by Amy Knupp
Cole took the phone from her and started to hold it out directly in front of them.
“Wait,” Sierra said. “Angle from above, and see if you can get a little of the background in too.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She nudged him lightly with her elbow. He held the phone up higher, and as they looked at the perspective on the screen, they moved closer together to fit in the shot. Then she felt Cole’s hand at her side, grasping her at the empire waist of her dress, just under her breasts, and his touch… Once again, it did something to her, heated her blood, jolted her heart into high speed, made her lady organs deep inside contract. Trying to blow her reaction off, she angled her head toward his, and he leaned into her as well, until the sides of their heads touched. Though he’d obviously shaved, when his cheek brushed against her temple, she could feel its rough texture, and the intimacy of that momentarily stole her breath.
“Hold on,” she said. “Selfie basics. You have to smile.”
Cole laughed quietly and eked out a grin, and then he clicked it several times. A group of people had just entered, so he was still pressed to her side in the crush as he handed her phone back.
“Thank you,” she breathed out near his ear, hoping he couldn’t detect the effect he was having on her fickle body. “I need a drink.”
As they headed toward the bar in the far corner with the shorter line, she thought to herself she would need more than a drink. Maybe six drinks and a cold shower and willpower of steel to blow off the way her body had reacted when Cole pulled her close.
Chapter Five
Cole would be lying if he said the evening sucked.
Meeting dozens of Sierra’s relatives and family friends wasn’t his favorite thing, but he could stand at her side, offer a firm handshake, and say nice to meet you till he was blue in the face. Faking smiles was a tougher task, but he found he didn’t have to fake it much when Sierra sidled up so close he could feel the heat of her body along the side of his.
He could do all of that and more for the chance to touch her, pull her into his arms, hold her for three or four minutes straight as they danced.
The last notes of a ballad filled the ballroom, and since the deejay had announced it was the final slow song of the night, Cole soaked in all the details of the woman in his arms—the silky wisps of russet-brown hair that framed her face and teased her shoulders, the curves at her waist, where her muscled torso flared into modest hips, the bewitchingly feminine scent that brought to mind seduction and those curls and braids draping over high-thread-count sheets.
As they eased apart, she flashed him a smile, her slightly bowed lips revving his pulse like they did every time she smiled, whether on a jobsite in her standard cargo work pants and T-shirt or here, looking like a dream in midnight-blue. “I’ve had you out here for every single slow song tonight,” she said, leaning close to be heard. “You’re a saint.”
He nearly snorted at that and gripped his tie to keep from holding on to her too long. “A saint would dance to all the songs, slow or not. You got stuck with the wrong guy.”
She raised a teasing brow. “You say you can’t dance to upbeat songs, but I bet you have secret moves,” she said generously.
He had moves, all right, but they weren’t dance floor appropriate.
“My sister should make her exit soon,” Sierra said, glancing around for the newlyweds.
As she and Cole turned to walk off the dance floor in the center of the Wentworth ballroom, she hooked her hand around his forearm and his focus once again zeroed in on the contact. There’d been touches throughout the night, innocent touches outside of the dance floor as she guided him, directed him, introduced him, and Cole had noticed every single one of them, felt the hum in his blood from her proximity. He’d have to spend tomorrow forcibly putting all of it out of his mind so he could work by her side on Monday morning without battling a perpetual hard-on.
They reached the maze of tables surrounding the dance floor as an old-school disco tune started up and a loud quartet of women in their fifties rushed out to get their groove on.
“Sierra, honey,” came an elderly female voice from a couple of tables away.
“My great-aunt Lucy,” Sierra said as she veered them to the left toward her aunt. Sierra angled a chair to face the elderly woman and sat down in it. Cole followed suit like a good date.
He’d not yet been introduced to this woman. He’d remember the slightly lavender hair that matched the decidedly lavender dress.
“How are you doing, Aunt Lucy?” Sierra asked her. “Are you having a good time?”
