Hard to Hold (The Hold series Book 2)

by Arell Rivers

  The next instant, he plunges into me. He overwhelms me while at the same time making me feel cherished. Communicating his love without words.

  Circling his hips, he whispers, “Not so hard, was it, My Rose.”

  “It feels very hard to me.”

  The thrill of being called his, combined with his relentless thrusting, topples me straight over the edge. “Cole! Yes!” My hand slips down the tiles as yet another climax rips through my body. Holding me close, he thrusts a few more times and then groans as he comes.

  Recovering our equilibrium, we stay locked together for a few moments before he slowly slides out of my body.

  Standing, I turn and face him. I reach up and smooth wet hair off his face, noting, “Your cheeks are flushed.” I did that.

  His hand caresses my cheek. “I think we’ve successfully rechristened this shower.” Nodding, I hand him the body wash, and we go about getting squeaky clean.

  Out of the shower, I open up one of my suitcases and put on the first thing I see, a slightly wrinkled pink maxi dress. “Is it okay if I take over a small part of your closet?”

  “Uhm, let me think about that.” He snaps his fingers. “That would be a fuck yes. Take as much room as you want.”

  I slip into his huge closet, which is big enough for a family of four. Selecting an unused area, I put my suitcase down. Cole brings in my other one.

  From the bedroom, “Stronger” by Kelly Clarkson starts playing. Crap. I didn’t realize it was eleven a.m. already. I race out of the closet and fumble for my phone, swiping to accept the call.

  “Hi, Greta.”

  “Hope I’m not bothering you, Rose. Took you long enough to answer.”

  “I was in the other room.” Cole enters the main bedroom with a puzzled look on his face. I mime the word “Greta” to him, and he nods in understanding. He leaves the bedroom. I appreciate how he always gives me space to work.

  “So it seems that Cole took Kim’s instructions to heart. He still hasn’t been spotted by the media this weekend. Yet.”

  “That’s good.” As in really good because if we had been seen together, I can’t imagine the shitstorm that would be raining down on me.

  “At least he listens to someone.”

  Yeah, I know, like he didn’t listen to me in Vegas. I hear you loud and clear. Leaving the bedroom, I walk down the hallway.

  Greta continues, “Is everything all set for Emilie to move in with him tomorrow?”

  Shit. How could I have forgotten about that? “I notified all of the press last week. And I understand that Kim spoke with Emilie’s people.”

  “We don’t want a repeat of the Vegas fiasco, do we? You better double-check to make sure everything is all set. Kim’s had her hands full getting to know Cole and preparing for his next video. This is all on you.”

  When is it not all on me? I rummage through my laptop case and find a scrap piece of paper and a pen, then jot down ideas about Emilie and Cole, using my leg as a desk. I need to get my Command Center back up and running, pronto.

  “I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow morning. Everything will be in place. Good-bye, Greta.”

  Disconnecting the phone, I look at my list. I’ve seen worse, but that was when I was juggling three clients. Kim probably never gets a weekend phone call.

  I return to the master bedroom, but the rumpled sheets make my languid body pulse in remembrance. No, I can’t work in here. Not effectively, anyway. I grab my things and go downstairs to Cole’s office.

  Setting my laptop down on his massive desk, I sink into his comfortable leather chair. The blue paint on the walls and big club chairs fit the aura of the office. This room is so masculine, so like Cole, although it doesn’t have his musky scent. Something’s not quite Cole in here. But, I can’t dwell on that. I have work to do.

  “There you are. I was wondering if Gruesome sucked you away through the phone.”

  Smiling, I shake my head. “Just needed a place to work. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not, Ro.” He kisses the top of my head. “Want to eat something? We have lots of leftover Chinese.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather have an omelet.”

  He reacts as if I’ve just told him he was nominated for another Grammy. “Your wish is my command. The usual fixings?”

  I nod. “I’ll be down in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll have your omelet waiting.” I watch his fine ass as he leaves his office. He’s mouthwatering to look at, but the sweet, creative, generous man I’ve come to love is so much more than that. Blushing even though I’m only one in the room, I get to work. Don’t want to leave my short-order cook waiting.

