One to Chase (One to Hold 7)

My insides clench. Of course I remember it. It was the most perfect fall day in France—cool breezes, sunny skies. We’d only been together a month, and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

“Of course,” I say softly, looking over his shoulder to see who’s watching us. The bitch Karen has arrived, and it appears she’s still with Roland, the fucktard. Perfect match. God, how I hate them.

Armand’s rich voice placates the anger trying to rise. “Your dress tonight reminds me of the one you wore that day. It was about this length, and you were so beautiful straddling my lap, riding my cock.”

“Armand,” I whisper, heat flooding my core. “Stop.”

“We were near Sacré Coeur—very sacrilegious, I’m sure.” He sighs, warm breath tickling the side of my neck. “I ascended to heaven that day, cherie.”

I’ve had enough. I’m not sure why I agreed to do this anymore. It’s not like I plan to confront Marcus. Why would I? All I’ve accomplished tonight is putting myself on the front lines of attack on all sides.

“This was a mistake.” I pull out of his embrace and turn, but my breath disappears.

Marcus stands beside a table facing me, sexy as hell in a black tuxedo, his chestnut complexion accentuated by his white shirt. Brows lower over his smoky hazel eyes, and I kno

w he’s curious about who I’m dancing with.

The tall, dark stranger behind me oozes sophistication and wealth—and familiarity with me. I’m sure everyone is whispering about Armand. I want to say something, but she appears.

Paige “Goldie” Goldfarb glides up in a wave of ocean blue and cascading blonde. I don’t want to care that she takes his arm, and lifts her perfect chin to whisper in his ear. I don’t want to care that his eyes never leave mine as if he isn’t listening to her. My insides twist and churn, and I’m so angry I care about him this much.

Blinking fast, I take a step back and warm arms circle my waist. “Easy, my love.” Armand touches his lips to the side of my neck. “You’ll fall.”

I’ve already fallen.

Marcus’s eyes widen with what seems to be a flash of anger. My chest squeezes, and I pivot away from my escort, making a beeline to the glass doors surrounding the domed structure. I want to leave. I want to be far away—farther than New York, farther than even Paris this time—but how far do I have to go to get away from what I carry inside me? Australia?

Camera flashes go off in a blinding strobe, and the car line extends all the way to the pier entrance. I’m trapped on this mile-long slab of concrete, and it’s nothing but crowds and noise and people all around. Circling back, I go behind the dome to the relatively small courtyard on the opposite side of the entrance.

Rows of American flags line the guardrail, and a few tourists are strolling along, looking out across the lake. Below the waters of Lake Michigan, I drowned in the one thing I refuse to accept.

“Amy, wait.” I cringe at the sound of Marcus’s voice. I didn’t want him to follow me. Or did I?

I don’t stop until I’ve made it around a brick column, out of sight. Leaning back, the rust-colored brick scratches my bare skin. Blinking up at the fading twilight, the constant breeze pushes my hair away from my face. He knows I’m here, and he won’t stop until he finds me.

The click of his shoes on the pavement meets my ears ahead of him. Holding out an arm, he catches the side of the column, stopping short when he sees me.

“Amy,” he exhales, breathing a little fast. “Why didn’t you stop?”

My eyes try to mist, but I don’t let them. I have to steel myself against these feelings flooding through me, rushing out toward him.

“Why are you following me?” I say through the thickness in my throat.

Dropping his hand, his eyes travel the length of my body. An invisible pull from the center of my chest makes me want to lean into him. I want his hands to follow his eyes, touching me in all the places that crave him.

“I haven’t seen you in a week.” He’s fumbling for an excuse, I can tell. “I wanted to talk, to ask you... if you needed anything.”

I’m panting, although I’ve been standing here long enough to catch my breath. His appearance took it away again. Do I need anything? Do I need him?

“No.” I answer us both. “I’m finished.”

His brow lines, and he glances quickly over his shoulder before stepping around in front of me. Now we’re both hidden from the gala crowd.

“You’re not coming back to the office?”

Shaking my head, I look away from his intense gaze. “I’ve done everything you asked of me. I’m looking for another job.”

“No—there’s more. I need more.”