“It’s a beautiful evening,” the woman said. “A beautiful event. Your sister and her beau make a breathtaking couple.”
“They do. They’ll make gorgeous babies.” Sierra took her aunt’s frail-looking hand in hers. “Can I get you some more cake or another drink?”
The woman, who looked to be in her eighties, shook her head distractedly. “Pete’s getting me more cocktail nuts. I want to meet your boyfriend,” she said with an adamant nod toward Cole.
“Oh.” Sierra laughed graciously and placed an innocent hand on Cole’s knee that made him think anything but innocent thoughts. “Cole’s not my boyfriend. He’s my employee, who was kind enough to be my fake date for the evening.”
Those were all facts, but her easy denial stung anyway. Up until now, no one had asked outright what Cole’s role was, and Sierra had skipped over the details when she introduced him.
“Cole North,” Sierra continued, “my great-aunt Lucy Hanson.”
He gave her hand a gentle shake.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Lucy turned back to Sierra. “A girl like you shouldn’t need to get a fake date,” her aunt said with the bluntness of someone who didn’t worry much what people thought.
“You might be surprised.” Sierra shot a self-conscious look to Cole, and damn if he couldn’t stop wondering what those lips, glossed in that bright pink, tasted like.
Aunt Lucy was scrutinizing Cole, as if she could read his thoughts, and then she turned her gaze back to Sierra. “Well.” The old woman grinned boldly, and mischief sparked in her eyes. “You certainly danced like he’s your boyfriend.”
Sierra sent Cole an apologetic glance, laughed, and said, “That’s just how people dance these days, Aunt Lucy.”
“If you’re certain,” her aunt said.
“Grandpa taught me early on not to get involved with the crew,” Sierra said. “Cole and I work together every day.”
“That brother of mine,” Lucy said, “he could be a pest, but he was smart about his business, that’s for sure.”
“He was the best.” There was no mistaking the affection in Sierra’s voice.
Though Cole had never heard Sierra voice her no-involvement policy in so many words before, there’d never been any question. She was well-respected by the men who worked for her, and though she joked around with them and fostered a friendly work environment, she kept a certain professional distance in place during work hours.
It didn’t matter if she had a strict policy or not though. Cole wasn’t dumb enough to think he was the right man for her, no matter how many nights she popped up in his sweaty, X-rated dreams. He didn’t want to be the right man, for her or anyone. He was more cut out to be a right-now guy.
“I need to remind the newlyweds that it’s time for them to make their getaway,” Sierra said, standing. “Aunt Lucy, I see Uncle Pete wending his way back to you. I’m so happy you two could make it tonight. It was wonderful to see you.” She bent down and kissed the woman on the temple.
“You too, sweetie. If you ever get down to Memphis, you stop by and see Pete and me.”
“Promise,” Sierra said.
“Nice to meet you,” Cole said as he stood. He grasped the woman’s hand loosely and received a wide smile and a wink.
“This will only take me a minute,” Sierra said to him as they walked away from her aunt. “The hotel people are taking care of a
ll the cleanup, but I need to say some goodbyes. Then I swear we can leave.”
“Take your time,” he told her. The thought of going home, back to his apartment, alone—and he would be alone—didn’t appeal the way it usually did.
He spotted Kennedy’s veil-covered copper hair across the way and pointed, then they walked toward the elated couple, who were surrounded by the other three bridesmaids and the four groomsmen. As Sierra spoke to her sister, Cole turned to Hunter and offered his hand.
“Congrats again. Hope you have a hell of a honeymoon,” Cole said. He knew Hunter fairly well, had been the main contractor for his bar’s renovation around the same time as the Wentworth project, and he’d been in Clayborne’s on the Corner for a drink or a sandwich multiple times since then.
Hunter shook his hand, grinning so wide his face nearly split. “My sexy wife and Key West. I don’t see how I can go wrong.”
