by Olivia Hayle
Cole leans his head back against the headrest. “Your mind went straight there, didn’t it?”
“You’re not talking about…?”
His smile is massive. “No. But now you’re making me wish I was. No, I was going to ask you to be my date to an event tonight.”
“Your date?”
“Yes.”
“Like, out in public?”
“That’s usually the way it works, yes.” His eyes glittering, he leans in closer, setting a large hand on my thigh. “Brooks & King are having a social tonight.”
“No way.”
“Yes. I’d said no months ago, but when I received yet another email about it today… well. It might be fun.”
Fun. That’s a mild way to put it. Brooks & King is one of the biggest publishing houses on this side of the country. When I’d been a student, I’d followed their vacancies religiously, looking for updates on traineeships and junior positions.
He’ll be recognized. If we go together, I might be, too. “We can’t take any pictures together,” I say.
“Agreed.”
“Maybe I need a code name. Do you think Skye is too uncommon?”
Cole’s lips quirk, and leaning back against the headrest, he’s watching me through hooded eyes. “That’s where your mind went first?”
“It’s a legitimate concern,” I say, but there’s no seriousness in my voice. “Oh, Cole. Are you really sure? Can we go?”
His thumb smooths over my thigh. “Absolutely.”
“Thank you. Oh! We’ll need to stop at my place. I can’t go dressed like this!”
“We’re already on our way.”
I lean back in the seat, closing my eyes at the rush of excitement pulsing through me. Brooks & King! And Cole, doing this for me. He said he wouldn’t have gone to the event otherwise.
A small portion of my mind is telling me to focus on that. To dissect it. To face the facts—his actions, from giving Timmy the best night of his life to this event, are making it harder and harder for me to stay emotionally uninvolved. Hush, I tell it. A bit more living and a little less thinking. At least for tonight.
Back in my apartment, Cole has a seat on my bed while I get dressed. “Seen it all already,” he says by way of explanation, but judging from the way his eyes rake over my body, he’s enjoying the show.
“First row seat, huh?”
He leans back on his hands, eyes darkening. “You’re stunning.”
Empowered, I change into a matching set of lingerie. While he watches, I slide the red lace underwear up my thighs, tugging them in place on my hips.
“For later,” I say.
Cole’s jaw clenches. “You have about two more minutes to get dressed, and if you’re not done by then, we’re not leaving at all.”
“Is this testing your self-control?”
“More than you can imagine.”
I laugh, slipping into my silkiest black dress. It hangs off my shoulders on two spaghetti straps and falls nearly to my knees, but hugs my form. It’s indecently decent. “I’m done,” I say. “I want to sleep with you, but I really want to go to the Brooks & King event, too.”
“This is how it starts,” he says morosely. “I’m getting replaced.”
I grab his hand and pull him out of my bedroom, stopping in the bathroom to put on a dab of perfume. “Not at all. For now, I’m determined to have my cake and eat it too.”
Charles drives us to a beautiful villa by Lake Union, a wrap-around porch extending onto the water. Lights illuminate the driveway as he cruises through wrought-iron gates. Cole has fallen silent beside me, but at my quiet intake of breath he smiles.
“It’s a nice place they’ve rented,” he remarks.
A valet approaches, intent on opening the car door for us, and nerves reawaken in my stomach. My silk dress feels too cheap; my makeup too simple. I’m here as a plus-one—what do I have to talk to these people about?
Cole steps out beside me and puts a hand on the low of my back. “We’ll stay for as long as you want,” he whispers in my ear. “Or however short.”
My grip on his arm loosens. “Thanks.”
We walk up the oak steps together. A small jazz band is playing music in the corner; along the opposite wall is a giant table of books with a small gold-plated sign. New Releases. Something in me relaxes immediately. They have books here.
A middle-aged man approaches us, hand outstretched. “Mr. Porter! We’re so happy you could make it!”
