I’m willing to kiss him if it’ll do the trick, but when I meet his gaze again, fire is in his eyes. I can’t tell if he’s turned on or furious–or both. He yanks his hand out of mine and grips my shoulders, moving my body away from his.

  “You're drunk if you think I’d blow my reputation that way.”

  “So you’re thinking about it?” My voice is sultry, and I can’t tell. Is he?

  “You’re high.”

  The door behind him flies open, and we both look up to see Victor glaring at us. His gaze melts into a slimy grin, and his eyes glide from my flushed cheeks down to my breasts, barely hidden beneath the thin fabric.

  “I didn’t think you’d still be here. Were you waiting for an escort to your bedroom?”

  My skin literally crawls at the insinuation, and Hutch looks ready to explode.

  “I’m taking care of her,” he growls, clutching my upper arm and hauling me down the hall, away from the rat.

  We’re on the other side of the house before he slows, looking up and around the passage. “Is your room even on this floor?”

  “You’re hurting me.” My complaint earns me a short jerk.

  “Then stop acting like a child.” His jaw is tight, and I’m pissed he’s so fucking hot.

  Hutch Winston activated my sex drive three years ago. I was thirteen and he was eighteen, and Dad brought Hana and me to visit Uncle Hugh in Hamiltown for the Fourth of July celebration. Hutch stood on that pier in his swim trunks, a mountain of mouthwatering muscles, and I ovulated for the first time. He seems to have improved with age.

  Releasing my arm, he’s still seething. “Go to your room.”

  “You’re not my dad.”

  In a blink, he grips my arm again, anger rippling off him in hot waves. An uninvited thought sneaks through my brain, I wonder what it’s like when his restraint slips…

  “You’re out of control. I’m going to speak to your mother, then I’m leaving.” He pauses a moment, dropping his square chin and exhaling. “Sorry for your loss.”

  He leaves abruptly, and I collapse against the door. Hutch Winston is a force of nature, and I fucking blew it. So much for getting his help, not that I’ve ever laid the groundwork to ask him for it.

  Scrubbing my fingers against my forehead, I search for a solution. I should’ve just thrown myself in his arms and started crying or done something damsel in distress-like. I should have told him my fears about Victor.

  Like that would’ve gone any better.

  Hutch wouldn’t buy my tears any more than he’d fall for my teen seduction. Still, he might have listened to my story. My shoulders fall, and I open the door to my massive bedroom. It’s too late for post-mortems. If I’m going to get Victor away from my mother and protect Hana, I have to do it myself.

  I’m just getting ready for bed when my phone rings, and I look down to see my mother is FaceTiming me. I accept the call, and I can tell by her eyes she’s tipsy.

  Correction, she’s drunk.

  “Blake van Hamilton, you are to pack your things at once.” Her eyelids flutter as she sweeps her arm dramatically. “I’ve just secured a spot for you at Bishop of the Holy Family. You’re leaving on the ten o’clock train.”

  My jaw drops, and my entire room shifts to the side. “What the hell? What are you talking about?”

  “You’d better rein in that tongue, young lady. It’s a Catholic boarding school, all girls. Just what you need to improve your attitude.”

  A tiny explosion goes off in my brain. Am I old enough to have a stroke? These are not my mother’s words. My mother doesn’t think about me enough to say these words to me.

  “No!” I blurt, cringing at how childish I sound. “What about my schoolwork? Hana? I can’t leave.”

  “The sisters have assured me they can work out your schedule. Roman will be down to collect your things in two hours. End of discussion.”

  I feel like I’m drowning in a vat of molasses, struggling to find my bearings through thick sludge. How could this happen? What the fuck would wake her from her champagne stupor long enough to even come up with such a plan? Should I run? Hide out at Debbie’s until she finally leaves for St. Moritz?

  I’m trying to decide when my eyes land on his, lurking in the background, stony green staring back at me through my mother’s computer screen.

  Bastard.

  Hutch did this.

  It’s only a moment before my screen goes black, and I start to scream. That meddling, arrogant, know-it-all bastard. He’s playing right into their hands.

  I’m being shipped to a boarding-school prison, where I can’t help anyone. He’s ruining everything, and at sixteen, I’m powerless to change it.

  Fisting the sides of my hair, I squeeze my eyes shut and internally lose my shit. It’s the only place I’ve ever been allowed. I grab a pillow off my bed and throw it across the room, then I charge after it and kick it all the way back to my bed.

  Grinding my jaw I go to the window and watch as he leaves in his car. He’s done his damage. Hutch Winston is going to regret this.

  I won’t be sixteen forever, and I’ll never forgive him for what he’s done.

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  ONE TO HOLD

  BY TIA LOUISE

  It was only supposed to be sex.

  It wasn't supposed to have strings.

  It wasn't supposed to get complicated...

  Derek Alexander is a retired Marine, ex-cop, and the top investigator in his field. Melissa Jones is a small-town girl trying to escape her troubled past.

  When the two intersect in a bar in Arizona, their sexual chemistry is off the charts. But what is revealed during their week-long “fling” only complicates matters.

  Because she'll do everything in her power to get away from the past, but he'll do everything he can to hold her.

