Hard to Hold (The Hold series Book 2)

by Arell Rivers

His tongue whips me into a frenzy again. Panting, I wipe the sweat off my forehead and reach down for him. “Please.”

  Cole gives my clit one last lick and sits back on his heels, his cock jutting upward. Extending his hands, he commands, “Come here.”

  I grasp his hands and rise to my knees. I can’t wait to see what position he has thought up for tonight. Cole gets off the bed, walks over to one of the chairs in the room, and sits down. “Ride me.”

  My knees almost buckle, both from the command itself and his husky voice. On legs like a newborn gazelle’s, I make my way to him. His shaft stands straight up, swollen, its vein in vivid relief.

  Straddling the chair, I guide him inside me, sinking down on him slowly. I savor every inch of him until I’ve taken his entire length. Despite all our previous sexcapades, my body still needs to stretch to accommodate his size. What a delicious sensation.

  He hisses, and his head falls back against the top of the chair. His hands inch up between my shoulder blades and he pulls me to him. I begin riding him. “Fuck, Ro. You’re amazing.”

  His hands lower to my butt and he guides me in his preferred cadence. I lean down and kiss him. When we part, he latches onto my left nipple. So many synapses are firing at once that I can barely breathe. Panting, I rest my head against his shoulder while I pound out the rhythm of our lovemaking.

  My body starts to buzz with the beginnings of another orgasm. What this man does to me . . . “Yes, Cole!”

  Pushing my sweat-slicked hair off my face, Cole kisses me deeply.

  Smack.

  Did he just spank me? The slight sting intensifies the pleasure coursing through me.

  Three spanks follow in quick succession, pushing me over the edge. I scream, “Cole!” Pleasure emanates from my core to the soles of my feet, then upward through my fingertips. Under me, he stiffens and throws his head back, roaring as he joins me in blissful oblivion.

  We remain locked together for many minutes. My head rests on his chest, allowing me to listen to the punishing beat of his heart. His arms encircle my waist, restricting my movements. Not that I have the ability to move anyway.

  “Woman, you’re going to kill me.”

  I giggle. “My thoughts exactly. You give quite the Colegasm.”

  He grins, eyes twinkling. “Colegasm, huh? Better than an orgasm.”

  Rolling my eyes, I say, “Oh, no. I’ve created a monster.”

  He tightens his arms, pulling me even closer to him. “Only for you, babe.” He kisses my neck, then makes his way up to my lips for a tender kiss.

  I open my eyes mere inches from his. Our naked bodies remain intertwined. His breath and scent comfort me in ways I’ve never known. My walls are so low at this moment, a toddler could walk over them.

  “I’m so in love with you, Cole.”

  “Ro,” he says in a rough voice, “you don’t have my heart. You are my heart.” I have no words, so I communicate with my lips.

  Once our kiss ends, Cole says, “I was frantic when I heard about lunch. I know Roberto put his life on the line stopping the Psycho Bitch, but I still went a little crazy.”

  “And ended up at my office.”

  “I willingly went to see Gruesome. That has to prove how much I love you.”

  I smile. “She checked out your ass, you know.”

  “Disgusting.” He tightens his arms around me and pinches my butt. “You have to stay safe, Ro. If I had my way, you wouldn’t leave the house until she’s caught.”

  “You know I have to work.” I kiss his cheek.

  He smooths the hair from my face. “Please, no more lunch outings.”

  Cole’s going over the top, but I understand his need to try to control every last detail. For years after Chris was killed, I lived like that. Well, not lived—more like existed. I can do this for him.

  “You have my word.”

  A look of relief dances across his handsome face. “Thank you.”

  He kisses me, a sweet peck that quickly deepens. One of his arms wraps around my shoulder blades while the other drops down to my bottom. I feel him stir to attention.

  I squeak, “Again?”

  “I’m still not sure that you weren’t hurt today, Ro.” His eyebrows waggle. “I think I have some deeper explorations to make.”

  Wednesday morning

  “ARE YOU HUNGRY, Cole? Would you like to take break for lunch?” Kim chirps.

