Page 17 of Ring in the New Year

"No, I like it rough." She pressed her body against his, the heat of her breath fanning across his skin as she leaned into his personal space. "Give me what I want, and the video disappears."

Holden's gaze drifted, unfocused, to the scattering of lights above. The harsh glare of the set's illumination seared through him, exposing every thread of his internal conflict. On one side lay the unyielding image he'd spent years building, brick by brick—an edifice of masculinity that had become his brand in this lust-fueled industry. On the other, nestled within the tender chambers of his heart, was Angela. Her laughter was a melody that danced in his thoughts, her touch a symphony of warmth that knew all the secret chords of his longing.

"Something wrong, Tighe?" The voice cut through his reverie, deep and seasoned with authority. "Why are you still dressed?"

"Kendra and I were just discussing... creative differences."

"Creative differences, huh?" The director's lips quirked in a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, make sure those differences don't interfere with the shoot. We've got a holiday special to film, and I want everyone jolly and" — his gaze lingered on Holden, pointed and sharp—"hard at work."

"I can't…"

They both stared at him. The director waiting impatiently for Holden to finish his statement. Kendra glaring at him to shut up.

"I can't do it. I can't do the scene. I can't do any of it. I quit."

Holden's heart hammered against his ribs like a caged animal as he watched Kendra saunter back toward him, her phone clutched like a dagger in her manicured hand.

"You need to see this. It's about our star here."

The director leaned his head over to watch what was on the phone. Holden didn't need to see to know what was on display.He heard Angela's sweet sighs from here. He had to hold himself still so he didn't strangle his former costar. There had been a part of him that believed she wouldn't do it.

Holden watched the director's face as he watched the video, saw the initial curiosity in his eyes give way to a furrowed brow, then a lip curling in distaste.

"Jesus, Holden," the director muttered, his voice low and laced with revulsion. "This isn't the guy I hired. This is... soft-core crap."

Kendra's smirk faltered, the triumph in her eyes dimming as she realized the erotic sincerity of the moment caught on video failed to spark the reaction she had intended.

The director's fingers twitched as if he wanted to toss the phone aside, but instead, he turned a steely gaze on Kendra. "You realize what you've got here?" His voice was a low growl, predatory and sharp. "If this gets out, it'll be the softest bullet to ever kill a hardcore career."

Kendra's lips parted, her usual confidence wavering under the weight of his condemnation. She tried to maintain her seductive poise, but it was as if the room had sucked the oxygen from her lungs.

"Come on," she stammered, the ice queen melting into a puddle of desperation. "Holden's fans—they eat up everything he does."

The director snorted, a dismissive sound that echoed off the cold studio walls. "Not this, Kendra. They want the beast, not the poet. If they see Holden making love like some dime-a-dozen Romeo, it's game over for his image. And for yours, if you do a hardcore scene with him. That video is career suicide for you both."

Holden's gaze met Kendra's, and for once, he saw uncertainty flicker in her icy-blue eyes. The tables had turned; her weapon of choice now dangled precariously over her own head. He couldn'thelp the smirk that curled his lips—a silent acknowledgment of the irony.

"Guess your little ploy didn't quite pan out, huh?" Holden's voice was rough. "Looks like we're both screwed. But, hey, you're used to it."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Angela hovered near the expansive windows of Holden's loft, her gaze straying to the city skyline that twinkled like a constellation. The shadows played hide and seek with the plush furnishings. She fiddled with the hem of her blouse, its silk fabric slipping through her fingers like liquid courage she wished she could drink. Her heart tap-danced against her ribs, each beat an echo of longing for the door to open.

Holden had gone to face Kendra on set. Angela had wanted to go with him, not so much as backup but as a fist to beat that blackmailer down. Holden had told her to stay and finish up with the lawyer. That was the best fist that they had. She'd finished with all the legalese and was now waiting for Holden to come home.

The click of the door's lock cut through the silence. Holden stepped onto the threshold, his tall, muscular form outlined by the hallway's less forgiving lights. He paused, as if bracing himself for the storm he expected to find inside.

"Angela—" Holden began, but she silenced him with an attack hug.

Her arms wrapped around his waist like ivy climbing an oak, relief flooding her senses as she pressed her cheek against the solid wall of his chest. His heartbeat thrummed against her ear, a reassuring drum that promised safety amidst the chaos.

"Hey," he said against the cone of her ear.

"Hey." She turned her face into his chest.

How had this man come to mean so much to her in so little time? It was likely because his heartbeat matched her own. Even more likely because he had listened to the hurts buried deep inside her chest and showed her his own. Definitely because he held on to her and didn't turn away like her parents had done, like his parents had done. They held on to each other.

"Did you get the tape?" she asked.

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