Page 16 of Take Hold of Me

6

Wills

IthoughtI’d prepared myself until the front door opens and every muscle in my body cramps. A full-blown supermodel stands in the doorway, wearing a body-hugging black dress that stops in the middle of her thighs. The dress’s sleeves have openings that reveal her naked shoulders. Her hair is loose except for little braids weaved in on the sides. Not too much makeup on her face—she doesn’t need it. Beautiful doesn’t even come close to describing her.

Deep-sixing my errant thoughts, I open my mouth and my practiced speech pours out. “I decided to take you up on your offer to join you at the club tonight. I hope that’s okay.”

No need to tell her that her Agency’s choice of bodyguard has a lightweight rep on the street. More like pretty-boy celeb wanna-be with little skill other than opening doors—usually the proverbial ones only for himself. She said she’s not in danger. I only want to confirm Neil has the chops to prevent her from tripping out of the limo.No other reason.

“Wills. I am more than okay with this. How handsome you look.”

When she rushes forward to give me her usual two-kiss greeting, my stomach clenches. I close my eyes and ignore the sizzle where her lips meet my cheeks. Maybe closing my eyes heightened the spark?

I pop them back open to see her eyes doing a quick up and down of my body covered in black trousers, black T-shirt and black blazer. The blazer was my nod toward looking presentable at the club. She opens the door wider. “Come in,s'il vous plait.”

Since her limo hasn’t arrived yet, I tilt my head and walk inside. I’m greeted by a big open and airy room, dominated by a couple of seating areas. Beyond, an archway leads to a kitchen that’s highlighted by a huge island. The scent of Emilie—lavender—runs as an undercurrent throughout the space.

The door shuts and her heels clink on the hardwood flooring. Eyes at my feet, I turn to face her. Of course she’s wearing nude high heels, with her toes peeking out. Even her toenails, painted a dark blue, are sexy. Raising my head, I take in her toned legs. And tamp down visions of them wrapped around my waist.

“Emilie,” I swallow, “You’re….” Ethereal. Untouchable. “Looking good.”Shut. Up.

Her eyes light up and I slip my hand in to my pocket to prevent it from going anywhere else like my wayward mouth did. She runs her hand up and down one of the small braids. “Thank you for the compliment. I am honored to be on your arm tonight.”

And just like that, she reminds me of our conversations when I was Cole’s bodyguard and, by extension, hers. She’s a down-to-earth woman, wrapped in a goddess shell.Much too good for the likes of me.

She smiles, showing off her perfect teeth. Everything about her is perfect. “We probably have time for a quick drink before we go. There is some wine in the refrigerator.” She starts walking toward her kitchen and throws over her shoulder, “French, of course.”

I’m more of a beer drinking type of guy. But she looks so hopeful, I can’t turn her down. “Sure.” I join her in the kitchen, all the while asking myself what I’m doing.

“Here you go,” she says, handing me a glass. Her fingertips brush mine. Even such a slight contact makes my balls tighten. I hold my breath to get myself under control and pick up my glass.

“A toast,” she gushes. “To a wonderful surprise!”

Words stick in my throat, so I simply clink my glass to hers and sip. The wine tastes of berries and vanilla, which is not altogether unpleasant. As we stand across the island from each other, her cheeks take on a pink hue.

Something dances between us.

A magnetic force pulls me toward her.

I lean away.Better quash whatever this is right now. “I didn’t want you to have to go alone tonight.”

Her hazel eyes take on a deeper green hue. “Oh, I need to get your ticket.” Setting her glass on the island, she rummages through her kitchen desk and hands it to me, then points toward the front door. “Let’s sit in thesalon.”

Her French accent creates another stir in my pants. Detouring to a nice drawing hanging on the wall, I ask, “Paris?”

She comes to my side, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “Oui. It is the Avenue des Champs Elysées, a main artery in Paris. I shall drive on it myself someday, thanks to you.” She pauses. When I don’t say anything, she continues, “Mamansent it to me, to remind me of home.”

“I’ve never been.”

“Never?”

I shake my head.

She reaches out and her fingers glance across my shoulder—the one that took a bullet in front of her—and says, “You were recovering when Cole met me in Paris.”

I bring my glass to my lips and take a long drink. Lowering it, I roll my shoulder—more to shake off the electricity of her touch than for physical therapy. “I’m good as new now.”

Movement on the street catches my attention and I walk over and move the curtain. A black stretch limo has pulled up. “Your limo has arrived. Should I follow you in my Jeep?”

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