Take Hold of Me

by Arell Rivers

  “And action!”

  The scene unfolds just as before. Too soon we arrive where I do not want to be. Rinaldo takes the Styrofoam cup from my suddenly cold hands and places it on the countertop, next to his. He runs his fingers through my hair, rubbing a lock in between them. He lowers his voice. “I don’t give a damn either.” His eyes close and he moves his lips forward until they meet mine.

  My eyes fall shut a nanosecond before shock waves zing from the point of our contact. A small gasp escapes from me, but Rinaldo wraps one arm around me and continues the kiss. I am transported back to such kisses we used to share, both in front of cameras and in private. I sway into his embrace, my hands landing on his pumped-up shoulders for balance. When his free hand reaches for the zipper at the top of my dress, I catapult back to the present. My lips remain closed. I tighten my grip on his shoulders, otherwise, I could smack him. Self-defense moves Zak has been teaching me itch to be released. Neither of these options are in the script. Where is Brandan?

  “Excuse me.” Brandan finally comes to my rescue. I remove my lips from Rinaldo’s. “I knew you two were still together! Do you mind if I a selfie with you?”

  “AND, CUT!!”

  I jump away from Rinaldo’s arms, giving him the evil eye. My fingers fly to my zipper, ensuring it is as high as it can go. He throws his head back and laughs.

  “That was smoking hot, guys,” Brandan offers. “I could almost believe you’re getting back together.”

  The director comes back to us. “Great job, you two. I got everything I need, so you can go back and change into your own clothes.” She offers her hand to Rinaldo. When she shakes my hand, she whispers, “The camera loves you. I would love to work with you again. I’ll be in touch.” She and Brandan head off to their next scene.

  My thoughts are in complete disarray. The director gave me such high praise. Yet, Rinaldo made me feel dirty. And he did it on purpose.

  “Now that’s what I was talking about.”

  I roll my eyes. “It is called acting, Rinaldo. I was acting. And what was with your putting the moves on me back there? That was not in the script.”

  He shrugs. “I ad-libbed.”

  I grunt and stride away from him, causing him to laugh even more. Wills does not appear at all on my walk to the dressing room. Where is he? Did he get disgusted with what he saw?

  As I strip out of the movie wardrobe and jump back into my own black capris and orange t-shirt, I hear Sally walking in with another woman. “I already had Callie fix my hair and makeup for my date tonight. Which earrings do you think will look best?”

  Her companion—a woman I did not see before—shrugs. Sally replies, “I know, this is so hard. Running a movie set’s schedule is a cake walk as opposed to getting dressed for a first date. I usually go to this Instagram account for tips, but the woman who runs it hasn’t been on for almost a week.”

  She is talking about me. I have not been able to log in for a week, given my crazy schedule. I step out of the shadows. “Maybe I can offer some advice?”

  Both woman turn and look at me. “Oh my, we’re so sorry to bother you, Miss Dubois. I thought this dressing room was empty.”

  I hold up my hand. “Please stay. I would love to help you.”

  Sally forces her lips to turn upward. “That’s okay. I’ll figure something out.”

  My shoulders sag. I take in her outfit, impressed with her now non-frizzy hair, and make up my mind. I am not taking “no” for an answer, especially since I can really help her out. “Please. I would really like to give you some advice. This is what I love about fashion. Do you have a black belt?”

  Sally stops on her way to the door. “I, ah, do.” She lifts her shirt to reveal the wide belt.

  “That is perfect! But you have it in the wrong place.” I approach her, my fingers itching to make the change. “Please let me help.”

  Her shoulders rise and she nods. “I can use all the help I can get, I guess.” I ask her to take the belt off.

  Hand outstretched, I ask, “May I?” Her nod is all the permission I need to grab the belt and wrap it around the outside of her blouse, securing it low on her hips. She already looks ten pounds lighter. Then, I open another button on her blouse, better exposing her funky necklace.

  “I love your jewelry. It says so much about you.” Sally’s responding smile is genuine this time. “But, your bracelet is not right.”

