Mine to Hold (2 page)

Chapter One

“T
YLER,
are you aware that all the girls at Sexy Sirens have nicknamed you Cockzilla?”

He laughed. That rich, deep sound Delaney Catalano hadn’t heard for two long years sang in the humid May air, making her heart clench. After all the trials and miles—and lately, the bullets—she never believed she’d hear Tyler Murphy’s familiar voice again. Certainly, she’d never imagined hearing it in BFE, Louisiana, as she hid in the shadows of his back patio like some sad stalker. She wasn’t at all surprised that a group of girls had given him a moniker about his sexual prowess. Women had always crawled all over him, and perpetually single Tyler liked it that way.

Once upon a time, his antics had made her laugh—until Delaney had experienced him for herself. To this day, she remembered exactly how good he’d been. She pushed the thought aside.

Peeking around the corner, she saw Tyler’s broad shoulders and upper back encased in a charcoal gray T-shirt. His blond hair had been cut brutally short, exposing the strong column of his sun-kissed neck. He lounged in a chair, his forearms looking bronzed, heavily veined, and vital under the patio lights. Around a table, he was surrounded by a virtual harem: two redheads, a platinum blonde, a Latina brunette, and an auburn-haired model type—each totally gorgeous.

Some things never change
. Not that it should matter to her. He’d been her friend first and foremost. And he’d never been hers to lose.

“And that’s a bad nickname why?” Tyler returned to the stunning blonde beside him, lifting his bottle of beer to his mouth and taking a long swallow.

As the other women laughed, Delaney glanced over her shoulder, hoping like hell that she hadn’t been followed. She breathed a sigh of relief when it appeared that she was alone. How nice would it be if her most pressing problem were others’ opinions? How nice would it be if someone didn’t want her dead?

“Ladies . . .” the blonde’s voice warned. “This is not funny. Remember the plan?”

“Alyssa is right,” said the brunette with sinful curves. “We’re worried about you.”

“That’s very sweet, Kata, but acting like you care isn’t going to persuade me to watch another crappy Twilight movie with you.”

“You liked it,” Kata accused.

Tyler snorted. “You wish.”

He probably had liked it more than he wanted to admit. Tyler liked high-testosterone thrillers, but he’d admitted under the influence of Señor Cuervo that he kinda liked chick flicks, too. Once upon a time, he’d been Delaney’s buddy of choice to curl up on the couch with and rent movies, she remembered with a wistful smile. Then reality crashed back in.

“Focus.” Alyssa snapped. “This is an intervention. The girls and I all agree that you need help.”

“C’mon. I’m not a drug addict or an alcoholic. I’m no danger to myself or others.”

“Wrong. You’re dangerous to womankind,” the auburn-haired beauty cut in. “Can you make it a whole day without getting in some stripper’s thong? Our guess is no.”

Delaney grimaced. Yep, same old Tyler. He’d always liked women easy and flashy. One reason—among many—she’d never taken his flirting seriously. Then again, it wasn’t his flirting that had been her downfall.

“Ouch, Kimber. You wound me.” Tyler slapped a hand dramatically over his chest.

“Cut the crap,” she demanded. “You
can’t
make it a whole day, can you?”

“Sure, I could. But why torture myself? I have to do something to stave off the loneliness.”

“I don’t need any more catfights onstage about who’s getting Cockzilla tonight,” Alyssa chimed in again.

“No catfights at a strip club? You’re kidding me? Your patrons
loved
the action. Better than Jell-O wrestling. Got a rise out of me.”

The women in Tyler’s life were staging an intervention, and he wasn’t taking it seriously. Delaney wasn’t really surprised. He would always be Mr. Good-Time. What did surprise her, however, was that none of the women seemed to be fighting over him. Yet, anyway.

“Wait. Are you here to tell me that you’re suddenly available and want me all to yourself?” he challenged the gorgeous blonde. “You know I’m all over that.”

