Page 88 of Not Ready

“You really shouldn’t lift me when you’re recovering from a gunshot,” I say to lighten the mood.

Bishop laughs, and his contentment hits me in the bond. He pecks a kiss on my lips and sets me on my feet.

I turn to face Holt, and he’s got his strong arms crossed over his chest. His brow furrows as he watches me.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. He didn’t expressly say he wanted to court me. There’s every possibility he got wrapped up in my pheromones, and he only joined in because of that.

Bishop sends something like comfort or maybe encouragement in the bond. It’s harder to decipher than I expected, but I get the point, even if I can’t always tell exactly what the emotion is.

My head tilts as I approach Holt. “Would you like a thank you kiss too?”

He uncrosses his arms, grabbing my hips and pulling me into him. A lazy smirk crosses his face. “Yeah, sweetheart. I told you. I’m open to kisses as payment anytime.”

Mercy snorts, but Holt pushes his mouth to mine, licking the seam of my lips. He’s an intense kisser. My body seems to melt into his, trusting him to keep me upright.

He growls and pulls back, giving my hips a pat. “Those two barely got any sleep last night, if any. How do you feel about keeping me company today?”

“Yeah, we can do that.” I nod my agreement, even though I wouldn’t mind snuggling in between Bishop and Mercy while they catch up on some much-needed sleep.

But something inside me says that I need to put in an equal amount of time getting to know Holt, especially with the rocky start to our relationship.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Vale

Holt’s idea of spending time together is bringing me down to the big building Assurance is housed in. From the outside, it looks like a massive garage, or possibly a random warehouse right in the middle of their property.

“I told you I was going to teach the toddlers a lesson about how they thought it was okay to treat a guest,” Holt says very close to my ear as we make it inside the building.

It was freezing on the quick trip to get here, since the heat in his truck never quite got warm, but it’s the warmth of his breath against my neck that makes me shiver.

I have no idea what he means until I spot the two guys who spoke to me in the driveway on my first day here. They’re both in workout attire, but Holt is still in his jeans and T-shirt. He guides me toward an area I haven’t been to before and pulls a rolling chair over.

“You can rest your feet on the edge of the ring while I teach these two idiots some manners,” he says, helping me take a seat in the chair. Once I’m settled, he grabs my legs, lifting them and pushing the chair closer until my feet are on the mat. “Enjoy the show. Once I’m nice and sweaty, I’ll let you soak up my pheromones.”

He winks, climbs through the ropes, and waves for the two men to join him.

My thighs clench.

Holt really is ridiculously hot on a level that’s hard to explain. He stands on one side of the ring, and the two younger security guys stay on the other. “Well, come on. If I have to come to you, this is going to be twice as bad.”

“One at a time, sir?” the one on the left asks.

“You’ll be lucky if you can walk after this,” a man I don’t recognize calls out as he comes closer. “Take your advantage before he removes it.”

“Come on, fuckers. I’m waiting,” Holt taunts, bouncing on his toes. The brown curls escaping his backward baseball cap fall over his forehead as his shoulders flex.

“Hey, I’m Ramirez.” The man I don’t recognize squats at my side. “I patched up Bishop for you.” He gives a toothy grin full of perfect, dazzling white teeth.

“Thank you. I’m Vale, by the way.” I twist toward him, offering my hand. He chuckles as we shake.

“I’ve heard all about you. I think we all have. We’re all really happy for the bosses. They’ve needed something good in their lives.”

Commotion draws my attention back to the ring, and one of the guys is on the ground, cradling his stomach. Holt spins, slamming his knee into the gut of the other as his hands connect with the second man’s shoulders. He pulls the guy to the side, tossing him to the mat as the first guy staggers to his feet.

“This is going to be a good show. I couldn’t miss it,” Ramirez says, laughing. “The old timers never get in the ring anymore, unless it’s to teach someone a lesson.”

I frown, leaning forward. I don’t like the idea that he’s kicking the crap out of those guys because of me. Also, all three of my husbands-to-be are in their early thirties, which is at least ten years older than me, but they’re hardly old timers.

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