by KC Klein
Say it. Say yes.
She raised the bat again, but instead of swinging forward, it caught on something. Her boots slipped out from under her. She lost her balance and landed hard on her butt. A bite of steel gripped her arm and pulled her off the hood. Strong arms kept her from falling, but there was no room for graciousness. She knew who held her and threw an elbow in thanks. It was blocked with a quick shift of his body.
“Katie, stop!” Cole shouted in her ear.
Her head snapped back and forth as he shook her. She struggled even more. She wasn’t done. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. Her pain was still bigger than the damage she’d inflicted.
Cole’s arms wrapped around her from behind, his thumbs found a tender spot along her wrists and squeezed. The bat fell from her numb fingers.
And it was all too familiar, her back to Cole, him subduing, her breaking. But she wasn’t the young fool she’d once been, and would never be again. She stopped fighting.
“Let me go.” Her voice was as sharp as the shards of glass littered in the dirt drive.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he yelled.
Her feet left the ground as he shook her with the intensity of his words.
“Let me go, Cole.”
Katie swallowed against the sob lodged in her throat. She wouldn’t cry, not now, but later, when she was alone. Later she could scream into her pillow or retreat to the bottom of a bottle, but not now. She struggled, didn’t want him close. Didn’t want her body to remember how he felt against hers.
Cole didn’t release her, his ragged breathing fast and furious against her neck. “Not this time.”
A searing pain burned her chest. He spoke as if she’d had a choice in her leaving.
“No, Cole, like every time. Like every damn time.” She renewed her struggle. “And this will be no different because I saw you!” she spat out.
And true to form, he let her go.
She whipped around, fists at her sides, ready to fight. The roar in her blood rose to a new level, and the fact that he was still breathing meant she hadn’t done enough.
Cole’s every muscle was rigid. His one eye narrowed, seeming to spit fire, the other, swollen and black, shone.
“What the . . .” The words were barely a low growl. “What. Are. You. Doing?”
His nostrils flared, contrasting with the thin red line of his pressed lips.
“Beating the crap out of your truck,” she yelled back.
He took a step forward, and for a split second she saw violence in his eyes. Then thinking better of his actions, he kicked the dirt with his bare foot instead. “I can see that, Katie.” His lips didn’t move, just stayed in a brutal slant. “Why?”
“Don’t . . .” She punctuated her word with a push to his chest. “Don’t pretend. I saw. I know what you did, and I never want to see you again.”
He stood his ground, her shove as effectual as wind against a stone wall.
“That won’t be a problem. You’re crazy. You know that? What exactly do you think I did?”
“Think? Think! I saw you, Cole. With my own eyes. Kissing that woman! Who is she?” She wiped her eyes, her vision blurry. There was something wet on her hands, but she knew it couldn’t be tears. “No, no, I don’t want to know. I don’t care. I just want you out of my life forever.”
“I didn’t kiss anyone.” His voice was all control, and she could tell he was reining himself in. That was fine with her. She had rage enough for both of them.
“Stop it! Stop lying to me. How can you marry me one minute, then not even twenty-four hours later, you’re doing God-knows-what to some whore on your front porch?”
“Katie!” The shout came from behind.
She turned at the sound of her name and saw Jett standing on the front step.
“Jett, mind your own business, and go back inside. This has nothing to do with you.” She could barely see him. She swiped at her eyes again. Could she be crying?
“It was me,” Jett said.
Katie shook her head, nowhere near able to deal with Jett. She’d been so cautious, so determined not to fall for Cole’s . . . what? What was it about him that made her throw away all common sense? What made her believe him? Every. Single. Time. Even when she should have known better?
“Katie, look at me. It was Nikki and me you saw. Not Cole.” Jett had walked down the steps and approached her like he would a suspect who was considered armed and dangerous. If he’d been wearing a gun, she knew he’d have had his hand on the holster—ready to shoot at the first sign of danger.
