Too Much to Lose (2 page)

Yanking open the desk drawer, I
pull out a pack of pills and the bottle of water from my handbag. The last pill
jams in my throat as a man approaches.

To be more accurate, a sexy,
brooding dark haired man in a leather jacket and worn jeans. I bite back a
groan. The one I just nearly knocked out with the door. Heat rises in my face.

He strolls over, affording me a
proper look at him. I’m now totally flustered. I suspect my jaw drops open.
There’s a confidence to him that you don’t normally see in men. They’re all
brash and cocky but you can see it’s a front. He’s almost enjoying this moment,
as if surveying his territory and I fight the desire to shrink into my seat
when his gaze locks onto mine.

“I have an appointment.”

Oh crap. Just my luck. I try to
hold a wobbly smile. “Mr O’Reilly?”

“That’s me.”

“Take a seat.” I gesture to the
spindly padded metal chair opposite. He settles and I pity the poor chair,
trying his hold his long frame. Forcing my jaw shut and my gaze upwards, I try
not to think about how long it’s been since a man kissed me, because that is
exactly where my thoughts are headed as I eye his lips.

 “Can I…”
Kiss you? Fuck
you?
“Uh… can I… get you a coffee or anything?”

He runs a hand through his dark
hair and shakes his head. Both draw my attention. The hair and the hand, that
is. He has thick fingers and his hands look strong and capable. His hair—too
long for a businessman—is lush with a slight curl to it.
I wish I was those
fingers.

A tilted smile sits on his lips
as he lifts his gaze to mine. It’s wry, not amused, as if he can’t believe his
crappy luck. Maybe he’s holding a grudge for the door incident. Those eyes—the
ones that snared me earlier—are now holding me captive. One of them is weird
though. No, more like unusual, because weird implies I don’t like it and I do.
He has some green in one, just a tiny portion of his iris stands out against
the deep blue of the rest of his eyes.

I make a show of studying the
computer screen even though the words are blurred and I’m aware of his
confident posture and the worn lines of his jeans in the periphery of my
vision.

“Mr O’Reilly, I—”

“Hunter.”

“I—what?” I throw a puzzled glance
his way.

“Mr O’Reilly makes me sound
like my father, Hunter will do fine.”

“Yes, of course.” What am I
thinking? I should have stuck with formalities.

“And you’re Jessica.”

“How did you know?”

He nods to the badge pinned on
my suit jacket and the warmth swirling through me cranks up to sizzling. “And
they told me at reception.” He grins.

Now I wish I could sink under
the table and hide. This is not going well. “So… I understand you want to take
a mortgage holiday?”

“Yes. I’m self-employed so I’m dependent
on clients paying me. I just need a month until I get the payment I’m waiting
on.”

“I understand that, Mr O’Reilly—Hunter—but
you’ve missed the last two mortgage payments. When we tried to take them again,
they defaulted and now you’ve got two penalty payments to pay too.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

His expression grows tense and
his eyes harden. When he’s not smiling or looking smouldering, he’s a daunting
man. Tall, wide shoulders... definitely a bad boy. Lines of muscle fill out the
dark T-shirt underneath his jacket.

“If you’d have come to us
before the missed payments, we could have arranged something.”

“That’s all very well, but I
didn’t know I was going to miss them.”

“Yes—”

“Look, I’ve made all my
payments up until these past two. I’ve never had any problems. I’ve got a
payment coming in and I’ll be all caught up. I just need a month.”

“Do you have anything to say
that this money will be coming in? An invoice or anything?”

“No, not at the moment.”

“Can you put one together? What
is it you do?” I glance at the screen. “Investigations?” That puts a knot in my
throat until I remind myself he’s not investigating me. Why would he care what
I did in the past?

“Yes, and some security work.
It pays well usually, as you can probably see.”

“Hunter, the bank’s policy is
to look at repossession as a last resort. We don’t want to make anyone homeless
and it’s costly. We’d far rather get the payments and with customers who have a
credit rating, we are normally happy to offer payment holidays, but with these
missed payments—”

“Are you saying I’m going to
lose the house?”

I exhale slowly. “No, I’m not
saying that, but we need some kind of proof that you will be able to catch up
on your payments.”

He runs a hand through his hair
again, burying his fingers in those lush curls. I clench my hands until my
nails bite into my palms.

Hunter sighs. “What do you
need?”

“Some proof of incoming
payment. Preferably from the source.”

“Right.” He nods. “Okay, I’ll
see what I can do.”

“Great.” I let loose a smile
and his eyebrows dip. I’m not sure why but he looks confused by me. “We could
also look into switching you temporarily to an interest only mortgage. Is that
something you might consider?”

The line between his brows
deepens. “No, I don’t need that. I can make the payments. I just need a month.”

“I understand, but if you need
to consider other options, we can go over them.  I’m happy to offer advice. As
I said, it’s not in our best interests to repossess.”

“Sure.” He stands, towers over
me.

I gulp. “Is there anything else
I can do for you today, Mr—Hunter?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“If you could make another
appointment with reception, in—a week’s time?—and bring the invoice and
something from the client, then we can arrange your mortgage holiday.”

“Can I get your number?” he
asks abruptly. “If I need advice,” he explains.

“You can always phone me here.”
I gesture to the phone on my desk.

“Do you have a card?”

He’s got me there. I pull out a
card and hand it over. It has a mobile number on it. The bank likes us to be
available to customers and provide a phone. It’s the only one I have now as it
saves me a little money not having a personal one.

Hunter’s lips twitch and he
eyes the card. “Great. See you soon.”

