by Anna Blaze
“So sexy, Ki. My sexy girl.” He rubbed his cheek against hers like a cat marking his person. “You ready for me?”
She arched into him, wrapped one leg around his waist, and pressed her heel into his ass. “Yes, very much yes.”
Cole groaned, kissed her forehead, and jumped off the bed. Kiley sat up and frowned as he disappeared into the hall. He returned a moment later with a few small silver packets, and she nodded, glad that he was still capable of responsible thoughts. He dropped all but one on the nightstand and shoved down his shorts. He pulled her into his arms as he climbed back on the bed and rolled on to his back. “I want to see you, Ki. You’re so pretty. I want to see you.”
Kiley settled herself over his thighs, reached down, and cupped his cheek. “Okay. See me.”
It was almost too much. She was nearly revealing her inner truths. She desperately wanted him to see her; really, truly see her and how much she loved him
Cole tore open the wrapper with his teeth, and Kiley quickly claimed the contents. She rolled it on and bent to kiss the tip before moving into place. Cole moaned. His eyes closed. Kiley smiled and slid down on his erection, biting her lip and moaning as her body stretched to accommodate his startling girth.
He nodded repeatedly. “Oh, that’s it. That’s good. I’m…oh.” Cole’s large hands nearly spanned her waist. His fingers dug into her lower back, and he pushed up.
“Unh, uh.” She settled her hands on his chest. “I’m on top. Means I’m in charge. Don’t try to boss from the bottom, mister.”
He groaned. “Didn’t realize we were at battle here, couldn’t we just…damn!”
Kiley pulled herself up his length and dropped back down, taking him deep inside her. He was more than beautiful with his eyes closed tightly and his mouth open on a silent shout.
Cole had to work hard to control himself. The knowledge inspired Kiley to ride him with a wantonness she hadn’t known she possessed. Leaning down, she rubbed her breasts against his firm chest and reached for his hands, relishing the scratchy feel of his callused fingertips. “If it is a battle, I’m winning.”
“You—” He gasped, moaned, and squeezed her fingers. “You think?”
She rolled her hips. “I more than think, Cole. And trust me…” She bit his earlobe. “I’m in a position to know.”
“Always so competitive.” He grabbed her hips and flipped them both over.
Kiley squealed.
“If this is a battle, I want a fair shot.”
The change in position meant he was filling her in an entirely new way: stretching her, rubbing her, completing her in a new way. A completely wonderful new way.
She gazed into his dark, lust-filled eyes and saw the spark she always saw there. Cole. He was there with her. Kiley arched up and kissed him hard. “Still gonna—oh. Oh. Damn!” Her hard fought control broke, and she shouted as the pleasure of her climax slammed through her body again and again.
“That’s right. That’s…that’s right.” He groaned as he joined her in completion and barely avoided crushing her when he collapsed. “I definitely—”
“Don’t even think about saying it.” Kiley scowled as much as her uber-relaxed facial muscles allowed. She’d seen rainbows—crazy floating-behind-her-eyelids rainbows. Clearly, she was the winner.
Chapter Ten
COLE LOOKED AROUND THE room and laughed. It started as a light chuckle and quickly became a full, body-shaking roar.
Kiley glared and swatted his arm. “What the hell, Cole?”
“No.” He shook his head and continued laughing. “It’s not—” Tears formed at the corners of his eyes, and he wiped at them with the backs of his wrists. “It’s…I have no idea why I brought you to this room.”
Her eyes widened, and she started to sit up, her arm tightly covering her perfect breasts.
Fuck! He was seriously screwing this up. “No! No.” Cole reached over and grabbed her hand. “I meant I don’t know why I brought you here instead of my room.”
She frowned hard enough to make her forehead wrinkle. Adorable. She was sexy and adorable in the same moment. “This is your room.”
He chuckled. “It was my room. I took the big room after my folks moved out.” He smacked the mattress. “No reason for me to keep using a twin-sized bed. It’s been a tight fit since I was fifteen.”
She still looked confused. “You moved into your parent’s bedroom.”
