Mine To Hold (23 page)

Her brows climbed.

“He has to use the silencer because no one
reported hearing gunshots.”

“You keep saying ‘he’—”

“A man called me. A man is focused on you.”
His pupils seemed to swallow the gold of his eyes. “He wants you,
and he thinks that he is going to take you from me.”

“So you decided to publicly tell the world
that I was yours.” The anger and fear twisted inside of her.
“
My
life, Noah. You shouldn’t have pulled this stunt without
telling me first.”

“I’m trying to let you have a life!” Noah
snarled back.

His anger had her tensing. Noah had never
really been angry with her before.

But he sure seemed furious then.

“I don’t want you always looking over your
shoulder. I don’t want you wondering who is watching you or what
some sick freak might do next to you. I want you to be free.” A
muscle flexed in his jaw. “And no matter what I have to do, I will
get you that freedom.”

Then he caught her chin. He tipped her head
back, and his mouth crashed down on hers.

***

Drake escorted Austin Harrison out the back
of the Towers. He stopped under a streetlight and jerked the guy
close as he warned, “Don’t forget what Noah told you. Stay away
from Claire.”

Austin nodded. “I’m done,” he muttered.

“You’d better be.” Drake shoved him away.

Austin straightened his suit. Fumbled in his
pockets. Hesitated.

Does he want an ass-kicking?

“Why were you at the funeral?” Austin asked
him.

“Let’s just say it was a pit-stop for
me.”

Austin stared down at the ground. “If he
hadn’t died, Ethan would just have come after her again.”

Drake tensed.

“He would have kept coming. He had pictures
of her that he kept in his cell.
He wouldn’t have stopped
.
Not until Claire was dead.” He swiped his hand over his face. “I
knew that, and this time, I had to stop him.”

Was the guy making a confession?

“I should’ve done it sooner.” Austin turned
away. Began to walk into the darkness of the night. “But it’s hard
to send your own brother to hell.”

***

He had his hands on her, but Noah couldn’t
shake the feeling that Claire was about to slip right out of his
fingers. She was kissing him back, her mouth moving so perfectly
beneath his, the taste of champagne on his tongue.

Don’t leave me.

The kiss became harder, rougher. His hands
curled around her hips, and he pulled her forward. His cock shoved
against the front of his pants. Just one kiss from Claire, and he
was hard and swollen. Aching. He remembered the feel of her silken
mouth on his cock. The way she’d licked him. Sucked him.

His fingers slid down, and he found the slit
in her dress. He put his hand on her thigh. No stockings for
Claire. Just silken, golden skin. He parted that slit a little more
and his hand rose. He touched the light scrap of lace that shielded
her sex.

She was wet for him.

We touch, we kiss, and we ignite.

At least he wasn’t the only one addicted. For
them, it worked both ways.

His mouth pulled from hers. He stared into
her eyes. “I want to fuck you.”

“Th-they’re waiting…”

“Let them wait.” He jerked on the panties,
hard, and they tore. He needed her. There.
Right there.

No foreplay. No sensual build-up to
release.

He had to take her.

He would. He freed his cock. The damn thing
sprang forward, so eager for her that moisture already beaded the
tip.

He lifted Claire up. She had on her heels.
Those incredibly sexy heels. He held her easily.

And he drove into her as deeply as he
could.

You’re mine, Claire. I’m not letting you
go.

She thought the engagement was fake.

He withdrew. Thrust deep.

She didn’t realize…

I did it so you’d be tied to me.

The sound of her moans filled his ears. Her
sex was a tight, hot paradise around his cock. Squeezing him.
Driving him out of his mind.

He had her pinned to the door. He thrust into
her. Again and again. And his fingers strummed over her clit. He
knew Claire’s body better than she did. He’d made a point to learn
all of her weak spots. To learn how she liked to be touched. To
learn just how to make Claire-

Her sex clamped around him. She choked out
his name.

Explode.

He drove into her even harder. The base of
his spine tightened, and he came, climaxing inside of her on a
long, powerful, mind-numbing release that left his legs feeling
weak.

He didn’t let her go. He couldn’t, not yet.
He waited until his breathing evened, then he kissed her again.