  (A spicy, fling-to-forever, military romance with a touch of suspense. No cheating. No cliffhanger.)

  A ONE-WEEK STAND

  CHAPTER 1

  Melissa

  In the cool darkness of the semi-crowded bar, I could allow the last year to dissolve into a hazy fog, a far-off memory. Each low thump of bass that disappeared into the dull roar of voices beat it further down. With a little more alcohol, it could even become a dream—something that never occurred in real life. Something that could be brushed aside like a phantom, not a true form. Not a reality that burned shame, low and deep in my stomach.

  Bars had become a thing of my past, along with flirtatious passes from unfamiliar men, but sitting alone in this hotel club, hundreds of miles from home, I felt wonderfully liberated. I could be anyone. Any anonymous woman having a drink before bed. I could pretend to be free.

  My eyes traveled to the dance-floor where younger women in shiny slip dresses and chunky stilettos twisted and swayed, their smooth blonde or red hair matching their movements. They squeal-laughed when songs they liked came on, and the lines around their eyes disappeared as soon as their cheeks relaxed. They could dance all night and still make it to work tomorrow, eyes sparkling.

  A bitter laugh slid from my throat as I stared back into the amber drink I’d ordered. The thought of dancing all night made me tired.

  The bartender didn’t notice me. I’d stood for almost five minutes trying to get his attention to order this drink, and it was gross. “Seven and seven” was all I could remember from the days when I used to order drinks for myself. It was a popular combination then, but I never liked the flavor. Refreshing citrus dragged down by a heavy undertone of bitter syrup. I took a long pull from the tiny red straw and winced.

  I should’ve gone back to the room with Elaine. My best friend since childhood said what I needed was a trip to the desert. She’d booked us a week at the Cactus Flower Spa in Scottsdale, where we could get massages, sit in steam rooms, soak in mud, and let our tensions melt away with hot-wax pedicures. She said it would break me out of my “funk,” as she called it.

  I didn’t have anything else to do this week.

  It was with those sunny thoughts in my head that I saw him. At first I thought it was an accident, my eyes flickering across the square-shaped bar at the same time as his. Blue eyes, strikingly blue because of the way they stood out beneath his dark brow, coupled with collar-length, thick dark hair. He had a beard. I didn’t like beards—not even close-trimmed ones like his. He was huge. I could see his muscles from where I sat. His chest strained against the tight, black shirt he wore, and his biceps stretched the sleeves. I preferred smaller men, long and lean model-types.

  But he didn’t look away. And like a deer caught in headlights, I couldn’t either. My breath stilled as my eyes stayed on his, as I waited for him to release me. He would release me. I knew he would. I simply had to wait.

  Men in bars were after those baby-faced innocents on the dance floor, not me. They wanted energetic young ones with their tight bodies, high-pitched breasts, and even tighter vaginas. Those were the girls men wanted to fuck. They would scream and moan all night and tell them they were the best ever, the king. I wasn’t looking for a king. Still, in the next moment, when the mountain of sex holding my gaze stood and began his slow glide in my direction, all I could think was maybe…

  I watched as he passed the patrons facing each other, talking and laughing. Some were more animated than others, waving their arms and putting their drinks in peril. They all shone in the yellow lights hidden above, in the recesses of the wooden shelves that held dozens of upside-down glasses in all shapes and sizes. Liquor bottles were arranged on the top shelf. For some reason, though, the lights didn’t seem to reach him. Or me. We were in our own secret, shadowy place.

  When he rounded the final corner and I could see him in full, my breath caught. My eyes traveled quickly from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist, down his grey pants ending in sleek, black loafers. Just as fast, they were back to his face, and he was in front of me. I’d never been confronted with so much male presence focused on me in my life. He had to be six-two and twice my size.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” The low vibration of his voice shot a pleasing charge right between my legs, and my cheeks warmed.

  Blinking back to my glass, I poked the half-empty contents with the straw. “I have this,” I said, my voice softer and higher in contrast to his.

  “But you don’t like it.” A small smile was on his lips. It made him the slightest bit less intimidating.

  “How do you know?”

  He leaned against the bar in front of me, bringing his face closer to my level, his body almost touching mine. A faint scent of warm cologne swirled around me, tightening my chest.

  “You make a face every time you sip it,” he said. “I’ve been watching you since you walked in with your friend earlier.”

  My brows drew together. “Why?”

  His tongue touched his bottom lip, and my jaw dropped. I quickly closed it, thinking how insane it was the way my body responded to him.

  This was not me. I did not fantasize about hooking up with strange men in bars. And a cocky alpha who studied me like I was a frontier landscape he was ready to conquer had never been my type. He probably wanted to tie me up or handcuff me to something. A delicious shiver passed through me at the thought. I put my eyes on my drink.

  “Maybe I should introduce myself,” he said, holding out a large palm. I stared at it a moment. “Derek.”

  My eyes lifted to his blue ones, which were still holding me in that intense gaze. He had a small nose and a full mouth. A million pornographic images flooded my brain of that nose nudging into my dark spaces, of that mouth kissing areas long-neglected. That beard scratching the insides of my thighs as I moaned and twisted in white sheets, threading my fingers in his silky hair. I cleared the thickness in my throat, feeling heat everywhere in my body.