“Cole’s still pissed at me, and I didn’t want to go into his house. And . . .” Jett swallowed. “And I was trying to convince Nikki to do . . . well . . . to do anything, but run.”
Jett was looking at her like what he was saying was supposed to make sense, but it didn’t. Katie glanced at Cole, then back to Jett in his black shirt, black hat, and jeans. She shifted her gaze to Cole and his ragged, opened blue plaid, his favorite. His hair dripping wet, dampening the collar. A pair of loose-fitting jeans. His feet bare, no boots.
It wasn’t Cole, it was Jett?
And the air whooshed out of her lungs, replaced by a nauseating coldness in her stomach. She wanted to look anywhere but at the two men standing before her. She smoothed out a wrinkle in her dress. The button on her coat had been pulled loose; she’d have to sew it back on.
The silence grew awkward. Apparently, it was her turn to talk. “Cole?”
A grunt.
“You’ve got full coverage insurance, right?”
Chapter 23
Was that her idea of a joke?
Cole studied Katie. Her coat barely on, a tight dress riding devastatingly high along her thighs, and red boots that just plain pissed him off.
He needed to breathe, to relax his jaw or he’d end up cracking teeth . . . or worse.
The pulse in her throat fluttered, but her eyes were leveled at him like dual-loaded rifles. She might’ve mistaken who’d been outside swapping spit on his porch, but she didn’t feel nearly as bad about taking a bat to his truck as she should.
It took a moment, but he found it, the iron control he’d built his life on. So he backed off, even though anger burned hot in his belly. He unclenched his fists and opened his hands to show he wasn’t going to kill her.
At least not yet, but Katie had a way of pushing . . .
Out of the corner of his eye something black moved; the gentle sway of his side mirror, held by one lone wire.
He sucked air in through his teeth. It’s just a truck.
One he’d saved for over what . . . over six years? Just my goddamn truck.
And in that moment he was done. Done with the drama that was Katie. Done with the living hell she made out of his life. Out of everyone in his life, she should know him, and yet she was willing to believe the very worst.
He turned to go, barely noticing the sharp rocks under his feet, but instead his body had a mind of its own and closed the distance between them. “You know what sickens me, Katie? What sickens me the most is that you think I would do this. That I could make vows to you one night and then throw them in your face the next.”
Her face was flushed, and he was so close, if he wanted, he could trace the tracks of her tears with his finger. Instead, it took everything he had not to close his hands around her pretty neck.
Fire burned in her eyes, mimicking the one in his gut.
He stepped closer and took juvenile pleasure in towering over her. She didn’t back down. He glared; she glared back. Like she had a chance of winning.
Foolish little girl, never knew when you were in over your head.
Boots pounded down the steps, and Jett came hustling toward them. “Guys?” The warning in his voice was obvious.
Neither of them looked up, both caught up in their version of “chicken.”
“Get out of here, Jett,” they said in unison.
It worked. The silence lasted long after the dust settled as Jett’s t
ruck drove away.
Who would snap first? He’d bet his ranch it wouldn’t be him. She just needed a little push. “You broke my truck,” he said.
“You broke my horse,” she said.
He stepped closer, their thighs touching. He saw her breath hitch, or was it a flinch? “I paid to keep, board, and feed that horse for three long years. Your horse is fine.”
“So is your truck.”
He let himself smirk just a little. “Guess that makes us even then,” he ground out.
She whipped out her condescending laugh, the one that had him tightening the reins of his restraint. “Funny, it doesn’t feel even. For years you let me believe you didn’t want to marry me.”
“Yeah.” He used a condescending laugh of his own, but for some reason she seemed better at it. “And yet I was stupid enough to marry you last night.”
Everything in her face changed and it bothered him to have an up-close view of her hurt. “How many women, huh?” she shouted. “How many have you paraded in and out of your house?”
