His Touch Read online

  His Touch Advance Review Copy

  A Dark Badboy Romance

  Melinda Minx

  Darkstar Press

  Contents

  1. Hunter

  2. Elise

  3. Hunter

  4. Elise

  5. Hunter

  6. Elise

  7. Hunter

  8. Elise

  9. Hunter

  10. Elise

  11. Hunter

  12. Elise

  13. Hunter

  14. Elise

  15. Hunter

  16. Elise

  17. Hunter

  18. Elise

  19. Epilogue Part 1

  20. Epilogue Part 2

  Stay: A Second Chance Military Badboy Romance - PREVIEW

  21. Sophie

  22. Mason

  23. Sophie

  24. Mason

  25. Sophie

  26. Mason

  27. Mason

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  Also by Melinda Minx

  Also by Melinda Minx

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  About the Author

  1

  Hunter

  I roll up my sleeves and ball my hands up into fists. My tattooed forearms bulge, and I slide the cue between my calloused fingers.

  “Corner pocket,” I say in a low whisper.

  “Which corner?” Dash asks, grinning.

  I glare at him.

  “Come on, Hunt,” he says. “Three hundred bucks isn’t chump change for me--not everyone sold off a company and retired at thirty-two--I’m going to make sure you call the pocket properly.”

  “Left corner,” I say, hitting the cue ball.

  It hits the striped 11--Dash’s last ball--just right, and the 11 goes deep. It rolls into the 8-ball, and pushes the 8 right into the pocket.

  The cue ball bounces harmlessly away, but I hold my breath as the 11 wobbles just on the edge of the pocket. It stops wobbling, just fractions of an inch from falling in.

  “Fuck!” Dash shouts. “Three hundred bucks, shit!”

  “You don’t have to--” I start, but Dash cuts me off.

  “We shook on it, Hunt, I’m good for it.”

  I nod. Dash has got plenty of income anyway; it’s not my fault he squanders it.

  “Want to get out of here?” Dash asks. “It’s a bit of a sausage party in here…”

  “Where you want to go?”

  “It’s your last night as a bachelor, we could hit up the bars--”

  I laugh. “The marriage is on paper, Dash. Nadine isn’t putting my dick in a jar.”

  “You’ll have to at least be more discreet though, won’t you?” Dash asks.

  I shrug. That’s probably true. I’m marrying Nadine to solidify her hold on Sencorp, so it wouldn’t do if people see me pulling random women at a dive bar.

  I look around the pool hall. It’s mostly older guys here, and I realize I wouldn’t mind getting my dick wet tonight. Even if the marriage is just on paper, I’ll still have to sell it as real. That will require at least some sacrifices.

  “Yeah,” I say, racking the cue. “Let’s hit the bars.”

  We grab our scarves and jackets and head out into the winter night.

  “I’m feeling like a dive bar,” Dash says. “No fancy shit tonight.”

  I nod. I was thinking the same thing. Being married to the co-CEO of Sencorp will probably mean going to a lot of stuffy, upscale places. I might as well slum it while I still can.

  My phone vibrates. I pull it out of my jacket.

  “The ball and chain?” Dash asks.

  I consider ignoring it, but we have to walk for a few minutes anyway, so I pick up.

  “Nadine?” I say. “What is it? Having second thoughts?”

  “No,” she says in a flat voice. “I was actually calling to ask you the same thing. Everything is drafted up and ready to go. You can stop by my place tomorrow and make it official.”

  “You got the date for the ceremony locked down?” I ask.

  “Worry about that later. Are you sure you’re willing to do this, Hunt?”

  In the business world, people call me King Midas. Every company I touch turns to gold. Nadine was the one who took a chance on me way back when I didn’t have two pennies to rub together. I paid her loan back--and then some--but I still feel like I owe her.

  “I saw Sencorp’s closing price today,” I say. “You need this.”

  There’s a long pause. “We could just be seen dating.”

  “Marriage is cleaner, and with Sencorp’s charter, it’s the only way I can be co-CEO with you,” I say. “Besides, a married couple who doesn’t touch each other is far more plausible than if we’re dating.”

  She laughs. “God, Hunt, I’m so fucking stressed out right now. Did I tell you my daughter is starting next week?”

  “Starting?”

  “An internship, at Sencorp.”

  “Isn’t she like, twelve?”

  “She’s eighteen, Hunt.”

  Huh? Celia, Nadine’s daughter, has always lived with her dad. Nadine would talk about her, but I got the impression the two of them weren’t on great terms.

  “I’m sure the internship will be fine,” I say.

  I’m ready to hang up now. I don’t really give a shit about Nadine’s personal or family life. I’m friends with her, but I’ve just never much cared for other people's problems.

  “I’m not worried about the internship,” Nadine says. “I’m worried about the mother-daughter stuff. She was supposed to be home an hour ago…”

  I start to tune her out. I’m marrying her to help out Sencorp, not to hear her whine about her daughter.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say, not really listening to her. “I’m sure it’s fine. Hey, I gotta’ go.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Sorry, yeah, later.”

  “Bye.”