  “How about this one?” She holds up another option.

  “No. Not that one either.” The bracelet I wore on set would be good. “Are you allowed to borrow anything from the set?”

  “Well, it depends.”

  I rush back to where I left my costume, grabbing the bracelet. “How about this?”

  Her friend chimes in. “You’re done filming, right?” After I nod, she nudges Sally. “Go ahead. You know the director won’t mind, so long as you replace it tomorrow.”

  I put the bracelet on, adjust her sleeves and nod. Her friend exclaims, “Wow. You look amazing. I never would’ve thought such simple changes would make this much difference.” She drags Sally off to a mirror.

  “You’re a miracle worker, Miss Dubois!”

  “Please, call me Emilie. And go out and have a wonderful evening.”

  After thanking me ten times over, Sally gives me a huge hug. “Emilie, you were amazing on set, especially for a first-timer. The director even told me that herself. But, it is a loss to womankind everywhere that you’re not a stylist.” She smiles at me with appreciation as she and her friend leave my dressing area.

  They have no idea I am the person behind the Instagram account that they rely upon. I have never heard anyone discuss my site in person before, and how much she likes it. The adrenaline rush from helping her soars.

  Then comes crashing way down when I consider her other words about my being a natural actress. Maybe making the transition to movies is what I need. A change from what I have been doing for the past ten years.

  Echoes of advice Wills gave me about modeling resurface. “Being good at something does not mean it is a good career choice.”

  The better question I should ask myself is whether I like acting. Do I? It is fun, oui, but having to deal with all the minutia, the waiting, the retakes from so many different angles all the time would get old. Not to mention kissing random people—or in this case, an ex-boyfriend—made me feel uncomfortable.

  No. Acting is not for me, long-term.

  But for now, I am tied to this movie and my modeling obligations. And I am a professional who fulfills her obligations no matter the personal expense. I take a step toward the door and stop when it hits me that everything professional in my life is a chore. Like attending the after-party tonight will be. With Rinaldo, no less.

  I need Wills right now.

  23

  Wills

  My footsteps echo in the empty hallway, around the corner from the dressing rooms. Emilie disappeared through the first door on the left, which had a piece of paper with her name attached to it. Trailing her, Rinaldo gave me a salute and went into a room on the right.

  He and Ems dated for five years.

  He had his hands—and more—all over her.

  And now he’s back in town.

  I prowl around this empty corridor, trying to get myself under control. Rinaldo’s trying to make trouble. Seems like the type. Cocky, Spanish jock. Expects things—including women, especially women—to fall at his feet. Emilie didn’t look too happy having to deal with him, though. Which clearly pissed him off.

  For whatever reason, she wants me. She’s mine. My brain freezes at this thought.

  A door closes and I rush around the corner to see if it’s Ems. Instead, the tall, tanned soccer player stands in front of her dressing room, his hand reaching forward.

  “She hasn’t come out yet.” I cross my arms across my chest.

  Rinaldo turns away from her door, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. A smirk crosses his face. “I was only going to
check on her.”

  I lean against the wall, my posture screaming I don’t believe him. I raise an eyebrow.

  “Hey,” he comes over to me and punches my arm lightly. “So, you and Emmie are together, huh?”

  What does he think—that we’re friends? Hardly. And what’s up with his calling her “Emmie?” I reciprocate the arm punch. Harder. “Yes. We are.”

  “And you’re her,” his gaze bounces between my head to my feet and back again, “bodyguard.”

  I don’t owe this guy an explanation, so I tip my chin.

  He laughs. “So tell me, William.”

  My chest constricts. “Wills,” I growl. Only FPU calls me by my full name.

  “Wills, right.” He rubs his hand against his stubble-clad jaw. “How does it feel to stand behind your girl and watch as she does all the work?”

  I bite my inner cheek. Does this guy have brain damage from so many balls flying at his head? He’s messing with the wrong person, and way out of his element. Ems would be pissed if I rearranged his face, right?