“Are you ready?” Kennedy sidled up next to her husband. “I’m told it’s time for us to go to our suite.”
“Already?” Hunter said dryly, and the smile on his face left no doubt that he was more than ready for their wedding night.
As Sierra appeared at Cole’s side, he registered the sound of spoons clinking against glasses—again—throughout the room.
“Kiss!”
“One more kiss before you go,” Ivy ordered. “Make it good, Hunter.”
Hunter took the challenge seriously and dipped his wife, which elicited a happy squeal from the normally subdued Kennedy, and then he took his sweet time, drawing out the lip-lock before returning her to vertical. The crowd howled and clapped, and a male voice from across the ballroom hollered, “Get a room!”, making everyone laugh.
“I’m on it!” Hunter yelled back. “Thank you, everyone!” He waved to the room at large, and Kennedy blew a kiss, and then they ducked out of the ballroom.
Cole stood by Sierra’s side as she talked to various guests, said goodbye, hugged, talked some more, and the guests eventually started to file out in clumps.
“After-party at Clayborne’s,” Violet shouted when the crowd had thinned down considerably. “Everybody’s welcome.”
Hunter’s bar was a short walk down Hale Street, at the other end of the block.
Cole looked down at Sierra, and her eyes were lit up with unmistakable interest.
“You want to go?” he confirmed.
“Do you mind?” she asked, her arched brows shooting up over the large brown doe eyes that could convince him to do just about anything tonight.
“I don’t mind.”
The lights got brighter, and the cleanup crew appeared at the opposite end of the room, unobtrusively and efficiently picking up glasses and crumb-covered cake plates and removing the centerpieces table by table.
“Guess our time’s up here,” Sierra said as they retrieved her purse. “I’ve never been so happy not to have to clean. My feet are screaming.”
“We can stop at your apartment on the way so you can change,” he said, knowing she lived across the street from the hotel.
“You not only look good in a suit but you’re brilliant.” There was a sparkle in her eyes as she said it, and an image flashed in his head of her with that look, naked, peering up from beneath him…
As they turned toward the ballroom door, her mom, who Cole had met at the beginning of the reception, approached, effectively chasing the thought away. “Are you and Dad going to join us at Clayborne’s?” Sierra asked her.
Tammy Lowell, slender like all three of her children and dressed in a flattering floor-length dress of silver and sparkles, blew out a sigh that said she was exhausted. “I don’t think I have it in me. We need to touch base with the hotel people, and then I think making it up one level to our room is the last thing I can handle.”
“You’ve had a long day,” Sierra said. “Everything turned out perfect, don’t you think?”
Her mom nodded with a tired smile. “Kennedy thanked us several times. As long as she’s happy, I’m happy. Thanks for all your help, honey.”
The two women hugged, and then, before Cole knew what was happening, Mrs. Lowell threw her arms around him and squeezed. “Cole, we hope to see you again, whether you’re a fake date or a real date.”
He forced an obligatory laugh. The glaring truth was that he wasn’t the kind of guy any mom wanted her daughter to bring home. “Yes, ma’am. Pleasure meeting you. Have a safe flight back.”
When their embrace ended, Mr. Lowell, who’d shot Cole covert suspicious looks throughout the reception, was at his side, hand extended. “Cole.”
“Mr. Lowell, great party tonight. It was good to finally meet you after hearing Sierra talk about you for so long.” Fake date or not, it was smart to stay on this man’s good side. The man who was giving him that look again. The look that accused Cole of imagining his daughter naked.
Guilty as charged, sir.
“You get my daughter home safely, Cole.”
Yep, Cole heard the and say good night at the door while you’re at it buried in his tone.
“Will do, Mr. Lowell.” But not because you told me to.
A few more minutes and a couple of goodbyes later and they were on their way, out of the ballroom, across the marble-floored lobby, and into the temperate October night.