  Dash laughs. “Damn, man, you’re crazy for doing this.”

  Maybe I am, but it’s a matter of honor for me. I have my golden fucking touch, and if it wasn’t for Nadine, I’d still be scrubbing dishes or running black market deals. How can I watch her inherit a sinking ship and not fucking do something about it? I might not give a shit about her daughter or her love life, but I won’t let her career go down the shitter. Nadine’s career is the one thing she really cares about.

  It has been a few years since I used my golden touch, and the last two years have been a fucking blur of tight dresses and wet panties. Not that I’d ever really get tired of fucking a new woman every night while enjoying my fortune, but saving a company from drowning gives me a certain adrenaline rush that I can’t get anywhere else. Once I turn a company around and it starts raking in the cash, I get bored. It’s why I sold my first company, and why I’m known for just “touching” a company and walking off.

  I laugh. I can talk about honor all I want--about wanting to do this for Nadine--but that’s probably all it boils down to for me, if I’m being honest with myself. I want that rush. I’ve never tried to save a company that is so close to ruin as hers. I need to make every crazy gambit I can if it’s going to work. Marrying her is just the start.

  Dash and I turn the corner and see a long line of people huddling up outside a bar. Waiting to get in.

  I walk us right up to the front and nod to the bouncer, A.J. He recognizes me and lets us in straight away. There’s no bottle service at a shithole like this, but I tip very generously, and that gets us right in.

  “Shit,” Dash says, looking around. “They just keep getting younger, huh? Or I guess we just keep getting older.”

  “Thirty-six ain’t old,” I say, grinning.

  “Tell that to her,” Dash says, pointing over my shoulder.

  I turn
around, and though the place is packed tight, she catches my eye immediately. She’s wearing a bright--and tight—blue dress. Her breasts are spilling out of the low-cut neckline, and the dress hugs her perfect ass and impossibly tiny waist just right. Her full red lips give a stunning contrast to that deep blue, and her long, silky hair spills down her shoulders. When the light hits her dark hair, it shimmers like a starry night.

  As I stare, she looks over and locks eyes with me. Her eyes are bright blue—just like her dress—and they widen when she looks at me. She quickly regains her composure, trying to play it cool, but I saw the way she looked at me. My pants tighten as my cock instantly gets hard.

  Still looking at me, she licks her lips, then presses them together. She looks up at me through her long lashes, and I feel the most primal of urges surging through every inch of my body--but mostly through the nine rock-hard inches in my pants.

  “Fuck…” I hear myself saying, but my voice catches in my throat.

  Dash cackles and elbows me. “How old do you think she is?”

  Fuck. She’s holding a drink, but there’s no way she’s twenty-one. Shit, I doubt she’s even eighteen.

  I summon every last ounce of my willpower to tear my gaze away from her. I look down at my shoes, and even though she’s out of my sight, the image of her is fucking burned into my mind. Every last curve of her is still there, and the urge to look up again is maddening.

  I turn my body away. Dash laughs harder.

  “Come on, man,” he says. “You know you want--”

  “Fuck off,” I grunt. My voice is gravel.

  I’m too old for this shit. Even if she is legal, what the fuck am I going to do with someone that young?

  My mind races with dozens of ideas of exactly what I would do to her, and how much she would fucking like it, and how much she’d beg for more.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say.

  “Come on, Hunt,” Dash says. “I’ll go talk to her for you. I saw the way you looked at her.”

  I start to walk toward the door, but my dick is a steel rod. It begs me to stay, to give it what it needs.

  I grit my teeth until my jaw aches.

  “As long as she’s eighteen,” Dash says.

  “And if she lies?” I ask.

  “Check her I.D.”

  I laugh. “How do you think she got in here?”

  “Probably that tight fucking dress and those perky-ass tits got her in--”

  “Fake I.D., Dash.”

  “She’ll have her real one on her, so ask to see both.”

  Nah. It’s wrong. I can feel how wrong it is even as my cock gets impossibly harder and my balls ache for her. The last thing I need while I try to save Nadine’s company is to be seen with someone who might still be in high school.

  “I’m gonna’ pay the tab and get out of here,” I say.

  Dash grabs my arm. “Come on, man, at least wingman for me before you head out.”

  I find myself nodding. I don’t really want to help Dash, but I convince myself that he’s the reason I stay. It’s a stupid fucking decision, but I’m not exactly thinking with my brain at this point.

  Dash does investigative work for me sometimes, and having him owe me a favor could be valuable once I dig in at Sencorp.

  We order some whiskeys and I down mine without really tasting it. I get an immediate head rush and spike of adrenaline streaking through my veins, and then I see a wave of brilliant blue move into the corner of my vision. Without even thinking, I look over.

  My eyes rest on her perfect body, and I feel my hand trembling as I put down my empty glass. Some asshole kid is talking to her--a piece of shit in a flannel shirt and a fitted cap who looks too young to even grow a beard.

  I see him reach up and grab her bare arm. She tries to move away from him, but his grip tightens.

  My blood boils, and I ball my hands up into fists. My feet itch to move, but I resist the urge by squeezing the bar with a death grip.

