One to Hold (One to Hold 1)

He lifted my hand into the crook of his muscled arm. “You need to eat. Would you let me buy you dinner?”

We were slowly approaching the place where we first met, and I still wasn’t sure I had much of an appetite. “Let’s see what they’re serving at the bar.”

Only a few steps and we were there, but the music reached us outside, loud and pulsing. It sounded like a party, and not at all what I was in the mood for.

Der

ek stopped, placing his large hand over mine holding his arm. “Maybe we can see what they’ll bring us outside? Beside the fire pit?”

He turned and led us out the side door to lounge chairs and an arrangement that mirrored ours on the spa side of the resort.

“Will this do?” he said, holding out my hand and stepping around the wooden loveseat, over which an Indian-designed blanket was thrown.

“It’s lovely,” I said, stepping forward and sitting.

“You’re lovely,” he said softly. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you when you walked in tonight. I think red is your color.”

A feeling I would not acknowledge warmed my stomach. It was something I couldn’t allow to develop for him, not now.

“Thank you,” I said, and my mind filled with images of what prompted our last exchange of thanks. The sensations flooding my insides grew stronger.

“If no one comes out, I’ll walk in and order whatever looks good,” he said.

I nodded, and for several moments we only sat watching the orange flames dance over the coals. It was hypnotic and very relaxing. Derek was beside me on the love seat, and our sides were pressed together. After what felt like many long moments, but what was probably only five, he tugged on my waist. I glanced at him and a smile touched his lips. At that, I leaned against him, resting my head on his firm chest. His muscular arm went around my shoulder and down my side.

We were so familiar with each other’s bodies. We knew exactly how to touch one another to provoke the strongest response. But how did we relate in a casual setting like this? With our clothes on?

“Where did you grow up?” I asked, watching the fire.

“South Louisiana,” he said. I felt his fingers lifting clumps of my curls and holding them. “And you?”

“Atlanta,” I said. “But only until I was nine. Then we moved to the coast, just outside Wilmington, North Carolina. That’s where I met Elaine.”

“You’ve known each other that long?” He was still playing with my hair, and I found it unexpectedly soothing. Even though we barely knew each other, I felt incredibly safe with him.

“She’s the closest thing to a sister I have. She’s always been there for me.”

We were quiet again, and at last a waitress appeared. “Can I bring you a drink?” she asked.

“Yes,” Derek’s voice was full of authority. “A bottle of cava, two glasses, and two of your olive-salad sandwiches.”

The young woman nodded, and hastened away.

“In south Louisiana, those are called muffulettas,” I said, resting my head back against his chest.

“You’ve been to New Orleans?”

“No,” I smiled, “but I read a lot.”

His hand traced circles on my upper arm, and I could feel my eyelids drooping. Sitting here with him, under the desert sky with the temperature dropping, watching the fire in the pit and waiting on olive-salad sandwiches, I could almost pretend we were a couple. That I was a normal person on a holiday with my boyfriend, without a care in the world.

But I wasn’t.

I stirred and started to move away, but his arm tightened over me. “What’s wrong?”

“I really should head back to my room. It’s late.”

He released his hold on me, which was good because he was a thousand times stronger than I was. I couldn’t have fought him if I tried, and for a moment, I considered that might be the reason I’d always avoided such muscular men. Not because they weren’t attractive, because he was damn sexy.