Take Hold of Me

by Arell Rivers

  The fact that Emilie’s pissed at me is a good thing. She’ll set her sights on someone more appropriate for her. My stomach sours picturing her with another guy. That’s what you want, right?

  Two women in white coats come down the hallway, interrupting my internal debate. One carries a garment bag while the other rolls a suitcase of some sort behind her.

  When they stop at the door where Emilie is, I address them. “Are you with the Swimsuit Annual shoot?”

  They look at me like I’m a Titan Beetle but pull out their badges for me to inspect. All good. I motion them in and they mumble to each other, “they hired security for this shoot?”

  Whatever. I’m here to protect Emilie. Even from bugs. Emilie, just like any of my other clients, doesn’t have to like me or the fact that she has a bodyguard. I only have to keep her safe for the duration of this trip. Which means I need to get through the remainder of today and the flight home tomorrow. And as soon as I land, I’m going to make a push to speed up my takeover of the gym. I need to get my head out of supermodel zone and into super stealth zone. I take a deep, cleansing breath. I can do this.

  I resume pacing, stopping at the end of the hallway to look out over the beach. The crew is setting up what looks to be a fire pit on the beach. Since the sun is lowering on the horizon, I guess it’ll make an interesting setting. One that makes my job that much harder. Keeping track of all the crew members and onlookers in the daylight was trouble enough, but at night? My breathing accelerates as my brain memorizes the terrain, faces and possible openings for unwanted people to gain entrance.

  I can’t let Emilie get hurt on my watch. She deserves my focus.

  A runner from the crew enters the hallway. Since I recognize him from the shoot earlier, I salute him with two fingers and he nods in return, then points at the closed door. “Val and Emilie in there?”

  I nod and he enters. After a half-hour, the door opens and the runner comes out, followed by the two workers with their suitcase and bags. Val enters the hallway next with her annoying dogs at her heels. Emilie comes out last. It’s as if someone punched me in the gut. What the fuck is Emilie wearing now? Or not wearing? Holy shit.

  She’s in a thong string bikini. If I thought that piece of fabric she had on earlier was revealing, this one is downright indecent. She and Val, though, don’t seem to care that they’re parading through the hallway almost naked, as they switch robes and laugh.

  One of the workers drops something—I can’t make out what—and Emilie bends down to pick it up. Crap. I should not have seen that. Now all I can do is replay that vision—her bare ass thrust in the air while her toned thighs contract and her equally toned arms reach out. Her fingers caress whatever she picked up and then—the final killer—she calls out with her French accent to get the attention of the lady who dropped it.

  I swallow all the drool to prevent it from flooding the hall. Why does Emilie have to be so goddamn hot? Not just that, she’s considerate, too. And totally off limits. Gauging from her total dissing of me back there, I’m guessing she’s also totally pissed at me. That’s good. Right?

  After going down a flight of steps, we exit the house and make our way toward the fire pit. My eyes scan the beach on a repeating loop to ensure it’s safe. Of course, I return to watch my client every minute or so. Just like this morning, only now there’s more people and less light. At least the intruder from earlier is nowhere to be seen.

  Wade Block approaches the group of guys and directs them to their places, pointing in various directions until he’s satisfied. Then he comes over to Ems and Val and escorts the two ladies to their positions. His hands are all over Val, who playfully swats him away with a huge grin. He keeps his distance from Ems. Good. Maybe he’s not as dumb as he appears.

  By the time the session wraps up, I’m exhausted from keeping watch. The worry, even without an explicit threat, eats me from the inside. To top it all off, Emilie’s prancing around in that bikini twists the southern part of my body into a pretzel. God, I just want this day to end.

  I trail behind the group as they make their way back into the mansion, yipping dogs leading the way. Once inside, my breathing relaxes a bit as the possibility of a security breach has dropped to nearly non-existent.

  Val garners everyone’s attention by raising her fists into the air. “Let’s get out of these bathing suits and hit the clubs. We’re in Rio, baby!” A round of cheers rise in response.