This time, the kiss was soft. Slow.

He started to get hard inside of her
again.

With Claire, he was always ready to go
again.

His head lifted. Red stained her cheeks. Her
eyes shined, and her lips were swollen from his mouth.

“Everyone is going to know what we did,”
Claire said.

Good. He wanted them to know.

Claire’s mine. I’m not letting her go.

Even if he had to kill in order to keep her
with him.

***

Noah had fucked Claire. Drake could tell.
Sure, their clothes were perfectly in place again, but there was a
flush on Claire’s skin. A sensual gleam in her eyes.

And there was the obvious stamp of
satisfaction and possession on Noah’s face when he looked at
her.

Oh, yeah, Noah had staked his claim all
right. It would be apparent to every male in the room.

“He’s got it bad,” Trace murmured as he slid
up to the bar beside Drake.

The band was playing now. Some low, romantic
tune that got on Drake’s nerves. “Guess you’d know,” Drake said,
glancing over at him. “Since Skye’s made you crazy for years.”

Trace’s gaze was actually on Skye as she
talked with Claire. “She’s worth every minute of insanity.”

Bullshit. Drake had been burned—damn near
lethally—by a woman before. He didn’t plan on ever getting onto the
insanity-boat again. As far as he was concerned, no woman was worth
that nightmare. “I think your men need to focus more on Austin
Harrison.”

Trace’s brows climbed. “The brother?”

“Yes, the brother.” Drake was done with
champagne. He drained the whiskey he’d just been given. He motioned
to Noah, and his friend started crossing the room toward him.

A few seconds later, Noah leveled his gaze on
Drake. “You took care of him?”

“Sure did.” He saluted him with his empty
whiskey glass. “And I’m guessing you recently fired an
employee?”

Noah nodded. “Five minutes ago. And I’ve
doubled the security at the hotel.”

“Good idea,” Trace told him as his fingers
tapped against the bar. “Seeing as how you’re working so hard to
get a killer to come after you.”

Drake put his glass back down. No one was
close enough to overhear them, but he still dropped his voice as he
said, “I think the brother did it. I think he set up the bomb to
kill Ethan Harrison.”

The faint lines near Noah’s eyes deepened.
“His own brother?”

“Austin knew Ethan would be at that funeral.
He knew which car his brother would arrive and leave in.” Austin
had all but admitted his guilt outside of the Towers. “He said that
Ethan would never stop going after Claire.”

“He wouldn’t have.” Noah’s face had hardened.
“He was counting down the days until he we was free. He was as hung
up on her as he always was.” Noah glanced over his shoulder,
obviously looking for Claire.

He’s not the only one hung up on her.

But Drake was going to let his buddy dig his
own grave on that one. His fingers curled around the empty whiskey
glass. “Austin said he didn’t stop him before, but I think he made
sure he stopped Ethan this time.”

Trace was already pulling out his phone.
Drake heard the guy giving orders for a deeper investigation on
Austin Harrison. “I want to know every move he’s made for the last
three months,” Trace said into the phone.

When Trace gave an order, Drake knew his
agents scrambled to obey.

“I don’t like the way he is with Claire,”
Drake added.

Noah glanced back at him.

“He looks at her the same way you do.” And
that fact worried Drake. “It can’t be good.” Drake just didn’t get
it. Claire was a pretty woman, sure, definitely. Great eyes. Hot
body. And she was smart—that was always sexy.

But…

Ethan Harrison had gone crazy for her.

Noah—hell, Drake didn’t even know what Noah
was doing.

“She has to be fucking phenomenal in bed,”
Drake muttered, and he realized his mistake two seconds too
late.

Because in those two seconds, Noah drove his
fist into Drake’s jaw. Noah had always possessed a killer punch,
and that hit sent Drake flying off the barstool. He slammed into
the floor, and the barstool fell beside him.

Shocked gasps filled the air.

The band stopped playing.

Drake looked up and saw Noah coming in for
another hit. He braced himself, but Trace pulled Noah back.

“Noah?”