“Don’t say it like that. I got new furniture and everything. It’s mine now.” He shook his head. “This is a guest room now. I hardly even come in here.”
He certainly never brought women there. Not that he brought all that many women home anyway. Cole knew Kiley thought he was something of a player, but he didn’t think the title fit. He liked women plenty, and they seemed to like him back, so he dated. Sometimes those dates led to sex. Sometimes, not always. Not even most of the time by Cole’s reckoning. When he did sleep with a woman, he was careful to keep things friendly. Cole knew what it was like to have feelings for someone who wasn’t interested in being with him. He wasn’t one to casually toy with the hearts of others. If a girl was looking for more than he could give, he broke things off as cleanly and swiftly as possible.
If Kiley had stayed a bit friendlier with the folks they’d gone to school with, she’d have no doubt heard the theory held by most of the ladies in town—the theory that Cole had it bad for someone and wouldn’t settle down until he either got her or got her out of his system.
The final saving grace of Cole’s dignity was that Kiley’s name wasn’t routinely brought up as a candidate when the ladies discussed who he might be pining away for. Yes, they sometimes used the word pining. Like he had time to pine. He had a farm to run. The only pine he had time for were trees. He’d tried that joke out once, but it hadn’t gone over as well as he’d expected.
He pulled Kiley’s face close enough to kiss. “Do you want to go across the hall? The bed is a lot roomier.”
The corners of her mouth curved down and her bottom lip jutted out a smidge. “Wouldn’t that involve moving?” Kiley demonstrated her lack of interest in moving by grudgingly lifting one hand off the bed and letting it fall limply back down.
“Fair point. Maybe we should rest for a few minutes first.”
She placed her cheek on his chest and nodded. “Resting sounds good.”
Cole brushed her hair behind her ear and skimmed his fingers down the velvet soft skin on her back. Her breathing slowed after a few moments. She’d fallen asleep in his arms. Grinning, he cuddled her closer and pulled the throw from the foot of the bed up and over their bodies. He’d probably have a crook in his neck tomorrow, but it’d be worth it.
Chapter Eleven
SOMEONE WAS SINGING. MORE precisely, a man was singing. Confused, Kiley blinked open her eyes and looked around. The dusty model rocket on Cole’s old dresser brought the previous evening’s activities back to her in one shocking rush. She was in Cole’s bed. It was almost inconceivable. But it happened; they’d slept together. Now they were going to have to talk about it.
Cole sang in the shower. He wasn’t exactly carrying the tune, but she made out a few words and identified it as a silly novelty country song popular the previous summer. She giggled despite her concerns. Cole Thomas sang in the shower! It was pretty much adorable. Thinking about him in the shower, soaping and singing, sent shivers of want down to her toes. She wished she was bold enough to slip in behind him and offer to wash his back. And all his other parts, too.
The water shut off. Footsteps moved in her direction. Kiley panicked and did the only rational thing she could think of. Yup, she pretended to be fast asleep.
He stopped in the doorway for a few seconds. She froze, still as a statue, until he walked away. Another door on the second floor clicked shut. He was probably in his room getting dressed. A quick peek confirmed that she was alone. Sighing, she glanced at the dirty pile of wrinkled polyester that was her waitress uniform. Putting it back on to
wear home would bring a new depth to the phrase walk of shame. She bit back her groan. It wouldn’t do to let Cole know she was awake just yet; she still had to figure out how to play things this morning.
Oh yeah. She definitely needed time to come up with a plan. So when he opened the bedroom door down the hall, she played possum again. His footsteps, sure and steady, came back into the room. Kiley didn’t even breathe.
“I’m putting some clothes and a towel here. You can get showered and dressed when you get tired of fakin’ sleep.” He walked out before she could respond but yelled from the hallway. “I’m gonna go take care of a couple things in the barn. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.”
Kiley listened to the quick pattering of his steps down the stairs and finally released the groan in her throat. Why couldn’t she ever be the cool one?