  Thirty minutes later, I shut the lid on my laptop with a sigh. Everything’s set for the “Big Move.” Given Cole’s marital status, all the reporters are salivating. This is going to be fun. Not.

  When I walk into the kitchen, Cole’s wearing his apron—the one his brother gave him with the ridiculous slogan—and has two plates on the counter. Laughing, I stand behind him and wrap my arms around his very lean waist.

  “You’re something else, Cole.”

  “All for you, sweetheart.”

  I love it when he calls me that. I don’t know why, and Mom probably would berate me for it, but it makes my heart flip.

  I reply, “Let’s eat. I need to go over some things with you.”

  We bring our plates to the table, and I take a bite of my fluffy omelet. It’s all I can do not to moan. “If your singing gig doesn’t work out, you seriously could open a restaurant.”

  He smiles, and his eyes take on a deeper hue. His tongue darts out to retrieve a stray bit of egg from his lip. The things that tongue can do . . .

  Focus, Rose.

  “Cole, we need to discuss Emilie.”

  Sighing dramatically, he says, “Uh-oh. I see Professional Rose is in the house now.”

  I smile at his theatrics. “We need to go over this.”

  “Then we can take a dip in the pool.”

  It’s not a question. “Sure.”

  I hope I packed my tankini. No, bikini. He likes it when I wear a bikini, but only—

  He snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Let’s get this over with so we can get back to our reunion.”

  I laugh. “Okay.” Taking a deep breath, I begin, “As you know, Emilie’s moving in here with you tomorrow.”

  “Fuck.”

  My sentiments exactly. “I’m sure Kim explained that we need to move up the speed of your ‘relationship’ with her, given the Starr situation.” I use air quotes around relationship.

  “She might have mentioned something about it, but I didn’t really pay attention. I was too busy fending off her ‘fuck me’ looks.” Now he uses the air quotes.

  “Yeah, well, I’m glad you didn’t take her up on her offer.”

  He quirks his eyebrow. “You really didn’t think I would do anything with her, right?”

  “No.” Exhaling, I shake my head. No way. “Anyway, back to Emilie. I guess it’s a good thing my Command Center is empty because Kim arranged for a new bed to be delivered here this afternoon.”

  His fork clatters the plate. “What?”

  Guess he missed this part. Wonderful. “Yes. The bed is going to be here soon. Media have been alerted.” Crap, we’re going to have to delay our dip. “We’ll have to wait on the pool until after the helicopters leave.”

  “Helicopters?”

  The grimace on his face actually hurts me. He lives in a fishbowl. Reaching out, I caress his hand. “I’m just guessing there’ll be ‘copters, because I think it’ll be big news. Hopefully, the paparazzi will go away quickly when they realize Emilie isn’t here.”

  “When I get my hands on Starr or Lisa or whatever her name is, she’s going to be sorry.”

  His voice has an edge that I’ve never heard from him before. “Greta is doing everything possible to keep her from selling her story. When the police catch her, you can have her pro
secuted for stalking and faking the marriage certificate.”

  “What story? There’s no story. She made the marriage up in her head. She’s a fucking lunatic.”

  “Nolan will get her. Or the police. Maybe even Greta’s PI. They’re closing in. Besides, when the wedding chapel doesn’t file the paperwork, you’ll have all the proof you need that the marriage never happened.”

  “Friday doesn’t feel soon enough.”

  “I know. I thought about exposing Starr as your stalker, not to mention that she hired a hacker to fake the marriage license, but it’s cleaner just to wait it out.”

  “Why didn’t the Vegas chapel just come out and say we were never there?”

  “Think about it, Cole. Their stock just went up. Publicity for them is through the roof. If I were advising them, I’d tell them not to admit or deny anything until the statutory deadline.”

  “At my expense.”

  I sigh. “Not to mention I need to keep my name out of this, if I’m going to keep my job.” I leave my seat and curl up on Cole’s very tense lap. Stroking his cheek, I say, “It’ll be over soon. You got me in your corner.”