  My whole body cramps. Twenty-four more hours, give or take, and this will be over. I peg finding my replacement on the top of my to-do list.

  Emilie enters a changing room and emerges wearing a sexy dress. Hot pink, nearly backless and ending a few inches below indecent on her legs. All ready for the club. Fuck. Me.

  She flips her hair when she sees me, her jaw set at a higher angle than normal. I better confirm what I already know, no matter how much I don’t want to hear it.

  As per proper protocol, I approach and whisper in her ear. No need to advertise where she’s going to be. “Are you headed out to the clubs with Val and the group?”

  “Oui.”

  “Okay. I’ll be with you.”

  Placing her fists on her hips, she blurts in a hushed whisper, “Like you were this afternoon when Wade kissed me? You promised to protect me.”

  If only she knew. Glancing around to make sure no one is paying us any attention—only Val’s barking dogs seem to be doing so—I give her a half-truth. “You handled him. You didn’t need me.” I need her to start taking ownership of her own strength and capabilities since I’m not going to be around forever. Hell, I won’t even be around the day after tomorrow.

  “Hmph.”

  Even such a petulant sound is melodious coming out of her mouth. I clamp my mouth shut.

  Her face transforms. “I did put him in his place.”

  “Of course you did.” I need to tread carefully. I don’t need to worry her over this afternoon’s intruder. Or how I dealt with Wade Block. That’s my job. “But now, you should just worry about having a good time with your friends. I’ll make sure you’re safe tonight.”

  Val yells her name, and Emilie floats off toward her friend.

  Problem is—who’s going to keep me safe?

  Seated in first class, I lower the brim of my baseball hat to protect my pounding head. Even though I didn’t have a drop of alcohol last night, returning to the hotel at five a.m. is taking its toll on me. At least the nightmares were kept away, which is a miracle since I was on high alert all night. Perhaps my exhaustion did the trick. Or maybe Emilie’s the reason they didn’t haunt me. No. I shut down that thought. I just didn’t get enough shut eye to invite them in.

  Next to me, Emilie settles into her plush chair. Despite not having any real sleep last night, she looks fantastic.

  “You looked like you had fun last night on the dancefloor.” Not that I was the one dancing with her. No. I was working, watching her with her big group of friends party all night long.

  She shifts forward in her seat. In a listless voice, she says, “I am surprised you noticed. You did not dance with me.”

  “As your bodyguard, I’m paid to notice everything around you. Keep you safe.”

  She leans back into her seat. “Oh. Right. Like you kept Wade from me during lunch. Do not think I forgot.”

  Sighing, I decide to give her the full truth. “I’m sorry about that. I was honest with you yesterday that you didn’t need my help to stop him. What I didn’t tell you is there was an intruder on the set that I was dealing with when Wade Block went after you. By the time I was able to reach you, your hand had connected with his cheek.” No need to fill her in about my words with the asshole photographer, though. He seemed to have gotten the message and didn’t join the group at the club.

  Her lips flatten. “Why did you not tell me this before?”

  “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  She winces. “I appreciate that you were protecting me. But, you should have told me
about the intruder. I can handle it.”

  I bow my head in assent.

  Emilie’s tongue darts out and runs over her lips. I tamp down visions of it licking various parts of my body. “I know how you can make it up to me. McKenna asked that I pick up some beach sand for Rose’s bridal shower, remember? Do you think you could help me drive there when we get back?”

  Boundaries. She needs boundaries. We both need them. “Emilie, I agreed to do this one-off trip with you to Rio but when we get back to LA, I can’t keep doing you favors. I have to set up my new gym.”

  “I know. It is just I promised McKenna and I do not yet have my driving license. Besides, I think you owe me for being such a—what is the term?—jerk to me in Rio.”

  “I wasn’t being a jerk.” Maybe a little.

  She raises one eyebrow. “After I told you all about my history with Wade, you still let him get to me. And I do not care that you were detaining someone from the set. Other people were hired to do that. Your job was to protect me.”

