One to Hold (One to Hold 1)

I quietly exhaled, small tears touching my eyes. “No problem at all!” I did my best not to dance around her bakery—she wouldn’t understand. “And thank you so much. I hope we can continue working together.”

“How could we do that?” Her face lined.

“It’s the digital age! You’d be amazed what all I can do from the comfort of my laptop.”

She shook her head, but immediately smiled at the female customer walking through the door. “These computers. They’ve changed everything.”

“Thanks so much, Aunt Bea.” I gathered the rest of my cupcake as I headed for the door.

One week. One more week, and I’d be gone. I could feel my lungs straining in anticipation. Soon I’d be able to breathe freely again.

After that, I was in full apartment-hunting mode. I focused my search on small condos near the beach. The chances were great I wouldn’t find anything I could afford, but I was optimistic. I even started collecting moving supplies.

I’d only seen Sloan once, naturally when I was about to carry two broken-down boxes up the large staircase to my room. I tensed, waiting for how he would respond. The muscle in his jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word. He simply continued to his study and closed the door. I quietly jogged up the steps and then hurried to my solitary quarters in the east wing.

We hadn’t dined together, we hadn’t had a single conversation since the one in my bedroom the night I’d returned home. I was not complaining. If I never spoke to him again, it would be too soon. But I was nervous. He hadn’t agreed to let me go, and he didn’t like being crossed.

My nerves were tied up and confused between my growing anticipation of freedom combined with the tension of watching for anything from Sloan. Before Scottsdale, I’d been used to the nonstop pressure, the invisible weights pushing down on my shoulders all the time. But that week-long reprieve had shown me how toxic Baltimore was, and it was all I could do to stay here and wrap up my business.

Alone in my room, I opened a spreadsheet to compile a list of names. I’d started this once before, back when I was first launching my freelance business. My potential client list. A few of the entries from those days might still be interested in working wit

h me, but the chances were better after all this time they’d established relationships with other providers. Still, I’d send them all my contact information once I’d set up my new identity in Wilmington.

Thinking of possibilities, my eyes drifted to the Internet browser window. It had become a guilty habit of mine, a nighttime indulgence. My eyes flickered to my door—no one was coming in here tonight—I clicked on the icon and hastily typed in the now-memorized address. Two clicks, and Derek’s face appeared on the screen, jolting my heart with a dose of happiness.

I was like a teenage girl gazing at pictures of my favorite boy band. My cheek rested on my hand, and I reached forward to trace the line of his face with my finger as joy pulsed through me with each heartbeat. I still remembered his scent. Closing my eyes, I could still feel the touch of his lips against mine. Only a little time had passed since he’d nuzzled his face into my shoulder, kissed my neck, lifted me against his firm torso. His kiss was my moment, the thing I held onto that helped me know this pain wasn’t forever. My lips warmed with longing for the day when I saw him again, when he’d cover my mouth with his and take me.

Rolling onto my back, eyes still closed, I allowed my memory to conjure the sensation of his mouth searching every part of my body. Instantly, I grew wet. My hand slid between my legs as my core filled with heat remembering his mouth being where my hand was now, tasting, exploring, pulling my smaller lips with his. My upper arms pressed my breasts together, and I took us back to our little box. The night he’d held me on his lap, entering me from behind, huge and full. His enormous cock pressed inside, thrusting deeply, rubbing every sensitive place between my legs so well. Driving me crazy.

His hand gripped my stomach, holding me firmly against his chest, easily lifting me up and down. Oh, god, he’d felt so good. A shiver moved through me as my fingers followed the path his larger ones had taken. His phantom whiskers tickled my back, warm lips moving from my neck to my shoulders. He pushed faster, harder, filling me completely, thrusting deeper… a little moan slipped from my lips and my thighs shook with the orgasm his memory provoked. Rolling onto my stomach, I moaned again into the pillow, but a hollow ache reminded me how much I missed the real thing. Memories were nice, but nothing matched his body against mine, his lips on my skin, his cock buried deep inside me.

Several moments passed as I waited, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Calm gradually returned, and with it came that flicker of hope I held so dearly. The hope I’d held when we said goodbye outside the resort.

Mist was in my eyes and my stomach tightened at the memory of his words. He’d take my call anytime. Did he think of me this way? Was he waiting for my call, dreaming of our reunion the way I was?

Moving back to my still-open spreadsheet, I quickly typed fourteen letters and ten digits. At the top of my list of names was his.

Chapter 13 – Never Again

The week was almost up, and I could barely breathe waiting for the day to arrive. I was like a convict waiting for my pardon. Every day, I snatched the mail the instant it was delivered, rapidly flipping through the envelopes, straining for my name.

The strip mall had paid their bill, which allowed me to put a large down-payment on a one-bedroom condo near the coast that would be my home. I’d lucked into an amazing deal and jumped on it. I was almost giddy with anticipation. I couldn’t wait to be there, but the remainder of my money was eaten up in deposits for turning on services and in rent for a mini storage facility for my things. I needed Aunt Bea’s outstanding check to carry me through the transition.

Every day I waited, hoping for that envelope bearing my name, but every day I was disappointed. It never appeared. It was too late to go back and set up direct deposit for her payment—not that my elderly client would’ve even understood the concept. But I’d learned my lesson going forward. All future accounts would have a direct pay mandate.

The added tension of waiting for Sloan’s backlash only increased my anxiety. At least no one back home knew about my pending return. I wasn’t sure I could handle nonstop questions of when I’d be in town. My former landlord knew I was returning, as he’d helped me compile the information needed to purchase my new condo. Elaine would’ve been tripping over herself to help, of course, but for most people, returning after a divorce wasn’t cause for celebration. I was happy to be free, but despite it all, I wanted to leave my past in the past. I would tell my friends as little as I could to satisfy their concerned curiosity.

Another day of waiting was another day of taking boxes to the delivery service. I had all my things sent to a mini storage facility in Wilmington that agreed to hold them until I arrived. I did it partly to keep Sloan from knowing my business—if he were investigating—and partly because it was easier than trying to hire a truck. I’d handle an in-town move once I was back home, but I was doing my best to keep all my plans under wraps.

So my delay had an unanticipated upside. My existence here was almost completely packed and moved. It was amazing how little a human being actually needed when possessions were stripped down to the essentials.

Stepping into the library that evening, I replaced the hardback I’d never read. I turned slowly, inhaling the scent of books and studying the shelves. My dreams of living in this place had been so different from my reality.

Shaking my head, I left the room. No sense going back down that path. I was moving forward now. And I was ready to curl into bed for my nighttime ritual.

I did not expect to see Sloan standing in my doorway. “I see you’re determined to go through with this,” he said, a stern line piercing the skin between his brows.

He wore grey slacks, and his top button was open. His hair was disheveled, and I saw his chest rise and fall. His agitated expression was too familiar, and quickly my mind counted the days. How long had it been since he’d traveled? Why was he here now? My throat went dry.