  I check my watch. We’ve been prepping for hours now, so we have most of the basics well in hand. My nerves are stretched from working with him in front of an audience. A nosey audience. Namely, Kim. Gruesome ushered Cole into the conference room, but she hasn’t so much as peeked inside since. I shake my head, catching myself using Cole’s name for my boss.

  “I could go for a burger,” Cole replies to Kim. “You’re tougher on me than my trainer.” He winks.

  Kim titters at him. I restrain an eye-roll. Barely. He’s been so good at keeping things professional during the prep session. My warnings this morning as I left our bed seem to have done the trick. Well, more like pleading and bribing. But, hey, whatever works.

  “I know a great little place nearby that we can go.” Kim beams at him, ignoring me. Clearly, I’m not invited to her luncheon.

  Cole turns and addresses me. “Rose, do we have time to leave for lunch, or should we order something in?”

  I pick up on the way he ever so slightly stressed the word “leave.” He doesn’t want me to risk another confrontation with Lisa. While that possibility doesn’t seem realistic since I would be with him, Wills and Jared, I did promise him. Anyway, we really don’t have the time.

  Ignoring Kim the way she ignored me, I say, “I think it would be best to get lunch delivered. We still have a lot of ground to cover. Plus, you have a telephone interview with Jeremy Davis of the Record News at four o’clock.”

  Kim scowls at me, but her expression is all angelic when she turns to look at Cole. Oh, brother. “In that case, why don’t you go get the menu for Avenue Bistro. I’ll work with Cole in the meantime.”

  She’s given me an excuse to take the time out I need, so I’m happy to agree. I stay in the kitchenette a little longer than necessary, gathering some bottles of water in addition to the menu. At the conference room door, I take a deep breath, rebuild my protective armor and reach for the doorknob. I’m happy I no longer need protection from Cole, but now I need the armor to keep our relationship secret. I’m not exactly worried that Kim would pick up on anything—she’s way too self-absorbed for that—but it’s nerve-wracking to pretend that Cole and I are virtual strangers when he was deep inside me just hours ago, and I have a glorious ache to prove it. It’s also trying—but necessary—to pretend that Kim isn’t a total bitch to me. If she gets too out of line, I worry how Cole might react.

  Entering the room, I say, “I got the menu and some waters. Let me know what you want.”

  Leaving Kim’s water on the table next to her, I walk over and give Cole his bottle of water and the menu. He raises his hand to take it and our fingertips touch, sending a tingling sensation up my arm. I let out an involuntary gasp.

  He offers a knowing smile. “Thanks, Rose. I’m sure what I want isn’t on this menu, so just put me down for a cheeseburger and fries. I’m easy.”

  Damn him. He’s doing this on purpose. I narrow my gaze and reply, “Want a shake with that?”

  A wicked chuckle escapes from his mouth. “Sure. Why not? Extra whipped cream.” His eyes run up and down my body and he licks his lips.

  “Rose, can I see the menu?” Kim pipes up.

  Cole cracks open the water and his Adam’s Apple bobs when he swallows. As he hydrates, my mouth goes dry. Vexed, I have to stop myself from flinging the menu at her.

  Kim glances at Cole, who’s looking over some materials about his television interviews tomorrow that I gave him earlier, and says, “I’ll have a mixed green salad with grilled chicken and a diet soda.” She leans closer and whispers, “Why don’t you run a
long and place the order from your office? I can take care of your boyfriend.”

  I won’t be cowed by Kim’s games. I pick up the phone in the conference room and place the call. While we wait for lunch to arrive, we resume the prep.

  Greta finally joins us and, after some chit chat with Cole, perches on the credenza in the back. Sitting with her arms and legs crossed, her jaw tight, she observes the prep session.

  Trying my best to ignore her, I pick up where we left off. It’s unnerving to be watched, but this is Greta’s company and she can do what she wants.

  Breaking from her past performance, Kim interrupts me every other minute. She’s obviously trying to show off for Greta, but judging from the way Cole’s knee is bouncing like a metronome on speed, he’s annoyed at her games.

  “Looks like you’re doing well, Cole,” Greta finally says. “It’s too bad our investigator didn’t find this Starr so we could have paid her off and avoided all this,” she waves her perfectly manicured hand around the room.