  “I mean,” he continues when I don’t respond. “I remember when she was out on the town with Cole Manchester. I saw the pictures—he had his hands all over her. I wasn’t even dating her anymore, and those photos pissed me off.”

  My ears pop from the grinding of my teeth. Cole was with Rose by then. It was an act, but that doesn’t mean I liked it. This guy’s just trying to get under my skin. “You know what they were doing.”

  “Sure do. Emmie and I met through a publicity date, as a matter of fact. Sometimes true feelings can’t help coming through the most scripted scenarios, you know what I mean?”

  I swallow, willing my temper down. I don’t have to defend myself to him. Or anyone, for that matter.

  “But then again, you know all about those, right?”

  “I was doing my job.” Better than chasing a stupid ball around all day, in my book. Where the fuck is Emilie? Why does it take her so long to change?

  “Listen, are you coming with us to the after-party?”

  Crap. I had forgotten all about that. “Yeah. I’ll be making sure that no entitled, sleazeball douche nozzles cross the line with Emilie. That’s my job, remember?”

  He laughs and says, “I like you.”

  I don’t have time to process his reaction when Emilie’s door opens. We both turn and a couple of women exit. Rinaldo addresses them. “Ladies.”

  I disappear into the wall. My specialty. While they flirt, I focus on containing my seething temper with deep breathing exercises Nolan Kates taught me to stay calm when I first started working for his PI firm. Finally, the women walk away. While the door to Emilie’s dressing room remains open, she doesn’t appear.

  Rinaldo turns around and walks to where I’m pressed against the wall. “That girl was smokin’. God, I love American women! Although, they really pale in comparison with the French, don’t you think?”

  I don’t respond.

  His head turns in all directions. “Geez, Wills, you really got this bodyguard role down pat. You practically disappeared right before my eyes.” He chuckles. “Guess that’s a skill.”

  FPU had said something very similar to me when I first was guarding Cole. Mom had showed me a photo of a party Cole attended in one of the tabloids. FPU circled me in red, standing against a wall. “Nice of you to make the magazines, son.” He had said. “It takes real skill to hold up a wall.”

  My blood reignites at the memory and at the latest asshole standing in front of me. Both try to make me feel as if I were a cockroach for doing my job. Yet, their flippant words sting.

  “Then again,” he continues, “if that’s who Emmie wants to be with—someone who blends into the scenery…” He shrugs.

  Finally, Ems strides out of her dressing room, back in her own clothes. She looks down one hall, then turns when Rinaldo puts his hand to his mouth and calls out to her. “Over here, Emmie!” He nudges me in the stomach.

  I step to the side, locking eyes with Ems. Her smile is huge. My body starts to react, causing me to shift from foot to foot, despite standing next to the stupid soccer player.

  Ignoring Rinaldo, Ems walks right up to me and kisses my cheek. She takes my hand and interlaces our fingers. “Ready to go?”

  Her lavender scent wraps around my heart. Hell yeah. Not trusting my voice, I squeeze her hand and nod once. We head toward the exit as I text the driver that we’re on our way.

  Rinaldo walks around me to be on her other side. Two blonds and a swarthy Spanish dude. Which one doesn’t belong?

  “Emmie.”

  Emilie’s hand tightens around mine, but she responds to her ex-boyfriend, “Oui.”

  “You’re coming to the party tonight in Malibu, right?”

  She sighs. “The Agency arranged for me to go.”

  “Great. How about I pick you up and we can go together? Imagine the possible feeding frenzy.”

  Her fingers clutch mine in a death grip, yet you’d never know her inner turmoil from looking at the serene expression on her face, or her measured gait. Maybe she really should look into acting.

  “We can meet you there.”

  “Ah, c’mon, Emmie. I’d be doing you a favor when you think about it. I’m sure your agency would agree.”

  I clear my throat. “She said we’d meet you there.” Douche.

  He chuckles again. The sound grates on my last nerve. “Hey, hey. Not a problem. Just thought with you playing second fiddle to Geonna lately, you’d like to reclaim some ground in the media. I’m only thinking of you and how I can help.”