  Her argument has a bit of merit. Dammit. And I want to spend more time with her. Admit it. “Fine. I’ll do it. Just for the errand.”

  Appeased, she starts going on about Rose’s shower. I’ve never seen anyone so excited for a party before. Which is yet another conundrum about her—she’s a supermodel who attends parties for a living, yet she’s looking forward to this bridal shower like it’s the Oscars.

  After a while, she reaches into her tote and pulls out her cell phone. While she logs onto the airline’s Wi-Fi, I pull out my book, dip my cap lower on my forehead and start reading. Every so often, my eyes drift from the page and settle in on her animated expression. What is she so engrossed in? Maybe she’s IM’ing with one of the male models who was hitting on her last night? Although I know for a fact that she returned to her hotel room alone.

  Without moving my head, my eyes wander over to check out her phone. Instagram. Looks like she’s commenting on photos, but I can’t make out the content. Too curious for my own good, I place my book next to me and lean forward to fish earbuds out of my backpack. She’s commenting on people’s photos of their outfits. My body relaxes when I realize there’s not a man in sight.

  I stifle the urge to reach out and smooth an errant lock of her hair. My tactile memory can almost feel its softness between my fingers. The angel next to me deserves so much more than I can offer. Being around her twenty-four-seven isn’t a good idea, but at least our time is almost at an end. I drop the earbuds next to me. Picking up my book, I read about aliens coming to attack our galaxy.

  Something pushes me. Is it an alien invasion?

  “Wills. Wake up.”

  My body shakes. Coming alert, I jump forward and thrust my arm in front of Emilie, my heart in my throat. I swivel my head to take in my surroundings.

  No imminent attack.

  No danger to my Emsy. Emilie. My client. My heartrate decelerates. My arm falls to my lap.

  When I do a visual sweep of the cabin, people are looking at her. Locking in on the faces directed at us, I realize they’re not looking at her. They’re looking at me.

  Rubbing my hand down the bill of my hat, I turn to Emilie who’s accepting a glass from the stewardess. Groggily, I ask, “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I am fine.” She offers me the glass. “You were having a nightmare. Here, drink some water.”

  My hand shakes as it closes around the glass. Emilie’s fingers cover mine. Her touch extinguishes all the pings zinging through my system, leaving a gentle hum as if she gave my body an ‘all clear.’ After staring into my eyes for a good ten seconds, she releases my hand.

  “Take a sip.”

  Nodding, I do as I’m told. The water soothes my throat. Closing my eyes, her words hit me. I had a nightmare. Here. On board an airplane while I’m supposed to be guarding Emilie. Keeping her safe. Yet here she is, making me feel comforted.

  I swallow some more water, then place the glass down on the tray. At least my hands are no longer shaking. What do I say? How do I make her feel like I’m in control?

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Hell to the no. I shake my head, not trusting my voice to ignore her earnest plea.

  “You were thrashing about, Wills. Moaning.” She offers a half-smile, no more than a slight lift of her lips. “And not in a good way, as Val would say.”

  I return her ghost smile. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  “It is not me who was scared. Seriously, do you get these often?”

  No one knows about my nightmares because no one has slept with me since they came back full-force following my partners’ deaths. I rip the baseball cap off my head and toss it on the floor in front of me, taking the opportunity to run my fingers through my hair. After my sister was killed, it took me months to get rid of the nightmares. But I didn’t see her die in front of me like…No. No more.

  “I’m okay.”

  Emilie looks at me, her eyes filled with compassion. My body responds to the comfort she’s offering—it’s been years since I felt such an overwhelming sensation. If ever. Before I know what I’m doing, I press my upper body against hers like a drowning man clings to a life preserver.

  She doesn’t struggle to get away. Or cringe at my weakness. Rather, she wraps her arms around me, stroking my hair in a rhythmic routine. Kissing my cheeks, she murmurs, “Shhh, it will get better.”