Hale Street was a lively, block-long street not far from the heart of downtown Nashville that had gone from deteriorating, mostly deserted buildings to a thriving neighborhood in the past couple of years. Businesses lined the ground floor—a boot store, dress shop, music store, bakery, and more—and the second and third floors contained newly remodeled apartments. Historical details had been preserved from one end to the other, including the old-time streetlamps and the brick sidewalks.
Sierra lived on the second floor above Bliss, the type of spa place that was a mystery to most men, Cole included. They wandered past the green space on the Wentworth side of the spa. He noticed some of the leaves had started to change, and there was an edge to the breeze tonight that said colder weather was on the way.
As they walked, Sierra seemed to blow off steam by chattering on about all the details of the wedding and the reception and her sister’s dress and the people who’d showed up… Cole found if he replied with an mm-hmm whenever she paused, she was happy, and that worked for him because he was swept away by the lilt of her voice.
When they reached the staircase to her place, he followed her up, held the door for her as she stepped into the hall that had a single apartment on each side, waited while she fished out her key from her sequined evening bag.
He followed her inside, more than a little curious to see the place she called home. To the left of the door was an open kitchen and dining area with white cabinets, butcher-block countertops, and a large farmhouse sink below the window at the opposite end. He could tell, at a glance, that Sierra had had a hand in choosing the historically appropriate finishes that gave the place the feel of a 1940s kitchen—the era of the original building—but brand-new.
On the right was the living area, with the narrow-planked wood floor carried in from the kitchen, a gray sectional with a chaise on one end with a dozen or so turquoise, white, and dark gray throw pillows, and a door on the wall on the Hale Street side that he would bet led to a wrought-iron balcony. The place was well-decorated, homey, welcoming. It fit her perfectly.
Sierra kicked off her shoes and left them next to the kitchen island, emitting a little moan of relief that had his dick taking notice. “Something to drink?” she offered as she padded toward the refrigerator. “I need water, but I’ve also got beer, wine, vodka…”
“Water’s good.” Cole had skipped alcohol altogether tonight. He’d needed all his faculties to navigate the formal affair—and his attraction. Plus, he still had to drive across town to his apartment, which was in a neighborhood that was a far cry from the trendiness of Hale Street.
Sierra took out two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with ice cubes and water from the disp
enser on the fridge on the far side of the kitchen. He joined her, took the glass from her when she offered it, did his best to ignore the flare of heat when their fingers brushed. They both took a long drink, then he leaned against the cabinet next to the fridge and let himself really breathe for the first time in hours, now that they were away from the hordes of people.
When she’d emptied her glass, she stuck it back under the dispenser and refilled it. The hem of her long dress pooled on the floor now that she’d removed her heels. He roved his eyes upward to the band that cinched around her middle, just under her breasts, and he couldn’t help noticing how delicate she seemed. He knew firsthand the extent of her physical strength—she could hold her own on almost anything with the men, big men, on her crew. Her bare arms were firm and muscular but didn’t take away from her femininity. The single strap that held the dress up showed off a lot more flesh than he was treated to at work, and he decided on the spot that those were the sexiest shoulders he’d ever seen in the thirty-two years he’d been alive. Distinctly feminine, with curves and dips in all the right places and smooth, soft-looking skin that made him want to run his lips over every inch. Her necklace was nestled just below the hollow of her throat, verging into the valley between her palm-sized breasts.
Cole’s mouth went dry, and he sucked in another full breath and forced his mind to baseball stats. Cardinals, of course.
“So,” Sierra said as she faced him fully again.
“So,” he repeated, then cleared his throat because his lust-coated voice barely came out. So much for baseball.
She stood close, near enough he could catch her scent again, facing him, and she reached out and grasped his forearm. Even through the two layers of clothing, he could feel the burn of contact. “I know that wasn’t really your thing tonight, and that makes me appreciate it double. So thank you, Cole, so much.”
Her gratitude flustered him for a moment, and he didn’t know what to say, so he blurted out the first thing that occurred to him. “Wouldn’t do it for just anyone.”