  “She’ll be found.” Cole’s absolute conviction makes me believe it, too.

  “Well, this will do as Plan B. It will be clear that she faked the marriage and all the sympathy will swing over to you. You and Emilie will be media darlings once again.”

  “Your Q Score will be higher than ever,” chimes in Kim.

  Thankfully, our food arrives and Greta leaves the room. I take a full, cleansing breath, grateful some of the pressure is off.

  In between bites of my kale salad, I ask, “How do you feel about your prep so far, Cole?”

  “I think I’m about ready.”

  Kim agrees, “Yeah, you’ve got this down.”

  Reaching for my water bottle, I pause. “Not quite yet. We’ve been pretty easy on you.” He has to be prepared for the hardballs as well as the softballs.

  Spearing me with his eyes, he slowly licks the ketchup off his finger. With a wicked grin, he replies, “Bring it.”

  Kim giggles at his cocky attitude.

  I need to shake him up before the reporters do. Rile him up to see how he performs under pressure. Make him angry. The paparazzi, especially, don’t play nice. I’m sorry, Tarzan.

  Appetite gone, I push my fork around my salad and, without looking up, ask, “So, do you think your mother is turning in her grave now that you have both a wife and a mistress?”

  “What the fuck?” Cole snarls. He flings his napkin on the table, rises from his chair so quickly that it falls backward and stalks over to me.

  Kim’s fork clatters to the floor.

  My heart hurts for him, but the paparazzi will go there. He has to be able to handle questions like these that come out of the blue. I hold my ground. I’d rather be the recipient of his rage than some reporter.

  Raising my chin, I press, “How do you think your mother would feel about you living with Emilie DuBois when you’re married to Starr?”

  Turbulent eyes bore into me. Fighting the urge to reach out and cradle him, I remain locked in position. He can’t sense any weakness from me; the paparazzi certainly won’t have any tenderness toward him. After a ten-second stand-off, Cole turns and stalks out of the room.

  I exhale and slump into my chair. Kim looks at me wide-eyed, mouth open. And that’s why you couldn’t do the prep yourself, Kim. It’s not all fun and games.

  But I just say, “Excuse me,” and leave the conference room in search of my boyfriend.

  I finally locate Cole in an empty stairwell, standing with his rigid back to the doorway. Closing the door quietly, I say, “I have to make sure you’re prepared for the worst.”

  His posture doesn’t change. I place a hand on his shoulder and tug slightly, prompting him to turn toward me. The hurt in his eyes rips me to shreds. I did this to him. Pursing my lips, I whisper, “I’m so sorry.”

  He pulls me into his embrace, squeezing me tight. We stay like this for a while. “It was awful hearing Mom being invoked like that. But you’re right. The paps will go there.”

  Nodding my head into his chest, I rub his back. He exhales and rests his chin on top of my head.

  WE RETURN TO the conference room, and a calmer Cole continues his prep. He absorbs my strategies about the best ways to respond to all sorts of ugly questions, including those that use his mother.

  At four o’clock, Greta pops her head in to say that Jeremy Davis is on the line. I had arranged for him to have the first interview with Cole as a thank you for tipping us off about Starr last week. His piece will run on Friday as soon as the Las Vegas courts close and marriage paperwork isn’t filed. Cole fields all of Jeremy’s questions perfectly. Even Greta is smiling.

  Once the interview concludes, Kim says, “Cole, you did a wonderful job. I think you deserve a break.”

  Greta smiles and runs her fingernails down his forearm. “I agree. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day for you, so go home and rest up. Don’t go out. We need you fresh for the cameras.”

  Checking my calendar, I say, “You’re taping Let’s Dish at noon tomorrow. Followed by In the Know at three. I’ll send you an email with all the details.” I was able to book Cole on the country’s two top entertainment shows, which will be doing pre-taped interviews to be released on Friday. Later Friday night, he’ll appear live on the talk show Evening with Eddie. That’s when he’ll play his newest single. The non-stop coverage will finally vindicate Cole.

  “Sounds good, Rose. Ladies.” He exits, leaving me with Greta and Kim.

