Shelter

by Stephanie Fournet

  Instead of pulling away like I probably should have, I let my fingers curl over the edge of his hand and tuck against his palm. In that one instant, I became aware of so many things. Cole Whitehurst’s hand was as solid and epic as it looked. His flesh pulsed with heat and power. And my heart raced as though someone held a gun to my head.

  The smile on his face got lost in the widening of his eyes, and for the first time in my life, Cole Whitehurst looked afraid.

  I must have lost my mind because I ignored that look and gave his hand a squeeze. And to my utter shock, Cole clutched my fingers in a fierce grip and squeezed back.

  “You always surprise me,” he said, his voice dropping low, his expression warring between a mystified frown and a smile of delight. “That’s what I was going to say when you made me laugh. You always surprise the hell out of me.”

  He still held my hand tight, and that tightness told me a secret. Cole Whitehurst actually wanted to hold my hand. And if he wanted to hold my hand, maybe he wanted other things… Things I now understood I wanted.

  So, without thinking about how he would react or how I should behave or if anyone in the big house would see, I leaned in. I bent over our joined hands on my knee and let my lips touch his.

  They were so warm that I knew mine must have been freezing. But he didn’t flinch like I would have. He held perfectly still for all of two seconds.

  And then his mouth opened.

  His lips seemed to catch mine the way butterflies were caught in a snare. One minute they were laying claim to air and sunlight, and the next they were surrounded on all sides by a net that was both invisible and everywhere at once.

  Cole’s mouth on mine was all I knew. As soon as I realized he was kissing me back — really kissing me back — all I could do was feel. His mouth moved against mine as it both opened and urged mine to open. My pulse raced. It felt like a dance mix in my throat, and I could hear the rush of my breath as I gave in. He caught my bottom lip between his teeth, surprising the hell out of me. My blood flamed at the sensation. It made me feel wanted. Nobody had ever done that before.

  His tongue brushed the edge of my lip, still trapped between his teeth, and then in one movement, Cole let it go only to sweep his tongue into my mouth just as the hand that wasn’t on my knee curled around my nape and pulled me closer to him. My tongue answered his call, moving to receive his.

  “Mmm…” This gruff noise rumbled from his chest, drumming against mine. He tasted like need, and I couldn’t tell if it was his need or my own. But I was sure I didn’t want to stop.

  Kissing Cole, I suddenly understood, was something I’d wanted forever. His acceptance, the permission to be close to him, had long been prizes I’d sought. The claim I heard in his rough growl touched me somewhere deep and secret. In the playroom of my heart. In the chapel of my lungs. Places I had long ago abandoned.

  It made me feel worth knowing.

  His tongue stroked mine with what I could only name as tender exploration. Mine followed suit, learning as it did his welcome and his will. Cole’s hand at my neck became fingers in my hair, massaging my scalp and sending a river of chills down my spine. His touch made my nipples peak and rub against the flannel of my pajama top. Against his chest.

  And all at once I wanted to touch him there almost as much as I wanted his touch on me.

  I placed my hand on his waist, fisting the cobalt sweater that made his eyes so blue they were almost electric. He moaned, and his kiss deepened when I felt his abs tense under my touch. My hands, I knew, were too cold to touch him bare, but ever since he’d tortured me with Jane Eyre in nothing but his swim trunks, I’d burned with the desire to run my hands down his sides and across the rippled terrain of his stomach.

  As though he read my mind, his hand left my knee, gripped my own with its warmth, and tucked it under his sweater. The moment he pressed my hand to his flaming skin, Cole’s breath shuddered.

  “Fuck. You’re freezing.” His words muffled against my mouth, and then he chuckled against my lips. “Why are you always so cold?”

  His mouth sealed again over mine before I could answer. But my fingers splayed against the solid smolder of his abs, and I couldn’t stop my question.

  “Why are you so hot?”

  I sounded drugged. And the moment he started laughing, I realized I also sounded like an idiot.

  “Glad you approve, Cormier,” he purred, moving from my lips to my jaw as he laughed.

