Page 42 of Take Hold of Me

Wills

“Come on, Emilie. Again?”

The photographer—a woman this time, thankfully—stops shooting and calls in the seamstress for the third time. Apparently, Emilie’s dress does not fit correctly as the shoulder keeps falling down. Her bare shoulders don’t offend me any, although it’s clearly not the look the Maria Orro Fashion House wants.

Emilie’s not usually this fussy, though. She sailed through the fittings yesterday after we arrived. Well, that’s what she told me anyway. Not like I was in the room with her. I block out the image of her standing around in just her underwear as people make adjustments to wardrobe pieces prepared for another model.

Shutting off such images has become harder and harder for me to do ever since that kiss in her attorney’s elevator. The way her body fit so perfectly against mine. How much she seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. She makes me want to open up and share all of my deepest secrets.Warts and all.

I shake my head. I don’t want her to come to any harm, and that’s exactly what would happen if I allow us to get any more involved. No, I must nip this in the bud. Or cut it off at the bud, as it were.

To redirect my thoughts, I scan the pier we’re shooting on. It’s part of a high falutin’ restaurant here on the northern part of the island. Given the off hour—the restaurant does not open for dinner for another three hours—it’s basically deserted around here. The few workers onsite are ignoring us. I can’t even distract myself with work. Crap.

The women traipse away and Emilie adjusts herself in the red dress. “I am ready,” her French accent drifts across the pier, lodging around my groin. I do a full three-sixty to check everything’s safe, as well as to give my body a moment to calm down.

“Good,” the photographer says and resumes shooting, directing Emilie to walk up and down the pier. She appears to be so carefree, yet I know her. Her eyes aren’t dancing. Her smile is fake. I check my watch—it’s three o’clock. Rose is being surprised with her bridal shower right about now.

The wind catches the bottom of the dress and swirls it up around her legs.Damn. The men in the crew stop moving around with the lights and windscreens and watch Emilie in action. When she moves, it’s like perfect choreography.

“Much better than Jaci would’ve been,” one lanky guy with long hair says to another, shorter one in a beanie.

“Yeah. Even if she’s a bitch to work with.”

My head whips to the two talking, and my legs take me to them without instruction. I barge into their conversation. “What did you just say? She saved your asses by agreeing to come here on a day’s notice, at severe personal expense I might add. I better not hear you even breathing a negative word about her again, got that?”

The shorter guy shrinks at my outburst. His friend steps between us. “No use getting all hostile, dude. Chill. Who are you, anyway? Her boyfriend?”

Automatically, I reply, “I’m her bodyguard.” My mind blanks. A bodyguard would never act like this.

The guy who called her a bitch swipes his beanie off his head and uses it to rub sweat off his forehead. “Some bodyguard,” he grumbles. “Let’s go, Victor.”

The two shuffle toward the action while I retreat.Dude, get yourself under control. If I can’t control my outbursts with strangers, how am I going to control the demons inside me with her?

From afar, I watch Emilie do her thing. She looks so forced. How can I help her get through this, like I promised her I would? Maybe if she virtually joins the shower she’ll feel better? I grab my cell and fire off a text to McKenna—Rose had given me her contact info way back when I was guarding Cole. I hope she can get back to me before the party’s over.

The group walks toward me from the pier, clearly finished with this set of photos. The next scene is at Starfish Point, a beach filled with the multicolored echinoderms a few miles away.

As they approach, the photographer says, “Go inside the restaurant and change into the jumpsuit. Once your hair and make-up are ready, meet me out front and we’ll shuttle over to Starfish Point.”

“D’accord,” Emilie replies.

That one word sounds as if it’s being pulled out of her. I check my phone. C’mon McKenna, get back to me.

Emilie disappears into the room designated for the shoot. In the main dining room, I check out the photos of various spots around the island that line the walls. One photo, in particular, catches my eye and I walk over to get a better look. It’s of the pier Emilie was just on during sunset. Mentally, I superimpose Emilie into it, wearing the thong bikini from Rio. No. I alter my mental picture—now she wears workout attire, with the word “Complete” across her chest.

“It’s beautiful here at sunset.”

I jump as the manager appears at my right. I shake my head—I’m being paid not to be surprised.Get your head out of your ass, Wills.

“I can see that.”

He plucks a card out of his back pocket and scribbles something across the back. “Feel free to stop by while you’re here. This will guarantee you a table.”

I accept his card and put it in my back pocket just as my cell pings with an incoming text. McKenna’s responded with a “try us in the next five minutes.”

Thanking the manager, I leave him and go to the room where Emilie’s getting changed and primped. Should I knock? Will she be decent? I close my eyes at the possibility of seeing her nearly naked and raise my hand to knock. I don’t have time to wait if I’m going to give Emilie her smile back. I tap on the closed door.

“Come in,” a familiar French accent floats through the air.

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