  “Melissa,” I said, placing my noticeably smaller hand in his. His fingers closed over mine, and instead of overwhelming, it felt… right.

  “Sweet Melissa,” he said with a little grin. The side of his mouth lifting the way it did made me want to kiss him.

  “I’m not so sweet,” I said, taking my hand back.

  “Aren’t others supposed to make that judgment?” His eyes never left me as he motioned to the bartender, who immediately came to us. Apparently it wasn’t only the perky blondes who got instant service.

  “Two glasses of your best cava,” Derek said, giving the boy a quick glance before turning back to me.

  “Cava?” I did love the crisp, Spanish sparkling wine. Why I hadn’t thought to order that instead of my tan cocktail-disaster? “That’s sort of a celebratory drink, isn’t it?”

  “So let’s celebrate.”

  “Did you get a promotion or something?”

  He leaned closer, bringing his eyes to my level. My throat tightened, but I didn’t move away. “I met you,” he said in that low tone I felt in all the right places.

  Two slim glasses were placed in front of us, but I wasn’t sure I could lift mine without my hand trembling. Derek picked up both and handed one to me. I took it and carefully sipped, watching as he did the same.

  “Are you here on business?” I asked, trying to diffuse the ridiculous amount of sexual tension between us. I considered the possibility I was the only one feeling it.

  “Banker’s conference this week,” he said, taking another, longer drink and then setting the glass back on the bar. His muscles fought against the thin fabric restraining them with every movement.

  “You’re in banking?” I hated the tremor in my voice. It made me sound like a little girl, when I was striving to be an independent woman. A strong woman who was bigger than her past.

  For once, I wanted to forget what happened last year. Let it go and be somebody else. I was out of town, in the desert, in a bar being hit on by a gorgeous stranger. Fate was giving me my chance.

  “More like upper management,” he said, not seeming to notice my distraction. “I’m doing a workshop on international trade and finance tomorrow. You?”

  “Spa vacation,” I said. “My friend Elaine said it would be a week to change my life. Or at least my outlook.”

  A little spark hit his eyes, and I bit my lip. Did I just proposition him? Did I want to? It had been a long time since I’d wanted to be close to anyone in that way. Was I brave enough to let him in?

  Internally I shook myself. Yes. If that was what I wanted, of course I was. I had always been strong before, and I was still strong. I wouldn’t let that be taken from me, too.

  “Elaine is who you’re here with?” he asked.

  I nodded, taking another, longer sip. I allowed my mind to release the past and return to better thoughts, like those of him removing that shirt and setting that massive physique free. My desire to see what was under it grew stronger by the minute.

  “Will she worry if you’re out late?” he asked looking directly into my eyes.

  I barely shook my head No. Elaine wouldn’t mind. She might even throw a party if I got laid. My breathing had become shallow, and all rational thought was quickly taking a backseat to desire.

  “I have a key to the conference room,” he said quietly. “There’s a small, outdoor patio just off the side. It’s very private.”

  “Why do you have a key?”

  “So I can set up in the morning.” With that, he straightened up and placed two bills on the bar beside his drink. “Let me show you the desert sky.”

  “That sounds like it might be dangerous.”

  His hand touched my arm. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  Safe. It was a word almost erotic to my ears. My eyes traveled from his waist up his torso to his broad shoulders to his lips, past that perfect nose to his darkening eyes. The temperature in my body rose with my gaze.

  “You’re not safe,” I whispered.

  “And you’re not sweet.” His low voice caused my tongue to press against my teeth. I was dying to kiss him. “I’ll only do what you let me.”

  As he said it, I already believed him. His tone was calm, and his eyes said he wasn’t lying. Somewhere in my head, the voice of reason was telling me to slow down, but either the cava or the anticipation of what might happen had me floating up, out of my body as I watched him take the slim glass from my hand and help me off my stool. I followed him from the bar, past the dancing girls, and out the narrow exit. Against everything I knew to be prudent, I was doing this.

  Desert heat was still hot. Everyone called it “a dry heat,” but it was like opening an oven and getting that first blast right in the face. I’d thought about it when we’d arrived in Arizona earlier today, but now all I was thinking about was the fiery heat blazing through my thighs as Derek held me against the secluded outside wall.

  He lifted me as if I weighed no more than a doll, and the hem of my skirt rose all the way up as my legs straddled his waist. His full lips were as soft as they appeared, and they contrasted pleasingly with the scuff of his beard against my skin.

  Our mouths opened together, his tongue gently curling with mine, and my hands fumbled to his collar, my fingers threading into his thick hair. Soft and rough forged a fiery trail from my cheek down my jaw to my neck. Little moans rose in my throat with every kiss, and I gasped as my hazy eyes opened to the black sky behind him dotted with thousands of stars. It was a gorgeous view, but I didn’t linger on it. The outside patio was secluded—we were completely alone—and my attention was focused on the progress of his mouth as he explored every part of my neck and shoulders with his lips and tongue.