She climbed out of bed and took off the one white thigh high that survived the night. The memory of Cole pulling the other one off with his teeth brought a hot flush to her face. That might have been her own suggestion. She’d acted totally out of character the night before; by their third round she’d turned into some kind of sex kitten. The harsh light of mid-morning gave her second thoughts about some of her spicier moves.
Kiley wrapped the towel around her body and tiptoed over to the bathroom for a hot shower. Hanging the towel on the hook on the back of the bathroom door, she acknowledged that there was something kind of thrilling about taking a shower at Cole’s house. It was startlingly intimate. She’d dated, even slept with a couple of guys at school. But, mostly due to her own lack of interest, she’d never really reached couple status with anyone. Using a man’s shower was a coupley thing to do.
Kiley locked the door and snooped. Sure, she felt guilty, but the opportunity for a new insight into Cole didn’t come around every day. Though the sink looked recently cleaned, the cabinet beneath it held a couple of dust bunnies alongside the plastic basket filled with replacement blades for his razor, a few rolls of toilet paper, a new tube of toothpaste, and an unopened bottle of cologne. A gift? She grimaced. That was the kind of thing a woman would give her lover, wasn’t it? The rest of his shaving supplies—namely a razor and a can of store brand shaving cream that was already rusting along the bottom—sat on a small shelf over the toilet with a couple of still-wrapped bars of Ivory soap. An unwrapped bar of soap, a wet washcloth, and a half-empty bottle of anti-dandruff shampoo sat in a wire basket in the shower. It was possibly the world’s saddest collection of toiletries. She should tell Cole that some men used hair gel these days. Of course, he’d been blessed with hair too perfect to need product.
Kiley wasn’t as lucky; she’d have given good money for a bottle of conditioner. She spent several minutes after her shower trying to finger comb the tangles from her hair before accepting defeat and scowling at herself in the mirror. She towel dried it as best she could, and wrapped in a damp towel, went back to Cole’s old room to get dressed.
She’d assumed he’d left a T-shirt or maybe some sweats for her that would be horribly large but marginally better than her porntastic uniform. Instead, Kiley was delighted to find a couple of pairs of boy’s jeans and a plaid shirt. They had to be from before Cole’s teenaged growth spurt.
She sucked in a breath to close the snap and wiggled experimentally—a bit snug in the hips and butt but probably no more so than the skinny jeans most of her classmates wore. Kiley cuffed the extra fabric around her ankle. Maybe Cole hadn’t been all that short before his growth spurt after all.
She darted back to the bathroom and wiped the steam from the mirror. The shirt was loose enough to hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra, right? She checked the side view. It would have to do. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too drafty downstairs. The thick wool socks were huge, obviously ones that fit him now, but she put them on anyway. The night left a chill on the old wooden floors.
All too soon, Kiley had no more excuses to stay upstairs. She gathered her clothes and phone into as tidy and dignified a pile as possible—cloud underpants and naughty white stockings well hidden in the folds of the dress. I can do this. He was still just Cole. She picked up the pile, walked downstairs, and set her things on a small table near the couch.
Water was running in the kitchen. She stepped in soundlessly. Cole was rinsing a pepper and a few mushrooms off in the sink. The domestic sight was so unexpected that Kiley briefly forgot her nerves. “What are you doing?”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I was going to make us some breakfast.” He chuckled as though she should have expected that, as though she’d seen this odd and startlingly sexy domestic side of him before.
She laughed. “You cook now?”
Cole turned around, drying his hands with a yellow flowered dishtowel. “Did you really think my Ma left for Florida without making sure I could feed myself?”
Kiley very clearly remembered his mother making them both promise to never touch a thing in her kitchen ever again after they’d set a potholder on fire while trying to make a batch of brownies, but she supposed that had been nearly a dozen years ago. Still, Cole cooking? “What are you making?”
“Omelets. But I need you to go out to the coop and fetch some eggs.”
“There’s none in the fridge?” Kiley tried to sound casual.
“No. Funny, I actually had a full basket in there yesterday, but I didn’t think I’d get a chance to eat them all so I brought them over to Robin. You know she had her third little one three months back?”