  “Hunt?” Dash’s voice barely cuts through my rage.

  The asshole takes a step toward her, still squeezing her arm, and I see her face scrunch up in fear. She looks around for help, but no one is near her. Then her eyes lock onto mine. They widen in desperation, and those big, beautiful lips mouth two words: “Help me.”

  Before I even realize it, I’m halfway there, shoving through everyone standing in the way.

  I’m already reaching up toward the piece of shit, and I make no effort to stop myself now.

  Just as his hand grabs for her waist, I grab his shoulder.

  “Step off,” I say.

  He turns to look at me. His cheeks are red and his eyes are swimming in a drunken haze. “Fuck off, old man.”

  He slaps my hand off his shoulder, and he pulls the girl into him, squeezing her ass.

  I head-butt him, and my skull smashes against his face. He falls backward, while letting go of the girl, and as soon as he’s away from her, I bring my fist up and gut-punch him.

  He curls up on himself and collapses to his knees. I kick him in the chest with the tip of my shoe, and that knocks him down for good.

  Before I realize what’s happening, I feel warm flesh pressing against my body. I look down and the girl is wrapping her arms tightly around me and squeezing me.

  My first instinct is to peel her off, but her perfect tits are pressing right into my abs, and her hands are so damn small and delicate on my back. I find myself putting a hand onto the bare skin at the small of her back and holding her against me protectively.

  “Thank you,” she says. “And I’m sorry.”

  I loosen my grip on her, and she looks up at me. Those beautiful fucking big blue eyes are just inches from my face now, and her feminine scent is completely overpowering me. I want to pull her back into me and rip that tight dress right off her body, but instead, I just stare into those big eyes and that perfect face.

  “Why are you sorry?” I ask. “You didn’t do anything.”

  The asshole is still keeled over, and his friends are trying to help him up. None of them dare to even look at me.

  “I asked you for help,” she says, “and…”

  The bouncer is approaching, and she lets go of me as he nears us.

  She says nervously as he approaches, “I’m sorry, I was--”

  “Hunt,” A.J. says. “Was this guy causing trouble?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “Got it,” A.J. says, and he grabs the guy by the arm and pulls him toward the door.

  The girl watches with confusion. “Why did--”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Are you okay?”

  She licks her lips, as she looks me up and down. “I am now, sir.”

  I laugh. “Shit, don’t call me that.”

  “What do I call you?”

  “My name. Hunt.”

  I look down at her hand and see the faint outline of an “X,” written in black Sharpie and hastily washed off.

  I point to her. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one,” she says without hesitation.

  I gently take her wrist and hand, and I trace my finger along the “X” that she washed off.

  Her lips part as I touch her hand, and she looks up at me with a look I know all too well. What the fuck am I doing?

  “Okay,” she says. “I’m only twenty, but--”

  “Hold old are you really?” I say. “Don’t lie to me again.”

  “I’m eighteen,” she says.

  I give her a warning look.

  “Really,” she says. “How did I get in the club and get the ‘X’ on my hand if I’m not eighteen?”

  “Fake I.D.?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes. “Why would I go to the trouble of getting a fake I.D. that didn’t even make me twenty-one?”

  I can’t argue with that logic. “What’s your name?”

  “Everyone calls me Elise,” she says. “Except my Mom.”

  “What does your Mom call you?”


  “Who cares?” she says, smiling.

  God, that smile. I realize that I can’t turn back now. Not after she’s smiled at me like that. And she is legal. Even if just barely.

  “So…” she says, “are you going to buy me a drink?”

  She licks her teeth and laughs.

  “What do you want?” I ask. “A coke? Maybe an orange juice? A juice box?”

  “A real drink!” she says, giggling. “I erased the ‘X,’ and I don’t think the bartender really cares anyway…”

  “One drink,” I say.

  “Cheap ass.”

  “It’s not about the money,” I say. “It’s…”

  It’s the fact that I want to take her home and fuck her brains out. And it’s bad enough that she’s only eighteen. I don’t want her to be drunk, too.

  “It’s what?” she asks.

  I look down at her breasts, and then up at her eyes. I lean in close to her so she can really smell me. She breathes heavily, but doesn’t pull even an inch away. She leans in a bit closer, but I put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

  “What do you think is going to happen?” I ask.

  “What do you mean…” she says. Her cheeks burn red, and her voice is painfully shy. She knows exactly what I am implying.

  “You know,” I say.

  “I...I think you’re going to buy me a White Russian--”

  I laugh. “A White Russian? You think that’s going to make you seem sophisticated?”

  She crosses her arms and pouts at me. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and glares at me. “Don’t make fun of me, Hunter.”

  “Hunt,” I say.

  “And after we have a drink together, Elise, what do you think will happen next?”

  “Well,” she says, face burning red once again, “I think we both know, don’t we?”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  She bites her lip, and it takes all my willpower not to grab her and crush my lips against hers.

  “Say it,” I say.

  I catch a glimpse of Dash sitting at the bar. When he sees me look over at him, he raises his glass to me and grins. Asshole.

  “I want you to take me to your place, Hunter.”

  “And then?” I ask.