And then Claire was there. She ran toward
Noah and put her hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

The reporters would be splashing this news
all over the place. Especially the gossip reporter, Jennifer Swan.
She lived for drama like this.

Noah glared at Drake. “I was just having a
little talk with my
friend.
”

Drake smiled. “I fell. Must’ve had too much
to drink.” He stood up and rubbed his jaw.

Skye hurried over and straightened his suit.
“Falling is easy when you get a punch to the face,” she murmured,
her voice only carrying to him.

Yes, it was.

Claire’s gaze darted between Noah and Drake.
“This isn’t the place. Not for…whatever is happening between you
two.”

Noah shook free of Trace. “Of course.” He
motioned to the band. “Play something slow. I want to dance with my
fiancée.” He pulled Claire into his arms. Started to walk past
Drake. Then Noah slowed. He leaned in close to Drake and rasped,
“Fucking phenomenal. You’d better believe it.”

Then he took Claire onto the dance floor.

Drake shook his head. No one woman—and no
sex—was worth the kind of hell Noah was courting.

***

The ringing of a phone woke Claire that
night. She blinked as her hand stretched out, seeking Noah in the
darkness.

He wasn’t there.

The phone—her phone—rang again, vibrating
from its position on the nightstand.

Claire flipped on the light. It shined down
on her phone—and on the framed photo of her family. She’d brought
that photo into Noah’s suite because she’d wanted to keep it close.
She needed it close.

Claire picked up her phone. She didn’t
recognize the number, so she answered, hesitantly, “H-hello?”

“
Claire…”

Goosebumps rose on her arms because that was
a voice that Claire could never,
would never
forget.

“I’ve missed you, Claire.”

Her gaze darted back to the photograph of her
family.
Mom. Dad…

She jumped from the bed. Where was Noah?

“It’s been so long…”

It couldn’t be his voice. “You’re dead.”

Laughter. Soft. Familiar. “Did you really
think death would keep me from you?”

She yanked open the bedroom door. Rushed
forward. Noah wasn’t in the outer room.

“You’re my one and only. Always.” The
voice—
his voice—
thickened. “And I’ll be your one and only.
No one else, not for either of us.”

She wouldn’t say his name. He was
dead.
“Leave me alone.” Her body was shaking. She seemed to
be splintering apart.
Dead. Dead. Dead. He’s dead—

“I’ll see you soon, Claire.”

The line went dead.

Claire didn’t move. She could barely breathe
as the suite seemed to whirl around her.

She didn’t know how long she stood there,
shaking, naked, but the suite door opened eventually. Noah stepped
inside.

“Claire?” He hurried toward her.

She still had the phone clenched in her
hand.

“Claire, what the hell is happening?”

She tried to talk, but her tongue felt too
thick in her mouth.

He yanked the phone from her. His fingers
flew across the screen as he checked her call log. “That’s the same
number that called me before the explosion at the Claymire Hotel.
That’s Sloan Hall’s number.”

Claire managed to shake her head. “I…know his
voice.” A woman didn’t forget the voice of the man who’d wrecked
her world.

“What? Claire, I couldn’t understand you.”
His hand closed around her shoulder. “Dammit, baby, you feel ice
cold.”

She was. “He said…I was his ‘one and only’—he
always said that.” At first, those words had made her feel
special.

Then they’d made her terrified.

“Who was on the phone, baby? Who was on the
phone?”

She stared into his eyes. “Ethan.”

Noah immediately tried to call the number
back.

“I know it was him.” She could hear his voice
in her mind, looping endlessly. “He’s not dead.”

Noah had the phone to his ear.

“And he’s going to come for me.”

***

“Hey, Gwen, there’s a package on your
desk!”

Gwen waved at the cop who’d just passed her.
“Thanks, John.” She’d worked a double shift, and she was dead
tired. She just wanted to get home and curl up with—and
around—Lane.

She strode to her desk. Gwen frowned at the
big brown envelope there. No return address. “Hey, John, when was
this—”

John was gone. And, at close to 4 a.m., the
bullpen was deserted. Sighing, she opened the package. She should
probably wait but that damn curiosity of hers never let her hold
back.

She slit open the side of the envelope.
Photographs tumbled out.