  I hate to admit it, but the douchebag is right—that is, if Ems really wants to continue fighting to be on the top of the modeling world. I’m not certain she does.

  Next to me, Ems deflates. She whispers to me that he makes a good point. Despite hating every part of this, I nod. It is, after all, her career. Addressing Rinaldo, she says, “I will pick a parking lot near the party for us to rendezvous and I will get in your car from there.”

  Squeezing her to my side, I reply, “Good idea. I’ll drive us to the meeting point and then follow you to the party. That way, we can each leave when we want.” My eyes pin him with a hard stare. Get the picture, jock?

  “Sure. Whatever. Text me where you want to meet, Emmie. That is, if you still have my number.”

  Her cheeks turn pink. “Oui. I still have it.”

  Finally, we arrive at the exit. “Let me check if our driver’s ready for us, Emilie.” I deliberately use her full name. I check my cell. “Yup, he’s here.” Our hands connected, she leads us out the door.

  When we’re in the limo, en route to her house, I put my arm around the back of the seat. The need to reassert my place in her life rises up from deep within me. Taking in the divider between us and the driver, an overwhelming desire to erase the soccer player’s lips on hers spurs me on.

  “Did you enjoy your first acting job?”

  “It was interesting.” She smiles at me, clearly distracted.

  “Hey,” I place my fingers under her chin. My whole body lurches forward, wanting to remind her who she’s with. My lips cover hers, generating a soft moan from her.

  “Wills,” she says in between kisses.

  My tongue reaches out, seeking entrance into her mouth. She opens for me like she always does, her fingers threading through my hair. This is what we need. No more talking.

  I rip my lips from hers and place hot kisses across her cheek, ending with her earlobe between my teeth. “I want you.”

  “Oui,” comes out of her mouth on a pant.

  Without my even telling her to do so, her hands fly to her pants. The sounds of the zipper precedes her shimmying them over her hips. I unzip my jeans, lifting my hips to push them and my underwear to my ankles.

  Her soft thigh comes into contact with my hard, hairy one. My breathing picks up as my cock juts upward, only to be enveloped in her hands. She drops to the limo’s floor, in between my splayed legs.

  Mout
h open, she looks at me in question. “Yes,” I respond.

  She drops her head, sucking and licking and making figure eights with her tongue. My head falls backward, contacting the headrest. My eyes close for a brief moment before I open them. I want to memorize her every movement.

  My cock still in her mouth, her eyes seek mine. Filled with me, she offers the most erotic smile I’ve ever seen. Dipping her head, she takes me in deeper. When she hums, my balls contract. “I want to come inside you, not down your throat.”

  Not letting me out of her mouth, she hollows her cheeks. Oh, no. I’m the one in control here. I reach down and put my hands in her hair, slightly tugging it backward. My cock falls out of her mouth with a resounding “pop.”

  “On my lap, Angel.”

  Her eyes stray to my pulsing erection one last time before she clambers up, straddling me. My hands caress each knee, slowly making their way up her thighs. I stop my right hand on her upper thigh while my left curls around her ass, squeezing her bottom cheek. Her neck elongates, exposing the thin column to me.

  I squeeze her bottom once more, while my lips graze on her neck. Sliding my head downward, I lick her left collarbone. As my lips head toward her tits, my right hand continues its journey to where my cock is screaming to go. I close around her pink nipple as my finger crosses her entrance.

  “Wills.” Her hips shift on top of me, her head falling backward.

  I am in total control of her. She is mine. With my index finger, I circle her clit, wringing another moan from her. Releasing her nipple, I mutter, “I love that you’re soaking for me.” Then I latch onto her other nipple.

  Her pussy pulses while my finger explores her heat. I insert two fingers into her and let my thumb trail over her clit.

  Her French accent becomes more prominent as she loses herself in what I’m doing to her body. “I need you.”

  Agreed. “Pick up my jeans, Angel. Condom.”