“We
all
know.” Another woman scoffed and waved her hand. “I haven’t known you that long, but seriously, a stiff wind could get a rise out of you.”

The lovely redhead with the sultry brown eyes wore a wedding ring. Then again, bands of gold had never stopped Tyler before. She ought to know.

“You noticed, Tara? I’m touched.”

“Don’t give me that,” Tara scolded. “Alyssa is being really serious. We all are.”

“Really? It’s not a joke?” With a sigh, Tyler turned back to the blonde. “Okay. What’s up, boss lady?”

“I can’t have girls fighting and quitting because you’re too busy playing musical beds,” Alyssa said. “Someone is going to lose every time, and it’s creating a fucking mess that I don’t have time to clean up. I hired Jessi to replace Krystal, who left because she didn’t like being last on your booty-call list. Tyler, Jessi has been with me for three days.
Three!
I found out this afternoon that you’ve already tapped that, more than once.”

He fidgeted in his seat. “After her first shift, she asked for an escort to her car. The parking lot was dark and empty. I helped her out.”

“By nailing her in the backseat?”

“There’s more room in a Civic than you’d think.”

“Tyler, I know you like to keep things light, but please be serious for a minute.” Alyssa’s voice rang with frustration. “Jessi came crying to me when she found you and Skylar in the dressing room last night after closing. Do I need to enact a strict no-anal-sex policy at the club?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt Jessi’s feelings. I thought she knew the score. I’ll talk to her.” He frowned. “I’m confused about one thing. I’ve bounced there for almost two years. What I do with the girls has never bothered you before. What is this really about?”

There was a long pause, and Delaney watched a few of the women lift glasses of wine and sip nervously.

The other redhead, the one with the baby bump, clutched a water bottle and shifted in the seat. “We think it’s time you settled down.”

“Morgan . . .” he warned. “Don’t try spreading your matrimonial joy on me. Just because you’re all blissful with your monogamy doesn’t mean I’m in any hurry to get there.”

So the redhead’s baby bump wasn’t his doing?
Never mind. It’s irrelevant. Focus.

“You’re going to have to grow up,” Morgan pointed out.

Alyssa wagged a finger in his face. “Skylar just turned twenty-two. You’re, what, a decade older?”

Actually, Tyler was thirty-four. Delaney remembered his thirtieth birthday party, during happier times, back when she and Eric—

She shut down that thought and listened to the conversation.

“I didn’t know she was that young. Sorry.” Tyler shrugged. “We weren’t exactly exchanging vital statistics.”

“No,” Alyssa jumped in. “Just bodily fluids.”

“Hey, I always wear a condom.”

Tara grimaced as several others groaned. “Eww. I don’t want details.”

“I’m just saying . . . Let’s not get technical,” he defended. “So I’m older than she is. I’m not the first guy to date a younger woman.”

“Fucking in the back of the club isn’t dating.” Kimber sighed.

“Clean up your man-whore act.” Alyssa looked dead serious. “Or in ten years, you’re going to be a walking stereotype, a middle-aged Lothario hitting on young chicks with your snazzy sports car.”

“I don’t have a sports car, and even if I did, with a name like Cockzilla, everyone would know that I’m not overcompensating for anything I might be lacking.”

Alyssa smacked her hand on the table. “Damn it, are you listening to us at all?”

Tyler sighed. “Yes. Joking aside, I will curb some of my . . . activity at the club. I appreciate your concern. But seriously, I’m not looking for any kind of happily ever after.”

“Too bad,” Kata cut in. “We’re going to find you one.”

He stiffened. “Oh, I get it. You have someone in mind.”

“Well, I thought it would be nice if you’d talk to my cousin, London,” Alyssa suggested as if walking on eggshells. “She just moved here. She’s very sweet and could use a friend.”

“Hell no.”

Kata stood, putting her hands on her very curvaceous hips. “Are you refusing because she’s not a size two?”

Tyler shook his head. “I’ve got nothing against girls with a little extra cushion. But that one has purity written all over her. No fucking way. Alyssa, you don’t like the way I treat your dancers, but you want to unleash me on your little virgin relative?”