  “That’s not—” Embarrassed, I braced my hand against him, aiming to pull away, but Cole gripped me tighter.

  “Oh, no,” he protested, his burning mouth now on my neck, but somehow, I could still feel and hear his smile. “You said I was hot. I’ll carry that with me for the rest of my life. Don’t ruin it now.”

  I wanted to argue. Instead, the feel of his mouth on my neck had my eyes closing. I gave a growl of frustration. He chuckled again and pressed his lips to my ear.

  “I love it when you get mad.” His voice was a sexy whisper that made the tension leave my shoulders and the embarrassment I’d felt a moment before boil away. In spite of myself, I laughed.

  “Wh-what?” I stammered, my breath hitching when his kiss returned to my neck. “Why…?” I wanted to ask, “Why do you love it when I get mad?” But that was too many words.

  “Mmm,” Cole moaned, the sound echoing deep so that I felt it in the very base of my body. “Because you don’t pretend… You don’t hide…”

  His words sunk in, but I didn’t entirely believe him. I could pretend when I needed to. For years in school I’d just kept my mouth shut so no one would know how dumb I was. And clearly I’d pretended forever that I didn’t care what Cole thought of me. I’d done it so well, I’d even fooled myself.

  His hand still held mine against his armored abs, a place where he was both strong and vulnerable. I stroked my fingers against his smooth skin. He was so warm, I wanted to crawl into his sweater and press my flesh against him.

  “You’re not afraid of anything.”

  I stiffened when he said this, unable to fake that it was the truth. I swallowed and lifted my head, which I’d tilted back into the cradle of his caressing hand.

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  Cole straightened then, and for the first time since I’d attacked him with my kiss, our eyes met. Staring into his liquid blue eyes made me feel completely naked. He now knew things about me even I didn’t fully understand.

  A frown creased his brow. “Does this scare you?”

  No. Yes. My mouth worked but no sound came out. “What?”

  His frown deepened. “Am I scaring you?”

  I blinked, grasping his meaning and the concern in his eyes. “No. No, you’re not scaring me—”

  “I shouldn’t be doing this,” Cole said, shaking his head. He dropped both of his hands, and that was when I felt afraid.

  “Wait. Why?” I protested, my stomach plunging.

  He covered his face and gave a muffled groan through his fingers. “Because. You’re too young. And I’m an asshole—”

  “No, you’re not.” He looked miserable. Guilty and ashamed. And I hated it. So, I grabbed his hands and pulled them from his face. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I kissed you, remember.”

  He watched me with unseeing eyes, his brow shadowed. And then he blinked three times, and his look softened. “You did. Didn’t you?” Cole sounded surprised. So surprised a single laugh caught me.

  “Yeah, I did,” I admitted, squeezing the hands I still held. He looked down at them, his warm, tanned hands connected with mine. Cold, small, and, now I realized, splattered with dried paint.

  Cole squeezed back. He met my gaze again and narrowed his focus on me. “But you’re too young,” he said, sounding like he was talking to himself.

  “For what?” I challenged, suddenly unwilling to let him talk himself out of whatever he was trying to talk himself out of.

  He sniffed a laugh, and I watched him struggle to fight his smi
le. And then that smile turned sad. “Elise, I’m nineteen. I’m in college.”

  The way he said it soured my stomach. As though making him say it meant I was dumb. Still the dumb girl in the room.

  “I—” I didn’t care what I’d said to Alberta just yesterday. I wanted to argue that three years wasn’t such a big deal. But I knew how foolish that would sound, so I dropped his hands. “I get it.”

  Feeling bruised, I popped up from the ground and started picking up my supplies.

  Cole just stared at me. “What are you doing?”

  I capped the spray paint and tested the drawer with the tip of one finger. This made it easier not to look at him. “I’m cleaning up.”

  Cole was quiet, but I could still sense his eyes on me. “No, you’re angry,” he said, his tone going hard. “And not in the good way.”