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“You’re not still afraid of chickens, are you?” He was smirking again. The bastard.
“What? No! Of course I’m not…afraid of chickens. That would be…” She scoffed. “Who’s afraid of chickens?”
“Great.” He handed her a basket. “I think Ma left a pair of boots in the trunk by the garage door.” He turned back to the counter and started gathering a cutting board and a knife.
Okay, maybe she didn’t like chickens. Maybe she was still occasionally visited by a nightmare in which she got stuck in the coop with a couple of particularly aggressive Rhode Island Reds. That didn’t mean she was afraid of them. It meant she was rational. People who thought eggs came in pretty cartons at the store might not know where the phrase pecking order came from but she did. Kiley had cuddled the all-too-cute chicks at the farm only to watch in horror as they became fierce, beaked war machines. The truth, quite simply, is that chickens are mean. They’re mean to each other, and they are mean to knobby-kneed little girls who want to pet them.
She wasn’t about to let them get the best of her though. Cole said he could make an omelet and she, for one, wanted to see that. Kiley dug out his mother’s old work boots, tugged them on over the giant socks, and grabbed an old broom before heading out the door.
The ice-covered grass crunched like Rice Krispies beneath her soles. An overnight frost wasn’t too unusual in Vermont, even in mid-May, but it would normally have melted off during the early morning. Today the cloud cover held down the cold air. She shivered slightly as the chill snuck down the loose neckline of her shirt, but she squared her shoulders. The cold would only serve as extra motivation to move quickly.
Kiley had learned young that the key to dealing with chickens was not letting them see her fear. She had to be the biggest, baddest bird of them all. Kiley started yelling and flapping her arms about ten feet before she got to the coop. She banged the broom against the chicken wire and stomped her feet to make the feathered monsters flock away from the entrance. Hollering the entire time, she collected eggs.
She shut the gate with a victorious whoop. A college education didn’t mean she was some helpless city girl. She could collect some eggs if it meant a hot man would cook her breakfast. Holding the basket proudly in front of her, Kiley marched back to the kitchen.
Chapter Twelve
COLE BIT THE INSIDE of his cheek to stop laughing and hurried across the room as soon as he saw her heading back. He hadn’t witn
essed the Kiley method of egg collecting employed for several years. It was every bit as entertaining as he remembered.
She was a little afraid of chickens, he was sure, but she’d never admit it. Kiley was fearless. She wouldn’t accept anything less from herself. It was one of the things he loved about her. She could have just said the chickens bothered her and asked him to get the damn eggs himself, but instead she armed herself with a broom and screamed like a banshee.
He went back to slicing mushrooms and let her play it casual when she came back in.
“You’ve got more Reds now.” She said it calmly, as though she was just making conversation.
“Yeah, they’re good layers.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“There’s a colander hanging over the stove if you wouldn’t mind giving them a quick wash.”
Cole couldn’t make eye contact yet. It was still too hard to keep a straight face and not accidentally cut off his finger. When he finished slicing the veggies, Cole pulled butter, milk, and cheese from his fridge and arranged them on the counter. Everything had to be prepped and placed in exactly the right spot. He wasn’t exactly a natural in the kitchen; a missed step could mean disaster.
He hadn’t been lying; his mother had spent the weeks before moving south giving him intense cooking lessons. Cole was proud to say that he could make eggs two ways and bake potatoes, fish, or chicken. Pasta could be hit or miss. All that watching and checking was too much work, but most of the time his pasta was edible too, as long as it was smothered in sauce. Hell, pasta sauce and cheese could save just about anything.
The laundry lessons had been more problematic; in the end, she’d told him to buy all-temperature laundry detergent and dark clothes.
Kiley turned the water off and reached for the towel hanging by his hip. “These are all clean.”
He smiled at her. It was nice having company in the kitchen. It reminded him of the times his mother made his father be her prep chef. She’d bark a request, and with the precision of a television surgical team, Dad would place the required tool or ingredient into her hand. They were always like that—a perfectly matched pair. His parents were partners in every way. Cole wouldn’t settle for less.