  I remain in her embrace until the realization of where we are and who is offering solace smacks me upside the head. What am I doing? I push away from her, bouncing my head several times on the padded headrest. Exhaling a pent-up breath, I run my hand through my hair to wipe away the remnants of her gentle touch.

  I repeat, “I’m okay.” I fiddle with the monitor to determine where we are in our journey. “Why don’t you sleep for a while. We have a good six more hours before we land.”

  Her eyebrows knit, but quickly release. Her delicate fingers trace the “V” on her forehead, smoothing out her already flawless skin. I cross my arms and place my hands under my armpits to prevent me from reaching out to her again. I can’t believe I showed such weakness. What would my father have to say about that?

  She reaches over and picks up my glass, taking a sip of my water. My body wants to possess hers, especially after such an intimate act. My fingers form fists under my armpits and I remain rooted in my seat. “It was just a silly nightmare. No biggie. Go to sleep.”

  She opens her mouth, closes it and opens a blanket from its packaging. “Would you like a blanket, in case you fall asleep again?”

  Not happening. I shake my head. “No, you use it. Pleasant dreams.”

  She wraps herself in the blanket and digs an eye mask out of her carry-on, which she puts around her head but not over her eyes. Turning toward me before reclining the seat into a bed, she reaches out and strokes my chin. “I hope one day you will share. Like you, I am a pretty good listener.”

  I close my eyes not in sleep, but to block out the vision of the beautiful woman in the next seat who offers to help me. I’m beyond help, even from an angel.

  11

  Wills

  “Merci for being my driving instructor again today.”

  Not wanting to break her concentration, I reply, “I know you wanted to practice.”

  I’ve fallen down on my job of investigating suitable driving schools. I was too jet-lagged since we returned to LA a couple of days ago to look into them—not to mention dealing with paperwork for my new gym—so I agreed to today’s excursion. I make a mental note to do this research over the weekend while she’s in Las Vegas and I’m observing Complete’s Summer Competition. In addition to getting some time in at Vets for Military Dogs.

  Emilie drove us to the beach, where we picked up the five gallons of sand McKenna needs for Rose’s shower. Now, she’s navigating through the mid-afternoon LA traffic—albeit not on the freeway—with more confidence than before. She’s even managed to make several turns with only one windshie
ld wiper incident. How does she even do that? I rub my fingers around my jaw, noting a small patch I missed this morning while shaving.

  We pass through an intersection in the right lane. “You’ll need to make a left at the next light.”

  She nods, her lip between her teeth, and checks the side-view mirror before signaling her move to the next lane. When we stop at the stop sign, she blows out a breath, her hair flying up off her forehead.

  “Everything okay? You’re doing great.”

  She goes through the intersection and continues along the route to her attorney’s office. “Oui. I am good with the driving. It is just—”

  She stops talking when an asshole comes from nowhere and cuts her off, horn blaring. Her hands shake on the steering wheel and her posture straightens. She slams on the brakes and, not having time to grab onto the roll bar, I stop my forward motion on the dash instead.

  At a dead stop in the through lane, she turns her head to me. Wide-eyed, she asks, “What did I do wrong?”

  I reach over and put my hand over one of hers. Not only is it shaking, it’s ice cold. Not a good recipe for a new driver. Indignation on her behalf rises. Releasing her hand, I say, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes drivers are total assholes.”

  Her lips quiver upward and she inhales. She takes her foot off the brake and eases onto the accelerator. After going a few feet, she sighs and turns on her right blinker.

  “Where are you going, Emilie? We don’t have to turn again for another mile.”

  She turns toward the curb and puts the Jeep into park. “Wills, I know I need the practice, but I am feeling not so comfortable. Would it be alright if you finished driving us to the attorney’s office? I will drive us back home.” She makes an “X” over her heart. “Promise.”

  Whoa. I’ve never seen her so defeated. Quirking my head, I ask, “What’s up?”

  She unclasps her seat belt. “Are you sure you want to know? I am probably just being an overmelodic model.”