He narrowed his eyes. He knew better than to answer that question. Besides, as he saw it, she was to blame. How many times had he wished those women would make him forget the brown-haired girl sleeping next door? “I’m confused. Did you want an exact number?” Two could play at this game. “And why would you care, considering you got engaged to another man!”
Damn, he sounded jealous. Well, he was.
He watched Katie fight for composure. Each ragged inhale had her breasts brushing his chest. He swallowed as another type of heat spread in his belly.
Katie broke their gaze, and then took a step back. She looked down at her boots, the red ones. The ones he kept envisioning her wearing and nothing else, the ones that were making him uncomfortable for a completely different reason.
“That wasn’t the same thing,” she whispered.
It was, in his book. The thought of Katie with another man shredded him. He gripped her upper arms and picked her up. She went pencil straight, her face bright with outrage.
He deposited her on the hood of his truck, none too gently, and placed himself between her knees, her dress draping low between them. He stepped closer, crowding her.
Her breath came quicker, and he could see the muscle in her jaw flex. He had about two seconds before she slapped him.
He didn’t wait that long.
“I am so sick . . .” he said, making his voice low, just a rumble in his chest. He encircled her wrists, so tiny, fragile, in his hands. It was too easy to raise them above her head . . . and push.
Pinning her to the truck he loomed over her. Strands of his wet hair fell forward. A droplet found the hollow dip of her throat. “So sick of waiting . . .”
He leaned down and with one lick of his tongue, drank at the shallow pool.
She trembled.
“Waiting for you to grow up.”
Then he kissed her.
He kissed her like he should’ve kissed her years ago, when she was still young and begging for it. When he was so hot for her a cold shower couldn’t soothe the ache. When all he wanted was to make her his, and flip the world the middle finger.
No need for closed-lip foreplay. They’d had years of it already.
The years of want and restraint eased like a desert soaking in rain in the middle of summer. He took in the way she melted against him, the telling arch of her back, the insistent brush of her inner thigh against his hip.
And her small moans. If she promised she’d moan for him forever, he’d follow her to the depths of Hades.
Cole released her wrists. He cupped her face, her cheeks so smooth. With a slight touch of his thumbs to the corners of her mouth, he gently told her what he wanted. She acquiesced and opened wider.
When it came to her body, Katie never denied him anything.
The power was heady.
He drew in her scent. Underneath the sweetness of vanilla, the tanginess of cherries was pure Katie—musky with need.
His control shattered.
He wanted to touch all of her at once, but ended up frenzied. He couldn’t breathe. Katie moaned and one of her long legs wrapped around his hip. He placed his palm on skin like the softest silk. Her dress got in the way, then fluttered and settled low around her waist.
His hand followed to the smoothness of her thigh, the delicious curve of her hip, then a bit farther.
Someone groaned. It might’ve been him.
He broke the kiss, rested his forehead against the pale wetness of her cheek, and let the cool night air rush into his lungs. He needed to think, to breathe, to get some small amount of perspective because in his palm was the smoothest . . . tightest . . . backside he’d ever held—minus any underwear.
“Christ, Katie,” he murmured against the delicate angle of her collarbone.
Bumps rose along her skin, her hands were buried in his hair, and a thousand thoughts fought for dominance in his head. The notion of using protection fluttered across his mind, but he couldn’t remember why he’d want to.
Katie touched him everywhere, his hair, his chest, low on his stomach. And she arched her back, trying to fit him against her, just the way she wanted.
And in about two seconds he was going to take her right here, on top of his truck, in his front yard.
Her mouth tickled his ear. Sharp teeth pulled on his lobe, a hot tongue traced the outer ridge, and it took him a moment to process the word she was whispering over and over.
Please.
“Wrap your legs around me.” Was that him? He sounded like he was in pain. Maybe he was.
For once, Katie obeyed.
He felt the hard soles of her boots dig into the small of his back. He picked her up, not even caring he was barefoot. He’d make it into the house, and if God was willing, into his bed.
God wasn’t . . .
Cole meant to go slow. He really did. Okay, at least not at warp speed.
