Page 28 of Take Hold of Me

Wade’s eyes dart from left to right. “He’s not here with us. His loss.” Before I can react, Wade’s lips crash against mine, his hands sliding down the lapels of my robe.

“No!” I push against his chest and break the unwanted kiss.

“C’mon, Em. I’ll be the best you’ve ever had. Like old times.” He leans forward again.

Sweat breaks out across my brow having nothing at all to do with the Rio heat. As if on its own, my hand smacks Wade across his face and I jump up, toppling my chair.

All activity surrounding the shoot ceases.

Wade shakes his head like a dog, his ponytail swinging. He dons a brash smile in contrast to the red palm print on his cheek. In an overly loud voice, he announces, “I like ‘em feisty.”

The crew resumes their work. Loudly.

Keeping my voice even, I ask, “Are we finished for today?”

His eyes run my entire body but I refuse to react. “No. You’ll be doing a sunset shoot with Val and the guys in a couple of hours.” He motions toward a volleyball net where a bunch of perfectly-sculpted male models jockey for a ball.

“I will go look for Val now.” Quickly, I gather the remnants of my lunch, toss them into the nearby garbage pail and head toward the contemporary beachfront mansion rented for the shoot. On the deck and safely away from the photographer’s wandering clutches, I turn and face the ocean once again. Wills, my non-white knight, appears at the tree line. Where was he minutes ago?

A scowl forms but is wiped clean when I hear an almost-there British accent with a Kenyan undertone float through the building’s open windows. “Emilie Dubois! Is that you? Get your skinny white ass in here!”

Val’s words make me giggle. Raising my hands to my mouth, I yell, “Val! Where are you?”

“Second floor, first door on the left.”

Ignoring instructions to stay within my bodyguard’s eyesight, especially since that did me no good moments before, I turn away from the ocean and race up the steps. I am mad at him anyway. He should have been there to stop Wade.

I shake off my negative feelings when I spot the beautiful model from Nairobi waiting for me at the room’s threshold. She is wearing a daring hot pink monokini that pops against her mocha skin and is holding something in a tall glass with a straw. Knowing her, the clear liquid probably is a Dawa Cocktail, a Kenyan favorite made with vodka, lime juice and honey. She opens her arms and I embrace my friend. Her usual floral fragrance swirls between us. Mingled with vodka. Her teacup puppies yip around my feet, and I bend down to greet them.

“I am so happy you are here,” I say, walking into the sunlit room and closing the door behind me. A double bed has been pushed against the wall. Tables covered with makeup and various brushes take center stage. A side table offers an assortment of drinks. “Wade just put the moves on me.”

“Ugh.”

Parched, I snag a bottle of water. “I know, right?”

“Did you put him in his place?”

Smirking, I open the bottle. “You bet I did.”

She winks. “Can’t mess with Emilie Dubois.” Placing her glass to a table, she opens my robe. “Ooh, I love your teeny bikini.” She twirls around, shakes her barely-covered butt and laughs. “Mine doesn’t even qualify as teeny!”

I grin at her antics, the episode with Wade all but forgotten. “True.”

Val motions toward the window seat covered with plush beige cushions. After another exuberant hug, we sit down. Each of us places a pillow behind us and another in our laps. Her puppies jump up on each side of her. “So tell me,” I begin, “where did you fly in from?”

“I was in Ibiza. Oh my God, girl, the parties were off the chain. Damien, Jake, Kellen, Ian, Dean—everyone was there. Except you, of course.”

“I have not seen them in at least a year.” Those guys are professional partiers, with whom I used to hang out when I was dating Rinaldo. Even though he was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth, his role as a football star made him welcome in their club.

After swallowing more of her “go-go juice,” Val says, “They asked about you. Well, Dean did after watching Rinaldo’s team kick some serious British arse on the telly.”

Rinaldo. I turn my head and look out the window, scanning for Wills but not finding him. Those two could not be more dissimilar in looks—Rinaldo with his brown hair and olive complexion, and Wills with his blond hair and blue eyes. Both are driven in their professions, though. Even if I want to shake Wills right now.

When I do not respond, Val continues, “Before I hopped over to Ibiza, I was in Barcelona.”

Where Rinaldo lives. Our eyes meet. “A lot has happened since I dated Rinaldo.”

She shrugs. “If you ask me, he’s still hung up on you. You two drifted apart because your schedules put you on different continents all the time, right? You didn’t have some big blow out.”

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