Cole gives the man’s hand a firm shake. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Did you just arrive?”
“We did, yes.” Cole nods to me. “This is Mr. Edwin Taylor, of Brooks & King’s executive department.”
He extends a hand to me—to me! “Skye Holland,” I say, shaking his hand firmly. “I’m Brooks & King’s biggest customer.”
His eyes light up with delight, darting from me to Cole. “Is that so?”
“An exaggeration perhaps, but a slight one,” Cole says dryly. “She’s both an avid reader and a writer.”
“Excellent,” Edwin says, smiling at me. “Well, you should fit right in tonight. The table over there displays all of our upcoming releases. Feel free to look around and talk to our guests. Most of our department heads are here tonight. Ask anything you want, anything at all.”
Cole nods, like this is a perfectly normal thing to be offered. “Lovely. We’ll talk to you again, I’m sure.”
“I hope so.” Edwin smiles at me again. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Holland.”
As soon as we’re out of earshot from other guests, I turn to Cole, unable to hide my excitement. “The head of their executive department?”
His lips quirk. “Figured you’d get a kick out of this event.”
“We get to see their releases ahead of time? Before they’re announced? That’s wild!”
“Yeah.”
“And the way he spoke to you… You were invited to this? Why?”
Cole shrugs, ignoring the glances several in the room are aiming his way. I can’t tell if it’s to admire his looks or his power. “I’m invited to most things. You asked me about it once, actually.”
“I did?”
“You were delirious with fever at the time. I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”
I slip my hand into his. “Probably a good thing I can’t remember. It can’t have been the only thing I said.”
Cole leans forward and presses a kiss to my temple. It’s become his thing, and leaning in to his touch, I don’t object to it at all. “You were delightful.”
“Until I kicked you out afterwards.”
“Until then, yes. Come on. Let’s get you introduced to all these notorious department heads.”
At Cole’s side, the world is my oyster, it seems. We’re stopped every few feet by well-wishers, investors, publishers, marketeers and authors. I try and fail to remember all the names given to me. Cole nods and listens, but rarely speaks, letting me handle most of the conversations. I do my best, talking about the literary industry, and yet… most of their eyes dart to him regularly. Monitoring his expression, I imagine.
Only a few people are exceptions. Edwin Taylor comes up again to ask my opinion on their new releases, a conversation that Cole politely excuses himself from. The head of modern English poetry wants to talk to me at length after I mention that I work in a bookshop, leading to another fascinating discussion about the future of print media.
I’m on my second glass of champagne when I finally spot Cole again. He’s surrounded by men in suits, standing in a semicircle with Cole at its center. With his drink in hand and the smile on his lips, it looks effortless. Like he’s enjoying himself. But I’ve learned when that smile is true and when it’s a charming facade.
He excuses himself immediately when he sees me alone.
“Thank God,” he murmurs, sliding an arm around my waist. “Never leave me alone again.”
“You were the one who left me,” I point out.
/> “Right you are.” He takes a sip of his whiskey. “What a mistake.”
I peer up at him. “That looked like an ambush.”
“Oh, it was.”
I glance at the people around us, some already watching us with interest, some looking for an opportunity to approach. “They really wanted you here, huh?”
“They usually do.”
I straighten his lapels, a disturbing thought taking place. I pitch my voice low for his ears only. “They want you to invest?”
He nods. “Publishing is a struggling industry. They probably invited every potential investor in the state to this.”
“Money opens doors,” I murmur.
“Yes,” he says dryly, “but they close awfully fast when people realize you have no intention of parting with yours.”
I put my hands flat on his chest. “Thank you for this.”
He looks down, perhaps surprised at my sincerity. “You’re welcome.”
“You don’t want to be here. I get that, with all these people sucking up to you.”
His lips quirk. “Well. I do like some people sucking up to me.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Yes,” he says, “so you’ve said before.”