With that, he turns and I find
myself watching the way his jeans cup his ass when he strolls away. A
flip-flopping sensation in my stomach forces me to clench my arms around it.
Why am I ridiculously excited about him having my number? He can’t like me, not
after I looked like a total idiot and then threatened to take his house away.
And I definitely don’t like him. Having a man in my life is not for me. I
learned that the hard way.

The phone on my desk rings and
I snatch it, silently hoping it might be the gravelly lilt of Hunter—even
though he’s only just stepped out of the building.

“Hello. Jessica Callahan.”

Silence.

“Hello?” I swallow. This isn’t
the first silent call I’ve had since starting work at the bank. I’d put it down
to a fault or pocket dial if you didn’t have to go through reception or have my
direct number which only customers get. Like Hunter.

Must stop thinking about that
man. He’s too gruff and intimidating.

And sexy.

I listen for a few more
moments, try to decide if that’s really heavy breathing I can hear. Who does
that, seriously? Shaking my head, I hang up and suppress a shudder. I’m being
paranoid. No one has recognized me since I moved to London and it’s been years.
My ex might have uncovered the video of me, but that was only shortly after I
quit the business.

Still, I need to play it cautiously.
That means no friends and definitely no dating, or I’ll have to move and start
all over again. An elderly lady approaches and I paste on a smile, realizing
it’s my next appointment. Definitely no dating, and no Hunter, I vow silently.
I can’t afford for anyone to find out I was once a porn star.

Hunter

I swirl the beer around the
bottom of the bottle and eye it. It’s a Friday night and the bar is packed.
Laughter and conversation mingles with the clatter of glasses and the low
thumping music. I’ve been lucky enough to grab a seat by the bar but Murphy’s
is packed, customers jostling for space. A few regulars are crouched over the
bar like me. Except they’re old and worn. I probably look out of place propping
up the bar. Though I feel worn and jaded.

Jess pauses in front of me.
I’ve watched her for almost two hours now. Always guarded, she keeps a careful
smile on her face. Men try to talk to her—who wouldn’t?—but she remains
reserved. She works hard and I’ve barely had a moment to say anything to her.

Maybe I shouldn’t have become
one of the dozens of guys vying for her attention tonight. My Irish charm
failed me the moment I first met her and I’ve been playing catch up ever since,
coming into the bar every night in the hopes of getting closer to her. If I’d
have known this damned job was going to be so much hassle, I’d have told Jess
Callahan’s uncle to shove it. Tracking down a lost little rich girl is not my
idea of fun.

I crick my neck and shake my
head. Too bad I need the money. With my investigation business badly in the
red, what other choice do I have? Somehow I need to find out what Jess has done
with the fifty thousand she stole from her uncle, Carl, but I never counted on
running into her at the bank and my plan to carefully approach her and maybe
ask her out flew out the window. Even in a prim little suit, she managed to
fuck with my head. Which is not good. I don’t want to ask her out for a good
time. I want to ask her out so I can close this case.

Her lips curve upward in the
first genuine smile I’ve seen in ages when she stops to chat with the older guy
behind the bar. Something twists inside me. That smile makes her appear even
younger. Underneath that thick black eye make-up and red lipstick, there’s a
sweet innocent thing begging to be unleashed. I recall how she looked in the
school picture I have on file—all blonde hair and healthy glowing skin. She’s
gorgeous now but I’m willing to bet she would be stunning as a blonde with no
make-up too. Even from her old picture, it was clear she would grow up to be a
heart-breaker.

I flick on what I hope is a
charming smile as she approaches. Her smile wavers. It’s been so long since
I’ve done the whole seduction thing. I went through plenty of women a few years
ago but one too many of them made a good attempt at breaking my heart so once
the business started going under, I gave up on dating. Once I’ve got things
under control, I’ll consider the dating scene again. In the meantime, the odd
one night stand will do for me.

“Can I get you another beer?”
Even over the din of the pub, her voice is breathy. I can sympathize. I feel
the same in her presence. A little like she’s sucked the air from the room.
Almost lightheaded. It’s fucking inconvenient. I’m meant to be trying to find a
way into her life so I can hunt down the money,
not
be considering how
damned hot she is.

Her eyes seem enormous under
the bar lights. It adds to her whole mystique and teases the curious side of
me. With chocolate brown hair, golden skin, a ton of dark eye make-up and a
Celtic tattoo around one arm, she looks like a bad girl. And I know she is.
Good girls don’t steal fifty k and run away from home. But the innocence in
those eyes—which are a greeny hazel in this light I think—is throwing me off my
game.

Just my luck she happens to be
my bank advisor too. What kind of joke is that? The bank worker who has stolen
thousands. Maybe she’s planning to rob the place or something. I warm to the
idea. That makes sense. Steal some bank details and go on the run. My hunch she
was hanging around to make some more money might be right. The only problem is that
means she’s a smart criminal and that will make my job much harder.

I study the arch of her neck
and follow it down to the curves under her black Murphy’s tee. The bar hides
her legs but I’ve watched her go back and forth enough times to have caught sight
of her endless legs, clad in fishnet tights. Her rear encased in tight denim
shorts will remain forever emblazoned in my mind.

“Hunter?”

I snap my gaze up and force
myself to focus on her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Get yourself a drink too.”

She shakes her head. “I’m good,
thanks.”

Jess turns and bends to grab a
beer from the fridge. I curl my fist and press it to my mouth. Desire wraps
itself tightly around my insides and pulls them tight. When she turns back to
me and hands over the chilled bottle, I take a quick drink and fight the urge
to press the bottle to my head. Or my crotch. Which is where all the heat is
taking residence right now.

“Are you going to let me get
you a drink when you finish?” I pass over a note and wave off the change.