  I’m exhausted. Between my extracurricular activities with Cole and the stress of today, all I want to do is collapse into a bubble bath.

  While I’m gathering my files and notes, Melanie rushes into the conference room, magazine in hand. What now?

  She blurts, “The Gossip just released their full story about Cole.”

  Crap. My hands form fists, which I hide under the conference table.

  Greta instructs Melanie to read the article to the three of us. Of course, Lisa insists that she and Cole were married in Las Vegas, then gives all sorts of sordid details about their supposed wedding night. My stomach clenches from hearing her lies.

  At least the article includes a passing mention of our PR statement denying the marriage. I breathe a little lighter hearing that.

  Just when I thought the article was finished, Melanie slants me a sideways look and then says, “There’s one more quote from Starr Manchester.”

  Impatient, Greta instructs her to read it, but Melanie splutters and shakes her head. Did she spill the beans about Cole and me? Is this strike three? I steel myself for what’s to come.

  Kim grabs the tabloid from Melanie’s hands and picks up where Melanie stopped: “Starr says, ‘Of course Cole is denying our marriage. Have you noticed how close he is to his publicist? I’m not talking about the old model, either.’”

  Wednesday evening

  WILLS ESCORTS ME into Cole’s house via the garage. I do my best to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach as we make our way toward the sound of voices inside the house. After I set a package and some other mail I picked up at my rental down on a nearby table, we join Cole and Emilie in the kitchen.

  Emilie reads from her iPad: “‘to his publicist? I’m not talking about the old model, either.’”

  “Fuck!” Cole roars.

  Clearly startled, Emilie jumps backward. Wills rushes over to her, and puts his hands on her shoulders. He leans in to say something in her ear.

  I take my hundredth deep breath of this spectacularly stressful day. My voice gentle, I say, “Cole.”

  He turns on his heel, his hand clenched around a wine glass. “That bitch.” His knuckles turn white.

  I close my eyes, but they spring wide open again at the sound of shattering glass. Wills ushers Emilie out of the room.

  “Cole,” I repeat.

  He doesn’t move. Anger and frustration and stress emanate from his body like shock waves after an earthquake.

  Unnerved by Cole’s anger, I retrieve the dustpan and hand brus
h from under the sink. Walking across the kitchen, I clean up the glass—the tinkling of the shards breaking the tense quiet.

  After emptying the dustpan into the garbage, I return to Cole’s side and take his fist into my hand, smoothing it open.

  I kiss his palm and say, “She’s not worth it.”

  “You’re mine. I want the whole world to know. But not like this.”

  I nod. “Not now.”

  “Today sucked.”

  A half-smile forms on my lips. “Yeah. It did.”

  He leans close. Our lips touch. It’s a gentle kiss of love and forgiveness that melts away my feelings of helplessness.

  He asks, “Does Gruesome know about the article?” I nod. “Fuck.”

  My sentiments exactly. I steal another kiss before stepping back. “I’m glad you didn’t hurt your hand when you threw that glass.”

  “Damn. Now I’m going to miss out on your Naughty Nurse outfit.”

  I snort as Cole chuckles. We’re back to being us. Trust.

  Soon, we’re sitting on the couch in the living room, each of us with a much-needed glass of wine. New Age instrumental music floats over his state-of-the-art sound system.

  Clearing my throat, I start, “Greta was livid.”

  “I bet.”

  “Kim provided me with the perfect cover.” He raises his eyebrow. “She denied to Greta that she was the ‘publicist’ referenced in Lisa’s story, playing up how much she respects her and would never go against her non-fraternization policy.” He makes a sound like a cross between a grunt and a cough.

  “Anyway, when Greta’s eyes turned to me, Kim and Melanie—you know, Jessie’s new rep— started laughing uncontrollably at the possibility you and I could be an item.” I neglect to tell him that Kim later accused me of planting the quote.

  Continuing, I say, “I played up the truth: that Lisa is crazy. Greta seemed to buy it, especially when Kim compared Greta’s looks favorably to a thirty-something actress.”

  Cole tips his new wineglass and swallows. “I guess that chick is good for something.”