  I huffed a sarcastic laugh, grabbing the excess newspaper and wadding it up. It felt good to ruin something. “Well, I’m sorry. I can’t be angry the way you like on command.” I’d made a tight newspaper ball when Cole grabbed my wrist.

  I froze, but I didn’t look at him. This was way too humiliating.

  “Elise, look at me.” The hardness in his voice was gone.

  But I wouldn’t look. Instead, I let my gaze drop to my feet.

  “Dammit,” Cole muttered, pushing himself to standing. He did so without releasing my wrist, and then he was towering over me. Cole hooked a finger under my chin and made me face him.

  But I was stubborn. He could tilt my chin up, but he couldn’t make me open my eyes. Behind my closed lids, I heard him heave a frustrated sigh.

  “Fine. Don’t look at me. But you still have to listen.”

  I knew I was being a baby, and I wanted to open my eyes. I really did. Because he was standing so close, touching me again, and I didn’t want to miss it. But now that the mortification had sunk in, I didn’t know what to do. And Cole was wrong about me. I hid. I hid all the time. I was hiding behind my eyelids right now because facing him might kill me.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said on a whisper. And just like that, my eyes fluttered open. What I found was Cole Whitehurst peering down at me, a battle warring in his eyes. “For months, I haven’t stopped.”

  My lungs wouldn’t fill. They already felt too full.

  “I should leave you alone.” His eyes narrowed in a kind of wince. “But seeing you is the best thing about being home.”

  Oh my God.

  If his fingers hadn’t been under my chin, my jaw would have fallen. “I-I’m glad you’re home,” I admitted, speaking before I even had the chance to question the wisdom and safety of my words.

  Judging by his look, those words pained him. How could they pain him? “You’re just so young. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  My stomach seized at this. I didn’t want him to hurt me either, and my head was telling me pain was almost certain. Just hearing Cole say he should leave me alone hurt. I knew he’d never call me a cock-tease like Jeff Griggs, but even if he didn’t mean to, I sensed Cole had the power to bring me to my knees in a way no other guy could.

  But that wasn’t because of my age.

  “I’m not that young.”

  Cole arched a brow at me. “You’re sixteen. Technically, you’re not even old enough to see a rated-R movie.”

  “That didn’t stop you from watching Superbad with me and Ava last year.”

  Cole’s mouth opened, and he gave a quick jerk of his head. “I— That’s not— That’s beside the point—”

  “No.” I shook my head and jabbed him once with my index finger. His chest was a solid wall, and I had to drop my hand to keep my thoughts straight. “It’s not. You obviously thought I was old enough to see a rated-R movie when I was fifteen. Which means you either think society’s standards about age are arbitrary and meaningless, or you think I’m more mature than the average minor. Either way, my age really shouldn’t be—”

  “But it is.” Cole stepped into my space, scowling now. His perfect face was flushed, and I could see a vein leaping in his neck. “Because the way I feel about you is criminal. And there’s nothing arbitrary about—”

  His words hung from his open mouth, and, again, I saw a flicker of fear cross his face.

  “About what?”

  Cole clapped his mouth shut, the look of fear giving way to something worse. Was it shame?

  “…the way I feel about you is criminal.”

  At once, my skin — from the top of my scalp the soles of my feet — lit like a match. And not with embarrassment. This heat was of the hot-and-bothered variety. And as hot as I was, I discovered it didn’t bother me one bit.

  “What were you going to say?” I asked softly.

  Cole’s jaw clenched, and he shook his head. He wasn’t going to tell me. He wasn’t going to let himself utter the name of a crime I suddenly wanted him to commit.

  And before I could say it for him, Cole turned on his heel and left me standing in the cold. All hot and bothered.

  Chapter 12

  COLE

  Statutory rape.

  I’d actually almost said those words to Elise Cormier.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I stood in the spacious front hall of my parents’ house — surrounded on all sides by dozens of people from my father’s law firm and all of their plus-ones — nodding to Ed Vance, one of my father’s partners. I had no idea what he was saying because Elise had just walked across the room behind him.

