Hold Me Read Free

the cantina, Jane fanned herself then opened the top two buttons of her suit.
    “ Agua, por favor ,” her companion said to the hostess, eyeing Jane’s stained, busy fingers.
    His mouth turned up at the corners. Amusement was not quite the reaction she’d wanted.
    Jane drummed her fingers on the table until her margarita arrived then downed the concoction in thirty seconds. “Whew, they know how to make these here.”
    He raised his eyebrows.
    “What?” she asked, exasperated. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking with your eyes hidden behind those sunglasses.”
    He flashed a full smile, his teeth orthodontist perfect.
    “It’s dark out. Do you have some kind of eye condition?”
    Ouch, that sounded really rude. She couldn’t afford to alienate him. Her big Caldwell mouth, made bigger by the drink, often got her into trouble.
    He waited a moment, then removed the shades, revealing beautiful brown eyes. She’d bet her last peso she saw a glimmer of wariness in his expression before his face reverted to a blank slate.
    The waiter came to take their food order. Since the first margarita had given her a nice buzz, Jane requested another to go with her enchiladas. As her companion ordered, she propped her elbows on the table and observed him. He really was sinfully gorgeous.
    After the waiter left, Jane asked, “What’s your name?”
    “Harrison.”
    “I’m Jane.”
    She reached across the table to shake his hand and knocked over the saltshaker. The tequila, aided by an empty belly, had achieved its desired effect. “Oops,” she said, as her fingers gripped his. She giggled.
    She never giggled.
    His hand felt dry and firm in hers, and he withdrew it far too quickly.
    “Do you often rescue damsels in distress?” She sipped her drink, and decided he deserved a full-wattage smile, rarely bestowed. Her news anchor smile, set on full dazzle.
    “Not in a long time.” His eyes flickered with a light of truthfulness. He clasped his hands in front of him on the white tablecloth.
    “Well I’m glad you decided to get back on the wagon.”
    He didn’t laugh.
    The waiter brought the food and Jane tried to pace herself while eating. The enchiladas tasted orgasm-good. She moaned and caught Harrison watching her intently.
    After a third margarita, she felt decidedly revived, even emboldened. The happiest she had been since... since her mother died. The remembrance brought her crashing back to reality. She stared into thin air, dazed.
    “Are you okay?” Harrison asked.
    She swallowed the now-familiar lump of sadness and tore off the corner of her sopapilla. “Can you hand me the honey, please?”
    His fingers brushed hers once more, a frisson of electricity passing between their hands. She looked to see if he had felt it, too, but his face registered only mild concern.
    “You remind me of someone,” she said.
    He stiffened.
    She thought about who it could be. “Michael Douglas in Romancing the Stone .”
    He relaxed. “Don’t get your hopes up. I don’t do the salsa.”
    Had he just made a joke?
    “Do you wield a machete?”
    “Only in my backyard.”
    She laughed. The man had to be joking. “So what are you doing down here?”
    The mask returned. “I was visiting friends on the coast.”
    “You live here?”
    He shook his head. “Your turn.”
    Okay. He liked his privacy. Tequila had loosened her tongue and she didn’t mind filling in the blanks in the conversation. “I’m looking for someone.”
    “Oh?”
    “My dad.” Jane had trouble saying the words aloud. She remembered her father, vaguely. He had been an active soldier when she was a child and they hadn’t seen much of him, even before he died— disappeared . She had kept photos of him. Brown hair, brown eyes, square face. Handsome. She wondered what he looked like two decades later. If he was alive.
    “Is he missing?”
    “Oh, only for most of my life.” She laughed, but there was that desperation again. A sudden, vivid memory flashed in