Page 47 of Take Hold of Me

For an agonizing moment I think he is going to say no.

“This is a bad idea, but I can’t say no to you, Ems.”

“It is a very good idea.”

Wills drives us the few kilometers back to our hotel. People drive on the opposite side of the street than in LA, so there is absolutely no way I would even suggest that I should practice my driving here. But he has no problems maneuvering through the dark, windy roads with road signs on the other side. He is such a capable man, without pretense.

I want to make him mine.

We stroll into the open-air lobby. Instead of walking hand-in-hand, however, Wills walks behind me a couple of paces, back in bodyguard mode. I will break him free tonight. Before I make it all the way to the bar, the bartender smiles at me.

“What can I get you, Miss Dubois?” He motions toward the full complement of alcohols.

“I would like a vodka tonic, and also a dry vodka martini,s’il vous plaît.”

“Sure thing, coming right up.” While he makes a show of mixing our drinks, I eye Wills, who studies the bar’s patrons. Ever the protector, even though I have no threats.

“Here you go. I’ll add it to your room. Enjoy.”

“Oh, I plan on it.Merci.”

I take a sip of my drink for some liquid courage. Usually, I need the courage to ward off suitors, not to unleash one. And Wills is going to be doing a lot of unleashing tonight, if I have my way. I take another sip and head out the huge doors overlooking the ocean. It is dark out, so I cannot see the waves, but their gentle crashing provides the perfect cadence.

I walk down the steps and out onto the beach. We grab our sandals and I lead us toward my destination—a hammock. We pass a club over the water, putting more and more distance between us and the rest of civilization. I spy one tied between two palm trees near the water’s edge. Best of all, no light poles shine on it. Perfect.

When I reach my goal, I stop and turn. Wills stops right in front of me. Now I wish I had some light so I could see his expression. I lift his drink. “I got you a martini. A vodka martini. Dry.”

His warm, large hand covers the glass, and my hand in the process, skittering electricity like fireflies straight up my arm. “Thanks.” The driving music from the club mixes with the sound of the waves. Our light show is provided by the stars.

I tuck some hair behind my ear and take another swallow of my drink. My heart begins to accelerate like right before I take the catwalk and, as if I am opening the show at Fashion Week, I inhale and hold my breath. And exhale. “Would you like to share a hammock?”

His lips kiss the glass, causing the ice cubes to clink. Without saying anything, Wills takes my glass and deposits it with his on a low table. Returning to me, he cups my cheek, his thumb skimming over my bottom lip. Despite my yoga breathing, my heart is now banging against my chest in an erratic pattern.

The deep timbre of his voice rumbles from his chest. “Yes.”

Before I can react, his other hand caresses my cheek and he leads me backward toward the hammock. His mouth covers mine. This is not a gentle kiss. No. It screams Wills—possessive yet protective, hard yet yielding, demanding yet considerate.

My hands wrap around his neck. My entire being is on fire for him and we have only shared one kiss under the stars. One of many more tonight, I hope.

My world turns on its axis as I freefall into his arms. He takes three steps to the hammock, turns and sits down with me on his lap. I press my chest against his hard pecs. Our lips fuse. Soon, our tongues explore the other’s mouths. His arms are like bands of steel around me, one sliding up to hold the back of my head while the other applies the right amount of pressure on my back.

He breaks our kiss and trails his mouth to my ear. He bites my lobe, once, and blows on it.Oh la la. Any semblance of awareness of my surroundings disappears, the crashing waves and salty air overtaken by the man holding me. He has transformed me into a mass of energized molecules, which vibrate down my spine, up my legs and meet at my center.

“Ems, I am no good for you,” he whispers directly into my ear.

His warm breath causes my stomach to tighten. “Let me be the judge,” I whisper back, dipping my hands to the waistband of his jeans, pulling his t-shirt free. My fingers make direct contact with his skin—so hot it is like touching a flatiron—and I trace each of his abdominal muscles. Under his shirt I reach his pecs, my palms fanning upward and out to defined shoulders. One of which took a bullet in front of me.

He groans and falls backward onto the hammock, keeping one foot in the sand and his arm tight around my waist. I sprawl out over him, my hands having lost contact with his body as we switched positions. His leg flexes as he rocks us to the beat of the music from the club while his hands slide down my back and land on my butt. He takes both of my lower cheeks in his hands and squeezes, pushing me against his rock-hard erection.

I have never been so glad to have worn a thong. “Oui, Wills.”

One of his hands comes up and palms my boob over my dress. He squeezes it and my butt cheek in consecutive order. Pump my boob, pump my butt. Rock the hammock. Pump my boob, pump my butt. Rock the hammock. When he clutches my butt for the third time, I tilt my pelvis against him. The sensation pulls a moan from deep within me, which he answers with his own groan.

“Wills, more.” I want so much from this man. I want it all.

He releases my butt and skims his hands down my dress until he slides both hands underneath. With too much deliberation, he inches his way back up toward my ass, the fabric of my dress falling over his arms and covering the backs of my legs.

I need more from him. I shift on his body to hurry him up and he stops, his fingers wrapping around my bare mid-thighs. “On my terms, Ems.”

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