  She was carrying a tray of bacon-wrapped dates, and she wore a green velvet dress that skimmed over her curves and took my eyes hostage. Instead of looking at me, she turned away, and I almost went weak-kneed at the lacy cutout that exposed her back. Shoulder blade to shoulder blade. From just below her nape to just above the small of her back, she was bare except for the filigree of dark green lace. My fingers itched to touch her ivory skin. I wanted to press my fingertips to that lace and feel her through its emptiness. I wanted to take that tray from her hands, throw it in the fireplace, and race with her out the front door. Never look back.

  “…but anyone who was paying attention could have seen this crisis coming. Subprime loans? How long could that last?” Ed Vance talked on unchecked. Again I nodded, murmuring some sound of assent. I looked at Ed. Blinked. Let my eyes find her again. Even if I wasn’t looking directly at her, I knew exactly where she was.

  Look at me.

  I wanted to tell her I was sorry for kissing her. No. Not for kissing her. I’d never be sorry for that. And she’d been right. She had kissed me first.

  I smiled at Ed Vance. She kissed me first, I wanted to tell him. He frowned at me as I heard his words filter too late into my brain. Something about foreclosure and families living in cars.

  I shook my head and frowned back, trying to focus. But then Elise slipped into the living room.

  Please look at me.

  I could still see her through the arched doorway. In that dress, with her soft makeup, her lips painted burgundy, and her hair swept up in that beaded clip I was sure she’d made, Elise did not look sixteen. Not even close. She could have walked into a club even without a fake ID.

  Why did she have to be sixteen?

  Or why couldn’t I be sixteen? And someone else? Someone who lived next door. Someone who didn’t have to hit the weight room at six in the morning to make sure I could still take my father. Or at least hold my own. Someone who didn’t have to sleep with the bedroom door open so I could hear my mother’s voice in bed at night. To make sure she wasn’t crying in pain. Or fear.

  Because then I could close that door, climb out my window, and cross night’s shadows to find Elise’s window. Slip inside…

  The memory of her taste hit me like a blow. She’d tasted like sweet tea. Like sweet tea and apricots. Like innocence.

  And I’d told her about my criminal thoughts.

  I’m such an asshole.

  Elise stepped to the right, moving out of sight, and wha
tever chains had held me back snapped.

  “E-excuse me, Ed,” I muttered, cutting him off mid-sentence before shouldering past other partners, judges and their spouses, paralegals and their dates. I pushed my way into the living room just in time to see Elise standing at the far end of the dining room near the kitchen.

  Still holding the tray, she glanced to her right, and I caught her frowning in profile. But she wasn’t looking back at me. She was facing the door that led from the dining room back into the front hall. I wanted to reach her before she slipped into the kitchen, but she was too quick.

  Even though I ached to, I wouldn’t follow. Flora would be our audience, and Elise would kill me for that. So I waited. I pressed my back to the wall right outside the kitchen entrance, straining to listen above the hum of conversation and the hired pianist who was playing Nat King Cole from the den on the other side of the house.

  My home teemed with people. I doubted anyone would notice me standing sentinel outside the kitchen, but I pulled out my phone on the pretense of checking messages just in case.

  Across from me, through the hall, the door to the bathroom under the stairs was closed, but light spilled under its sill. Two women approached the door and one tried the knob, but it didn’t open. She turned and found me watching.

  “You’re Garrett’s son, right?” she asked, crossing the hall and striding toward me.

  I straightened up from the wall, hoping Elise hadn’t heard her. “Yes… Can I help you?” I asked, moving to her.

  She glanced over her shoulder to her friend and the closed door behind them. “Could you show us to another bathroom? That one’s been taken for a while.”

  “Sure,” I said with a nod. “Follow me.” I led them back into the hall, behind the stairs, and into the den where guests were gathered in clusters around the grand piano, some singing along and others standing by our second Christmas tree.

  Because who only has one Christmas tree?

  I rolled my eyes at the Frasier fir, pointed them to the bathroom around the corner, and hurried back toward the kitchen in time to see Elise emerge with a new tray. She was staring straight ahead of her, a small frown creasing her brow.