“So what if she’s a virgin?” Alyssa argued. “You have a really kind, loyal side that would be good for her.”

The gorgeous blonde had gotten that part right. He’d once proven that he’d do
anything
for a friend.

“He does,” Kata agreed. “I might not be here if that weren’t true.”

“If you can just keep your pants zipped long enough, she’ll see it. And you’ll get to know her, too, and—”

“Nope.” Tyler finished the last of his beer and slammed the bottle on the table. “I’m done here. If you ladies want to stay and finish your wine, you’re more than welcome, but there’s no way you’re pairing me up with anyone.”

“Where are you going?” Tara, closest to the sliding glass doors, moved her chair to block his path.

He scooted her out of the way with a nudge of his powerful thigh. “Anywhere else. Bye.”

When he disappeared inside the house, Delaney panicked. It had taken her forever to track him down. She was at the end of her cash reserves and the end of her rope. Time had run out. No way could she wait until he felt like coming home again to confront him. There was too much at stake.

Dragging everything she loved and owned behind her, Delaney clung to the shadows, watching for anything suspicious, and ran for his front door.

***

THE
doorbell rang before Tyler could escape the house. Damn it, if this was another meddling female trying to tell him how to run his life, he was going to shove a bottle of wine in her hands and send her out back with the rest of them. He had better things to do, like slap some sense into his buddies. What the hell had possessed all of them to marry such interfering women?

Clenching the knob with almost as much gusto as he gnashed his teeth, Tyler yanked the door open with a curse on the tip of his tongue. It died abruptly.

Oh. My. God
.

He drank in the sight of the familiar, petite brunette. He knew those wary blue eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes, and that sweet oval face. Her stubborn chin. That wide bow of a mouth. His heart pounded. He found himself unable to take a breath. “Delaney?”

The sight of her hit him like a fucking two-by-four in the solar plexus. Was it even possible that she stood at his door? Or was he hallucinating after two silent years of wondering what the fuck had happened?

“Hi, Tyler.”

She shifted nervously, looking too damn tired and rumpled. Her dark hair hung in an unraveling braid. She wore no makeup, a faded T-shirt, and had dark circles under her eyes. By her side sat a black duffel bag on wheels. Something else squatted near her, around the corner. He couldn’t see more than a blue, waist-high plastic handle stretching vertically for about two feet.

What the hell? She refused to have anything to do with him for two years, then came to his door unannounced, bringing everything she owned?

“You’re a tough man to track down,” she murmured, then glanced over her shoulder at the empty street bathed in twilight. “Your alias threw me.”

Scowling, he crossed his arms over his chest. Yeah, he should invite her in, but last time he checked, she’d thrown him out of her life.

Of course, she wouldn’t show up now with luggage unless she was desperate . . .

“I was under the impression you’d rather I get and stay lost,” he drawled.

She shook her head, her dark braid swaying in the valley between her soft breasts, the ones with the pretty berry red nipples he’d never forgotten, no matter how many fake tits he’d fondled in the last two years. Tyler ignored the stirring of his cock and swallowed back the memory.

“I’m sorry for the way things ended.” She bit her lip. “I know this is awkward—”

“As hell. Yeah. Where’s Eric?” He glanced down at her left hand, clutching the rolling duffel bag. Her ring finger was bare.

“We’re divorced.”

Fuck
. And there came the two-by-four to his gut again. Tyler didn’t ask why; he knew the answer.

“I’m sorry as hell, Del.”

And he was. But there was a selfish side of him having a full-on, get-down party at the news that Del was single again.

Self-consciously, she rubbed her thumb under her naked ring finger. “Thanks. It was final sixteen months ago. I haven’t seen much of him since.” She pursed her lips together, glanced behind her at the quiet street again. “We don’t talk a lot.”

Son of a bitch, he’d bet the split was ugly. And why did she keep glancing behind her?