  His brilliant smile takes me by surprise. He was so angry a moment before, but my words have soothed him. His arms flatten me against his chest. “I’ve got you back and I’m never letting go.”

  “Fine by me.”

  I stay on his lap, and we’re finishing our omelets when the gate bell rings.

  “I guess the bed is here,” Cole grumbles.

  “Remember to make sure to let the paparazzi get their photos. And let them know this is for your girlfriend, Emilie.”

  He gives me a dirty look, lobs his apron onto the counter and then heads to the door to buzz the deliverymen in through the gate. After cleaning up our breakfast plates, I scramble to hide in the office. The last thing I want is Greta—and the media—to know is that yet another woman is in Cole’s house, neither his “wife” nor his “girlfriend.”

  To distract myself from the workers bringing in the new bedroom set, and because I want to hear her voice, I call McKenna. “Rose! How’s my favorite publicist?”

  Her bubbly personality carries through the phone, making me smile. “I’m really good, McKenna. How are you? All settled back at home?”

  “Yup. I meet with the Foundation tomorrow. How’s Cole?”

  “He’s amazing.” I open up my laptop to do the unsavory task of checking up on the media’s coverage of Cole’s furniture delivery.

  “Amazing as in so hot he sucks up all the air in the room, or amazing as in you can’t walk straight?”

  I laugh. “Let’s just say I’m sitting.” I go to the first media gossip website, where, sure enough, a “Breaking News” banner is flashing.

  “Good. I’m glad for you.”

  “Have you spoken with Ozzy?”

  In a clipped tone, she says, “Let’s not go there.” Her voice softens. “I’d much rather talk about what’s going on with you and Cole.”

  “Well, right now helicopters are circling overhead.” I can discern at least two. I click on some more sites, and #FurnitureGate is trending. Good. Well, Greta will be pleased.

  “Why?” I explain the Emilie situation.

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah. Emilie is just so . . . beautiful, you know? And she seems like a genuinely nice woman.” Staring at photos of the beautiful couple on their various “dates” here and in New York, I mutter, “She looks perfect with Cole.”

  “Stop that right now, Rookie. Cole loves you.”

  “You know me. It’s so hard for me to believe it’ll last. It never has in the past.”

  A tenor voice rumbles from behind me, “Trust me.”

  I swivel around. Cole is standing at the threshold, hands on his hips. My mouth opens, but I can’t form any response. From my cell, I hear, “Rose?”

  Looking away from the inscrutable man staring me down, I respond, “I have to go. I’ll call you back soon.” I disconnect the call but remain seated, staring blankly at the computer screen.

  Cole strides toward me. His finger touches my chin with a gentleness belying his powerful stance, urging me to my feet. I stand and look up, directly into his eyes.

  Dropping his hand, he says in a timbre that lies somewhere between frustration and tenderness, “Ro, I’m not your deadbeat father or your cheating ex-boyfriend. I love you.” His eyes roam over my face. “Are you hearing me? I finally found you, and I mean it when I say I’m not letting go.” He enfolds me in his embrace, squeezing hard.

  Closing my eyes, I hug him back. I have to let go of my past if I want to move forward. “I love you, too. You know it’s hard for me to trust in the future, but I’m trying.”

  “Keep trying every day. We’re going to figure this out.”

  “Even with Emilie moving in here tomorrow?” Shoot, why did I say that?

  He pulls back so that he can look into my eyes again. “She’s like a kid sister to me. Nothing more. I’m going to introduce you two.”

  Even though this was a statement, not a question, I reply, “Maybe I should meet her.”

  I haven’t wanted to meet her before because of Greta. No, that’s not true. I didn’t want to meet her because a part of me fears she’s even more beautiful in real life, and sweeter than I’ve imagined. Trust.

  His eyebrows go up, but he looks at me approvingly. “She’ll become part of our inner circle.”

  “She’ll be number seven.”

  “Seven?”

  “The seventh person to learn about us. Dan and Suzanne, Jessie and Amanda, Ozzy and McKenna. Not including Kates, Roberto, Wills and our families. Detective Mahoney,” I trail off. “I guess quite a few people already know about us.” Fear creeps along my spine. We have to stay under the radar.

