Page 18 of Take Hold of Me

Before Emilie can take a step toward me, she’s directed over to the Grand Opening banner to pose for more photos. While she’s working, I order us drinks. A beer for me and vodka tonic for her. Frowning that I remembered her favorite drink, I recheck the area—still nothing seems suspicious. Glasses in hand, I make my way closer to her.

When she finishes with her duties, Emilie turns toward me. I raise her drink and her smile morphs into one that’s more natural. Her progress toward me is cut short by a rather round man dressed in a black suit. He says something to her, then kisses her hand and motions her toward a modern-looking staircase with open treads, on the right. She twists to face me, inclines her head to the staircase and I nod.I’ll be right behind you, Emilie.

Neil ascends the steps with her, checking out every lady who passes him. “Fucking A,” I say aloud to no one—no one can hear me over the music—and I take the steps two at a time.

Striding into the room marked “VIP,” I make my way next to Emilie.Not that I’m her date or anything.

When I reach her side, Emilie takes her glass from my hand, smells the liquid and runs her tongue over her lips. “You remembered.”

Everything.I tilt my head, but don’t say anything.

After a sip, she lets out a small squeak and points. “There’s Lizzie! Let me introduce you to my mentor.”

Lizzie Chase. My boyhood fantasy, in the flesh.Of courseshe’s Emilie’s mentor. While I’m processing all the implications of this meeting, Emilie grabs my hand and leads me over to a sofa where the supermodel sits.

Coming to a halt in front of her, Emilie says, “Lizzie! I am so happy you are here tonight. You look great! How are you feeling?”

The woman floats to her feet, long blonde hair curled just as I remember her from my youth. Her arms open wide and Emilie drops my hand to embrace her. Lizzie steps back and replies, “I’m all recovered. The flu was nasty, though. Thanks for asking.”

“I am glad.” Emilie points at me and says, “I would like to introduce to you Wills Sumner. He owns a gym on Mulholland.”

“A pleasure,” I say, extending my hand.

Lizzie waves my hand away and brings me in for a hug as well. This is surreal. “A gym?”

Stepping back, I manage to say, “Yes. Complete Gym.”

She nods.

Emilie looks at me and gushes, “Lizzie has taught me so much about the modeling industry. And beyond.” Returning to her friend, she continues, “I saw another commercial for your furniture line.”

Lizzie laughs. It’s a pleasant sound but doesn’t rock me the way Emilie’s does.Wait. Stop thinking like this. I force myself to check on Neil’s whereabouts—he’s standing back among other VIPs, with one eye on Emilie and his other on a different model. My opinion of him doesn’t improve.

Lizzie’s voice draws me back to the conversation, “In our business, it’s always a good idea to keep looking forward and your options open.” Her entire demeanor transforms when a guy in his forties, wearing a button down opened at the collar and no blazer, approaches us.

“Grady. There you are.”

He kisses her on the lips and whispers something in her ear that causes her to tap his chest. “This is my fiancé, Grady.”

We exchange pleasantries. He seems like a nice, normal guy. He runs a travel agency. I wonder how he deals with having the world’s elite supermodel on his arm. After a few more minutes, they go to the sofa to snuggle. Doesn’t seem to bother him much.

Emilie takes my half-empty glass from my hand, puts it with hers on a nearby table and urges me toward the dance floor.

Oh no. Not happening. Planting my feet, I shake my head. “I don’t dance,” I shout above the music.

“That is okay,” Emilie shouts back. “I do!”

She shakes her shoulders in front of me. My heartrate picks up with her antics, my eyes following her movements. She’s magnetic. When she pulls my arm again, I can’t stop myself from giving in and follow her to the dance floor.

The DJ changes the track to a huge hit by Ozzy Martinez, Cole’s friend, from a few years ago. Emilie moves in time to the fast rhythm, throwing her arms around my shoulders while I shuffle to the beat, count to ten and try to ignore all that’s going on in front of me. She moves to stand back-to-back with me, wriggles her hips and then turns to face me. Her hands are always touching me—my arms, fingers, chest.

Damn.

The song changes to “Prowling,” my favorite one of Cole’s. Our smiles are for our friend. During the chorus, I can’t stop myself from pumping my fist in the air with Emilie and all of the other dancers on the floor.

Lost in the music, I grab her hand and spin her around, holding her back against my front. My hands run up her sides and down both arms. Sparks fly where our skin touches. Or is that the DJ’s light show? Emilie turns around and faces me, her pupils dilated.

My breath catches. We stand stock-still while everyone dances around us. Her hazel eyes draw me in.

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