Another thought strikes me. “The people that have been nice to me. Do you think they’ve been genuine? Take Mr. Taylor, for example. Was he nice to me in the hopes that I’d convince you to invest?”
Cole sighs, his eyes draining of amusement. My suspicions aren’t completely far-fetched, then. “I couldn’t tell you,” he says. “And honestly, I’ve stopped trying to parse it out. You’ll drive yourself insane with that kind of thinking.”
A realization he’s had to come to. Ever since he became someone who’s invited to these events, someone to manipulate or coerce. Imagine having to live like that—knowing that the people close to you might be using you. It strikes me as profoundly sad. Maybe that’s why he’s friends with Nicholas Park. One billionaire doesn’t need another, not in any financial sense.
I nod toward the porch, where the light ripples across the lake. The night is warm and beautiful and the champagne is sweet. “Let’s get some air.”
“We’ll be followed,” he warns.
I slip my hand into his and pull him along to the far edge of the porch. It’s a secluded corner, with ivy and jasmine growing intertwined up the post. In the dim light, Cole’s eyes glitter. “Here? Are you planning on having your way with me?”
“This isn’t a spot you go to mingle,” I say. “I dare them to interrupt us here.”
“You have a mean streak.”
“You knew that already.”
He inclines his head, a smile hovering around his lips. “So I did.”
“Do you know what this reminds me of?” I reach over and touch my champagne glass to his whiskey, the amber liquid barely coating the bottom. “The night we met.”
“Mmm. The Legacy bar. Best hotel I’ve ever built.”
I lean in closer. “What did you really think that night?”
“That you were gorgeous. I said I was people-watching, if you remember.” He swirls his glass around, eyes on me. “But I mostly watched you.”
I take a sip of the champagne, cool against my parched throat. “Would you have come up to me? If the creep next to me hadn’t tried to hit on me?”
He moves closer, his body shielding me completely from any nosy guests who might follow us out. “Yes,” he says. “I don’t usually strike up conversations with women in bars. But that night… eventually, I would’ve had to.”
“And later?”
“What did I think later?”
I nod, licking my lips. “When we went to your hotel room.”
“A hotel room,” he corrects softly. “When you went to the restroom, I got management on the phone. They gave me a key card.”
My eyes widen. “You did?”
“Yes. And to answer your question... well, when we went to bed, I thought you were cute. Shy, but determined to be brave.”
I look down. “I was aiming for gorgeous and seductive.”
“Oh, Skye, you were,” he says, voice dropping low. “So fucking irresistible, it killed me.”
“Shy and seductive don’t mix.”
His breath is by my ear, his voice a dark caress. “In you they most definitely do. Do you remember when we had sex the first time?”
Oh God. I nod, my nipples tight against the fabric of my dress. “Yes.”
“Tell me what I did.”
“You made me show you how I touched myself in the mirror.” I lean my forehead against his shoulder, closing my eyes at the waves of desire and embarrassment at war inside me. “So you could replicate it.”
“That’s right.” His lips touch the outer rim of my ear. “And then…?”
“Then you did the same thing, but with your tongue.” A breath. “I came.”
“Yes, you certainly did.”
“And then you…” I trail off, swallowing at the memory of him pushing inside me, of his groan at that first sensation. My pulse skitters alarmingly. “Cole, let’s get out of here.”
His grip on my hand is almost bruising. “Thought you’d never ask.” He pulls me back through the throng of people. He takes long strides but I keep up, hurrying along beside him. No one stops us—not until the very last moment. Edwin Taylor smiles at us and offers both of us his business card. “If you ever feel like talking new releases,” he tells me.
The drive back to my apartment is mostly quiet, but Cole’s hand is in mine, his thumb smoothing small circles across the back. Electricity is dancing across my skin from the simple touch. When did we become a hand-holding couple? When did we become a couple at all?
The car slides to a smooth halt outside my building. “Thank you, Charles,” Cole says. “Tomorrow morning, please.”