  “It’ll be fine. I’m relieved that we’re going to tell her. She’s going to love you.”

  “As long as I don’t have to stand next to her.” She’s a swimsuit model, for goodness sake. Not to mention she has a sexy French accent.

  “Stop that, right now. Believe me. No supermodel on earth can compete with the whole package that is Rose Bloomer.”

  He takes my breath away. “Well, when you put it that way.”

  “Trust me?”

  I can do this. “Yes.”

  Sunday evening

  THE SUN SETS over Cole’s pool. The last helicopter left a couple of hours ago, and we’re lounging on the outdoor sofa in our bathing suits, my head in his lap. His calloused fingers stroke my arm in slow, circular movements. The weather tonight is slightly chilly, but wrapped in Cole, I’m warm.

  “How was your Mom?”

  “I told her we’re working things out.”

  “Did she give you a hard time?”

  “She wasn’t over the moon happy, but she respects my decision. Mom knows how much you mean to me.”

  No need to tell him about yet another one of her crazy tirades against all good looking, rich men. Except for Marco, of course. I think I got through to her. Maybe.

  “She promised me she would give you another chance.”

  “Well, that’s something.” I smile at his dry tone, and he continues stroking my arm. “I’m just happy you’re giving me a third chance.”

  I smile. “You’re hard to resist.”

  “I must be. You keep coming back for more.” I lower my head enough to bite his finger. “Was I this irresistible in college, Ro?”

  “That was a lifetime ago.”

  “True, but why me? I’m pretty sure you didn’t go around hooking up with a bunch of guys in college.” He looks down at me. “Did you?”

  As if. “No. Of course not.”

  “Then why did you go to some backroom with me? I didn’t even know you.”

  “But I knew you, Cole. Everyone on campus knew you. Or at least knew of you.”

  “So you were a Cole groupie?”

  He gives me one of those smiles that makes me melt. Should I come clean? Maybe it’s not
such a good idea to let him know the extent of my college crush on him.

  “I liked your songs. Your talent caught my attention.”

  He raises his eyebrows, highlighting his twinkling eyes. Oh, boy. I have to resist; he’ll tease me forever if he finds out the truth. Reaching up, I start to twirl my earring.

  He prompts, “And . . .”

  “And I enjoyed your concerts.”

  Great. Now his dimple is getting in on the act. “Just my concerts?”

  He pulls my hand from my earring and licks between my fingers, which zings straight to my core. Whoa. All of my inhibitions scatter like rose petals in the wind.

  “Fine. I dragged my girlfriends to all of your concerts in the hopes of catching your eye.”

  I cover my head in my hands. So much for keeping my mouth shut.

  His laugh ricochets off the trees beyond the pool. I tap my foot against the armrest. “Really?”

  “You’ve got it bad for me, Ro.”

  I squint at him through my glasses. “Look where that got me.”

  “Right where you wanted to be.”

  “And it only took me ten years. Yeah, I’m a real speed demon.”

  “Hey. I’m sorry it took me this long to realize what a wonderful woman you are, Ro. I hate to think about all the shit I put you though.”

  “I was just doing my job.”

  My mind shifts to some of the PR crisis calls I’ve received from him over the years. Phoenix, after he and his friends trashed that hotel room. Birmingham, when he almost caused a riot going into a drug store to pick up cough medicine for his drummer. And all those times he called me to take care of some random groupie who didn’t take it well when she discovered the true meaning of a one-night stand. Some of them crying, others outraged. Then I start thinking about those women at the nail salon last week . . .

  Stop.

  I have to forget about them. We’re together now.

  “But you can have your pick of women, as my co-workers love to remind me,” I whisper.

  “I only want you.” He gives me a long, soft, sweet kiss.

  “Why me?” The words have been at the tip of my tongue for weeks.

  I hate being insecure, but I know I can’t compete with the models and actresses and other really hot women who have shared his bed. Lord knows, Mom, Kim and Melanie drive that point home every chance they get.