They made it to the hallway, which was heroic considering Katie’s boots were pushing down on his jeans, making them ride real low. He could feel her moist heat flush against his stomach.
He just had to make it to the bedroom. He had motivation. For three long years—hell, who was he kidding, longer—he had fantasized about Katie coming beneath him. And he wanted to see her, touch her, taste and kiss her. So he had motivation, great motivation.
Only a few more steps . . . and then she bit him.
Liquid heat rushed to lower extremities, and his brain gave up all higher functions.
He slammed her against the hallway wall, the palm of his hand followed hard by her head. His mouth came down on hers. He lifted her up and pinned her with his hips, but his jeans were in the way. The button strained against his swollen flesh. Katie cried with frustration, and her hands shook as she tried to free him from his clothing, only making things worse.
Cole went to set her down, but Katie would have none of that. She braced her legs on either side of him against the opposite wall. Her skirt was pushed high along her waist, showing dark curls that glistened.
And who cared about a bed. With a hard pull he unbuttoned his jeans. With his hand he guided himself. Found her center, found where he belonged. In one thrust he pushed inside of her.
Then Katie screamed, but not in a good way. Her eyes, once warm and hazy with passion, widened in pain.
Tight, small, too tight.
As if there was such a thing.
“Hell, Katie, tell me you aren’t—weren’t a virgin?”
Her face went pale, and her lips lost all color as she pressed them together. She nodded.
Everything in him wanted to pull out and thrust deep one more time. Then it would be over. He could ask for forgiveness later.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door to Nikki’s room begin to open. “What is going on—” she said as she peeked through the opening.
Swearing, he reached over and pulled the door shut. “Don’t come out here!”
He looked back t
oward Katie. Her hair was rising in a cloud of honey curls. Her face was white and more than a little scared.
And he was an idiot.
“Wh-What?” Her eyes grew wet as she blinked a few times.
“No, baby, it’s okay.” Please, please, please. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”
His lips whispered soft things, words he’d use to settle a skittish mare as he kissed the damp corners of her closed eyes.
“Shh, shh, we’re going to take it slow. Just relax.”
The rigid muscles of her body eased just a bit. He kissed her some more, a delicate homage to her lips, her closed lids, the freckles on her nose.
Then he moved, small, tiny, gentle.
“Oh,” she gasped, her mouth widening into a perfect circle. He would have laughed if it didn’t take everything he had just to hold steady.
Of course the rhythm was painfully slow; nothing with Katie was easy. He gritted his teeth and began complicated math problems in his head.
Small whimpers came from the back of her throat.
Two hundred plus two hundred is—okay, not that complicated then.
He groaned, and her eyes fluttered open, worry washing her already pale features. Her brown eyes bright with emotion.
“Cole? Are you okay? You’re sweating. Are you hurt? If this is too much, and you want to stop . . . I mean, I don’t want to stop, but if you do?”
“Katie.”
“Yes?”
“Stop talking.”
And to silence her, he sealed her mouth with his and started another rhythm that would bring them both to the edge.
Her silence didn’t last long as he moved his lips to her neck. But this time he didn’t care because her murmurs of yes, yes and please, Cole, were barely heard as she arched and threw her head back, crying his name.
One more thrust. The strength of his release scared him.
But then everything about Katie scared him. Especially, when he heard himself whisper, “I love you, wife.”
Chapter 24
Cole woke as he had every day of his life, a bit tired, a bit resentful of the insistent sunlight, and a damn bit older. Oh . . . and his eye hurt. Then he turned his head. And his breath caught.
He didn’t move, afraid he was dreaming, and the vision next to him would dissipate under the harsh break of dawn. Another breath, a swallow, a few blinks, and Katie was still there—next to him, in his bed. Her brown hair curled and fanned out across both pillows. She’d taken up more than her share of the bed. His flannel sheets were twisted around her long legs, revealing a glimpse of smooth hip, an eyeful of one bared breast.