“Of course, sir.”
His arms are around me the second we hit the sidewalk. I chuckle, pulling him along to my front door. “Tomorrow morning, huh?”
“I’m staying the night.” He reaches over my head and pushes the front door open for me with one firm shove. “Hearing you narrate the first time we had sex has me more than a little worked up.”
My breath is coming fast when I unlock the door to my apartment. Behind me, Cole locks the door, the sound of a discarded suit jacket hitting the floor a second later.
I slide the zipper down. “Remember the lace lingerie I put on?”
“Fuck yes.” His hands are there, pulling, my dress pooling at my feet. “I’ve thought about it all evening, just like you wanted me to.”
His breath is uneven against my cheek as I unbutton his shirt. “Remember when you fucked me against the hotel wall?”
Cole doesn’t answer. He lifts me up instead, my legs wrapping around his waist, his voice a growl. “Yes.”
I’m airborne and flying and then I’m eased down onto my bed. Cole stands back and tugs off his shirt. I could never get tired of the sight—tan skin, a smattering of hair, the deep V of his stomach. Never stop swimming, I think. Whatever you’re doing is working.
I tug at one of the lacy cups of my bra, teasing my nipple with my fingers. Cole’s eyes zero in on my breasts. It’s empowering, the effect I have on him. “You’re unreal,” he murmurs.
I smile at him. “And you’re too far away. Come here.”
He does, sliding atop of me. I’d expected quick. Hard. Perhaps against a wall, like I’d mentioned. But Cole does the complete opposite.
He kisses me senseless, his body atop mine, tongue moving slow and deep. A hand skates across my hipbone to my legs, teasing me through the fabric of my panties.
“So wet,” he murmurs, lips trailing down to my nipple. “Do you know how good it makes me feel that you’re always wet for me?” I want to respond, but then he’s biting, and my words turn into gasps. “Like the epitome of masculinity,” he continues softly. “You called me that as a joke once. But when you’re wet like this for me, fuck if I don’t
feel like it.”
I roll my hips against his hand, reaching down to slide his silken hair through my fingers. “Not a joke,” I breathe. “I want you.”
“I want you too.”
“Inside me.”
He rests his head against my hip, his breath a warm gust across my skin. “Fucking hell, Skye. Let me make you come first.”
“No. I want us to together.” I grab his shoulders and tug him up to me, and Cole lets me, our lips meeting once more. I could lie like this forever—with him bearing me down into the mattress and kissing me. He turns it into an art, something to be appreciated and experienced and savored. But then he throbs against my stomach and desire sweeps my senses away again.
“Skye…” he murmurs against my skin as he strips off my underwear, eyes and hands pausing over every inch of flesh he uncovers. And when he finally settles between my legs and pushes in, both of us groan at the feeling.
I wrap my legs around him. “Yes. Just like this.”
Cole comes down on his elbows, covering me completely, thrusting deep and slow. “I’d fuck you forever if I could.”
“I’d let you.”
His movements are deliberate, hitting spots inside me that make me close my eyes and hold on. Our skin quickly turns slick where it’s touching—and we’re touching everywhere.
“You feel so goddamn good,” he groans. I run my hands up his back, lightly using my fingernails, and struggle to form a response. Rational thought is disappearing with every beat of his heart against mine. It’s flesh against flesh, man against woman, my breasts against his hair-roughened chest.
He changes his angle, hitting just the right spot, and oh! “Yes,” I gasp. “Just like that.”
Cole’s smile isn’t ironic or crooked or teasing. It’s wide with pleasure. He redoubles his efforts, maintaining the angle and moving strong and sure above me. With every thrust the pressure inside me builds.
It takes me, crests, and I grip him hard. All I can do is hold on.
Cole loses his grip on himself as soon as I do. His thrusts become urgent, shallow, as he buries his head against my neck. His body tightens against me and he groans as he shatters.