Let Me Hold You. Melanie Schuster
he saw her in a crowd of people, she was warm and friendly, full of humorous conversation and borderline flirtatious. How she was in a one-on-one situation he didn’t know because she was a master of avoidance. He’d asked her out a few times and she always managed to have some ironclad reason not to go. Normally he would’ve moved on and found a more willing companion without giving her a second thought. He was far from conceited but he wasn’t unaware that he had a certain magnetism when it came to women. He was the oldest of seven children; there were five younger sisters between him and the youngest, his brother, Glenn.
He’d spent his adolescence ducking and dodging the myriad of besotted friends of his sisters, all of whom wanted him for their very own. It was something of a relief to him when he went off to college so he hadn’t had to worry about hurting some young girl’s feelings. One thing he wasn’t used to was being ignored, though, and Alana’s behavior was close to a total shut-out. Normally he would have returned the favor and gone on his merry way, but there was something about her that captivated him.
He was having a great time with her, going from table to table talking to family and friends. His family had come down from Chicago for the festivities, as they had been close to the VanBurens since Jared and Roland were small boys. Alana and his sisters had hit it off when Jared and Alexis got married and they were gossiping like sorority sisters while Roland had a chance to look at Alana as much as he liked.
Her glossy black hair was twisted into some kind of updo that showed off her long slender neck and drew attention to her oval face with the big almond-shaped eyes. Her features were delicate but sensual, especially her lips. They were a perfect cupid’s bow, but plump and inviting like a ripe plum. Everything about her was fine and elegant, from her slender shoulders and arms to her long, artistic fingers. It was hard to believe that she was a mechanic, but she owned Custom Classics, the top auto repair and custom paint shop in Columbia. Her business was the best place in South Carolina to get a car restored to its former glory, especially if it was a vintage model. She even had offers for reality TV; producers were constantly after her to make a series about her business but she turned them all down.
He would have been content to watch her for hours, but his youngest sister, Pamela, chose to tease him about his fascination. She’d taken a vacant chair next to him and started meddling, which was one of her favorite things to do.
“Your eyes are gonna fall out if you don’t stop looking. I think you’re drooling, do you want a bib?” Her eyes were full of merriment, but her lips were barely moving, a trick she’d mastered years ago when she wanted to talk in church, in class or anywhere else she was supposed to be quiet.
“Quiet, you nosy wench,” Roland said with an unmistakable note of fondness in his voice. He loved his sisters madly even though their sole purpose in life seemed to be to get on his last good nerve. “Go find yourself something else to do besides get in my business or my retaliation will be both painful and public.”
Pamela grinned wickedly as she glanced with great interest from Alana to her big brother. “You need to take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
“That’s original. Never heard that one before,” Roland muttered as he gazed at the delectable nape of Alana’s neck.
“I mean it,” protested Pamela. “There’s a photo booth over there. You should get this moment commemorated because it might be the closest you get to her for the rest of your life.” She yelped as Roland thumped her on the back of her head.
He did follow through with her suggestion, though. After Alana took her last sip of champagne they went over to the booth and found it empty. They attempted to sit on the bench but his long legs took up most of the room so she sat on his lap. Her perfume was as sweet and captivating as she was and as she closed the curtain he inhaled the fragrant essence that was one part Chanel No. 5 and three parts Alana.
The camera clicked as they smiled into the lens and made funny faces. She closed her eyes and planted a big smacking kiss on his cheek, which he returned. Their eyes met and by an unspoken mutual consent their lips touched softly and deliberately before merging into a powerful kiss. Roland was right; her lips were like fragrant plums dipped in champagne and the taste released a powerful longing in him. Their tongues mated and lingered, stoking the growing fire between them.
Alana’s arms went around his neck and he pulled her closer to him, crushing her soft breasts against his rock-hard chest. His hands slid down to her slim hips and she pressed against him harder as one slim hand stroked his smoothly shaven head. It could have gone on and on but the curtain was suddenly pushed aside by two smirking women, Pamela and Ava.
“I told you they were in here,” Pamela gloated.
“You two should probably get a room somewhere,” Ava advised. “There are children and old people here, you know. You could give somebody a heart attack.”
“I should have known you would find each other,” Alana said with a resigned expression. “Aren’t there some interesting men out there for you to torture?”
Pamela grinned and said, “Yes, there are, but this is more fun. How much will you pay me to keep these pictures off of Facebook?” She was reaching for the photo strips when Roland grabbed her wrist firmly.
“I’ll let you live, how’s that?” He gave her the expression that she knew meant business and since Alana was giving Ava a similar look, they decided to leave.
“We can go spread gossip, that’s almost as good,” Pam said pragmatically.
Roland and Alana looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Is there any lipstick on my mouth?” he asked.
Alana assured him there wasn’t. “This is the non-smear, perma-shine kind. No smears, I promise.”
“Well, in that case, I think we need to finish what we started,” he murmured, just before his mouth joined hers for one more mindlessly sweet kiss.
Chapter 2
The morning after the wedding found Alana in a mood that most charitably could be described as foul.
Her head was pounding from all the bubbly Moet she’d had at the reception and she wanted nothing more than to be alone for the rest of the day and possibly her life. Sitting up in her bed seemed to take all of her energy and she groaned loudly and with great pain. It was going to be a miserable day.
Only a few drinks in her system, and she could barely remember what she’d done the night before. Compounding that was the fact that she’d had an array of dreams that were blazingly hot, featuring Roland Casey as her partner in every kind of erotic crime imaginable. Why in the world she’d managed to conjure the two of them, naked, sweaty and tightly entwined the way she had was just beyond her. There were some mental puzzle pieces missing, but her head hurt too badly for her to figure it out at the moment.
After her eyelids finally came unglued, she squinted around her bedroom, trying to figure out where her robe was. Since her sister Adrienne was staying with her, she tried to do it as quietly as possible, although it was so late that Adrienne was probably awake. Alana was in no shape to converse with anyone, however, and she was aiming for total stealth at the moment.
She managed to find the robe and her slippers and she staggered into the bathroom, hoping that a blast of hot water on her face would bring her back to the land of the living.
The shower was a mixed blessing because her head was throbbing so hard that the stream of water was actually quite painful, but she clenched her teeth and hung in there, scrubbing her body mercilessly with a nylon puff and a huge amount of Au Lait body wash.
The mild, clean scent gradually soothed her senses until she was at least able to move her neck without wincing. While she moved the puff up and down her body she tried to recreate the evening, hoping that there was a reasonable explanation for her steamy dreams and her deep sense of embarrassment. Maybe she had an alter-ego like Beyonce, she thought mirthlessly. Maybe her personal Sasha Fierce had taken over her dreams last night because it sure wasn’t the real Alana. With a