  “I totally am, aren’t I?”

  I pull out a barstool and perch on the edge, feet hanging inches from the floor. We inherited most of our furniture, which meant collecting the leftovers after our friends and family bought the good stuff for themselves. I don’t mind most of it, but the stools are too tall. I practically need a pole vault to sit on them properly, and my ass hurts after ten minutes on their hard surface.

  Lindsay doesn’t have that problem. She’s tall and willowy, with long red hair that curls without product, and looks sexy whether it’s piled in a messy bun or flowing over her broad shoulders. Today, it’s kind of half and half, which I suspect is a result of Reggie dragging his hands through it.

  She pulls her bathrobe tighter, cinching it around her tiny waist with a neat little bow. She really bloomed after high school, transforming from awkward dandelion to exotic flower.

  Lindsay even seems surprised by all the male attention she gets these days, and perhaps that’s why she keeps screwing every decent looking man who walks her way.

  “So…” She grabs a couple bottles of water from the fridge and hands me one. “How did it go with sexy Mr. Billionaire?” She squints at the clock above the stove. “I thought for sure you’d be gone a couple hours.”

  I bite my lip. “Things didn’t work out the way I planned.” Not by a long shot, but I’m not sure how much I’m willing to say to Lindsay. She’ll either be pissed or impressed, and neither reaction really fits my mood.

  “He’s a dick, isn’t he?” She tosses her empty bottle in the sink. “I had a feeling. He just has that look, you know?” I don’t bother interrupting. Lindsay on a roll is like a freight train barreling toward its destination. “Probably got his secretary to do his dirty work. Bet he didn’t even take the meeting.”

  I slug back some water but it does nothing to wash away the bitter taint of my interaction with Holden. “He did.”

  She looks surprised. “Great! Did he give you any intel that will help with your dissertation?”

  I shake my head.

  She lets out a sigh. “Figures. Maybe it’s for the best anyway.” At my raised eyebrow, she shrugs. “I don’t know why you chose him. Those Daylight guys are like Fort Knox. Untouchable. Shit, even the media has a tough time getting an interview.”

  Lindsay doesn’t know the real reason I chose Holden Quinn for my assignment, instead believing I went to the meeting on a dare. A challenge I clearly failed. Just as she suspected I would.

  “I almost had him.”

  She blinks, as if not quite sure how to interpret my intentionally vague words, and then chuckles. “Oh sweetie, don’t be fooled. Guys like Holden Quinn just like to play with girls.” I bristle at her subtle mocking, the implication that maybe a more skilled, mature woman would have gotten further. “He doesn’t have time for—”

  Pride gets the best of me. “Actually, he propositioned me.”

  She goes very still. Her eyes widen. “You mean…” I don’t say anything, waiting for the gears to click into place, a small thrill running up and down my spine. “As in sex?”

  I nod and she gives me a look of utter disbelief, which only sinks the knife of insecurity deeper into my chest. I should know better than to confide in Lindsay. Much as I love her, she can be insensitive.

  She glances up the clock a second time and smirks. “So again, I ask, what are you doing home so early?”

  My stomach summersaults. I want to be appalled by the Holden’s proposition and Lindsay’s cavalier response, but the truth is, I can’t stop thinking about it. What it might be like to have Holden kiss me, touch me…fuck me. My cheeks burn hot. “Obviously, I told him to go to hell.”

  Literally.

  I practically screamed it while he stood there like I was the crazy one.

  “Why?”

  I shake my head. “What do you mean why? Because it’s insulting.” My breath comes out in a huff. “Offensive.”

  “You weren’t tempted?”

  “No.” I glance away, disappointed yet again at how easily it’s become for me to lie.

  Lindsay leans up against the kitchen counter, her red hair like a flame against the cheap white cabinets. She tilts her head back and folds her arms across her chest.

  I make a face. “What?”

  “Not even a little?”

  The first inklings of doubt scrunches between my shoulder blades. “You’d date a guy you know is absolutely wrong for you, just because he’s hot?”

  Lindsay rolls her eyes. “Not date. Have sex with. Which is what you should do.”

  My eyes grow wide. “Seriously?”

  She shrugs like she hasn’t dropped an atomic bomb. “He’s rich. Hella hot…”

  I gasp. “And a total asshole.”

  “So, what,” Lindsay says, with a laugh. “You’re not looking to marry the guy. Just have a little fun. What can it hurt?’ Her eyes twinkle. “I mean, besides your crotch. You’ve been celibate so long, you need to be broken in.”

  I shake my head, half disgusted by the way this conversation has turned and half amused. Along with Lindsay’s exterior transformation, an attitude has emerged, a kind of take-no-shit vibe that most of the time grates on my nerves. Like smoking her e-cig in our apartment when it’s a clear violation of dorm rules.

  The trouble is, she doesn’t always understand that actions have consequences, and my guts tells me that sleeping with Holden would create all kinds of problems for me—including a broken heart.

  But damn if I’m not tempted.

  “I’m kidding about the pain,” Lindsay says. “Mostly. But in all seriousness, you’ve been alone for so long. I worry. This might be just what you need.”

  I exhale a breath and shake my head. “No. It just doesn’t feel…” What? I think back to Holden’s smoldering gaze, the slight twitch of his lips as he basically asked me to prostitute myself for a damn interview. No matter how desperate I am to learn more about my father and what really happened on that tragic day, I’ll find another way. One that isn’t demoralizing.

  One that won’t make me sick to look at myself in the mirror the next morning.

  “Doesn’t feel what, Chels?” Lindsay says, piercing me with her inquisitive eyes.

  “Like me.” I stand, flinging my purse over my shoulder. “It’s not something I would ever do.”

  I feel Lindsay’s eyes on my back as I make my way toward my cramped bedroom. “So, what now?” she asks.

  She’s talking about
the assignment, but my heart hurts thinking about the opportunity I’ve lost to get the answers I’m looking for.

  “Now?” I glance over my shoulder and attempt a sincere grin. “I study. I’ve got a wicked exam tomorrow.”

  Chapter 5

  I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, snippets of conversation luring me in and out of sleep. Conflicting emotions pull at my energy, draining my reserves. I’m tired, disappointed, aroused…

  I can’t be sure when I finally allow my brain to shut down for the night.

  The next thing I know, Holden’s voice is reverberating in my ears, his sensual whispers drawing out a low moan from the base of my throat.

  He’s here. He’s with me now.

  Blindly, I grip the sheets in my fists, and tilt my pelvis upward, as if to meet some part of him.

  “That’s it,” he says, scraping his teeth across my shoulder blade. Every nerve in my body snaps to attention. “Tell me what you want.”

  My breath hitches. “I want you.”

  In the darkness, Holden’s touch becomes amplified. His deft finger trails down my inner thigh, and circles my knee before inching its way up toward my pussy. I’m wet, aching for his touch. He whispers again, his breath feathering across my ear. “Does this feel good, baby?”

  My response is a strangled whimper of yearning.

  Sweet Jesus, yes.

  His mouth trails along the curve of my neck, along the slope of my jaw. He nibbles on my bottom lip, before plunging his tongue inside my mouth in tentative exploration. With his free hand, Holden grabs behind my head, and tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck. Our mouths, lips, tongues fuse together in a long kiss that almost makes me forget what’s happening between my legs.

  Almost.

  Holden flicks my clit with his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a sharp gasp. He pinches the tiny erect nub, rolling it back and forth while I writhe beneath his hand. His body shifts to pin me to the mattress. My feet tangle in the sheets, wrapping around my ankles and calves. I am stuck, unable to move—and I have never felt anything more erotic in my life.