by Joyce Lamb
“Let me.” Cole rescued the bottle from her clumsy fingers and uncapped it. “Tilt your head back.”
She obeyed, the angle giving her a different view of his face. The dim light shifted the shadows over his features, made his narrowed blue eyes look dark. His lips were set in a determined line. She remembered what his mouth had done to her senses, and her breath threatened to hitch.
She held still as he squeezed the soothing drops into her eyes.
His brow creased as he gazed down at her. “Do they sting?”
“No.”
“Why are you holding your breath?”
A faint laugh escaped her, and she resumed breathing. “Just practicing for the next time someone tries to drown me.”
He smiled only faintly. “Is that better?”
She blinked several times, the discomfort already receding, and wiped at the moisture clinging to her lashes. “Yes, much. Thank you.”
He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers, quickly, casually, before he returned to the sofa and retrieved his cup. Crossing his legs, he sipped, watching her over the rim.
Rattled both by his show of easy affection and the fact that he didn’t try to take the embrace further, Bailey picked up her own cup and took a drink that was more like a gulp. Already, the alcohol seemed to be working on her system, warming her from the inside. Or perhaps that was Cole.
Her heart began to drum, its rhythm like the beat of a sensual dance, heavy and slow, beating in places that had been neglected for too long. Whoa, she thought. Hormone alert.
She tried to think of something to say to distract her. “I don’t know how to thank you for saving my life.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I was … I’m just glad my timing was good.”
“Your timing was excellent. There’s a lot about you that’s excellent.”
He grinned. “Finally figuring that out, are you?”
“It could be the alcohol.”
“I’d be happy to get you a refill.”
His lazy smile jammed her pulse into the next gear. “If you tried to take advantage of me, I would probably let you,” she said.
His eyes glimmered with intensity in the semi-dark. “Do I seem like the kind of guy who’d take advantage of a woman who’s had the kind of day you’ve had?”
“Maybe I’m hoping you are.” Her own honesty surprised her.
“In the morning, I’m going to call myself an idiot, but I’m not interested in being a distraction.”
She frowned. A distraction? “Should I be insulted?”
He chuckled. “I got a hard-on putting drops in your eyes. Don’t be insulted.”
Heat rushed into her cheeks, and other parts of her body. She kept her gaze fixed on his face. “It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”
A muscle in his temple flexed, and he looked like he might leap up, rip away her clothes and get busy tearing both their minds away from the day she’d had. But instead, he took his time sipping coffee before he gave her a look that could be nothing but tightly controlled. “Are you trying to seduce me?”
She smiled. “Am I that transparent? I used to be such a pro.”
He laughed. “Relax. When you’re feeling better, you won’t have to do any seducing. Trust me.”
“I think I do. Trust you.”
“I’m hoping it’s more than that.”
Her heartbeat skipped. His open honesty floored her. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Just say what you’re feeling.”
“I wish I could tell you I’ve always been that way, but it’s a recent development, probably because I’ve already wasted too much time.”
She let her head rest against the chair back, vaguely noticing that the tick-tick-tick of the rain against the windows had stopped. Tired didn’t begin to describe how she felt, besides absolutely freaking frustrated that he wasn’t peeling off her clothes right now and shooting her to the moon with his mouth and hands. But apparently he just wanted to talk.
“How have you wasted time?” she asked.
“I let someone else tell me how I should feel.”
“You’re talking about Daniel.”
“If I hadn’t listened to his lies. I would have let you seduce me a long time ago.”
She smiled, letting his levity relax her. “But then we wouldn’t be having such fun now.”
“I used to think he was a good guy,” he said. “A good friend.”
“I thought he was a good guy, too. I wanted to marry him. But, then, I’d never seen him in a situation where he felt trapped.”
“Guess he had us both fooled.”
“Guess so.”
He drained the rest of his coffee and set aside the cup. “Why did you let him get away with it?”
She wasn’t surprised by the question. A.J. had demanded to know at the time, but Bailey hadn’t been able to answer. Sometimes shame was the most powerful emotion of all.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Cole said.
She took a breath, held it. “I hit him first.”
There, she’d said it. The ceiling didn’t cave in. Lightning didn’t strike. The world didn’t end. But she still felt like an asshole.
Cole’s jaw tensed, but his expression remained neutral. “You didn’t knock him through a glass table, Bailey.”
She glanced down at the mug clasped between her hands and blinked away a sudden resurgence of tears. She’d consoled herself afterward that her slap hadn’t been vicious enough to leave a mark on Daniel’s cheek. And she’d never told anyone that he’d hit her, though the bruise on her cheekbone had told that story. But none of that had made it any easier to accept that if she hadn’t lost control, maybe she wouldn’t have paid such a steep price.
She downed the last of her coffee, the fresh tears safely contained. Control was good. Control prevented tragedy. “He wouldn’t have hit me if I hadn’t done it first.”
“So you blame yourself?”
She met his eyes, saw both rage and compassion. Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach. “We both made mistakes.”
“Why did you hit him?”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“You’re not a fly-off-the-handle type. It takes a lot to get to you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Like hell I don’t. I’ve worked with you for a while now. I’ve seen how you deal with our co-workers and how you respond when you’re confronted with unpleasantness. I’ve never once known you to even raise your voice. Whatever he did, or said, had to be huge.”
She looked down into her empty mug. This, too, was unexplored territory. A.J. had pried at her for months, trying to get her to talk about what had been said in the minutes before she’d landed among the remains of the smashed coffee table. But what was the point? Talking about it would do nothing more than stir up emotions that could boil over. Best to let them simmer and never turn up the heat. As much as she knew that was unhealthy emotionally, it was what she’d always been comfortable with.
But now she was realizing that maybe if she turned up the heat, if she let the pot boil over and make its mess, then she could clean it up and move on. Then could all really be over.
Oh, if only life were that easy.
She glanced up, forced a smile. “I need a refill.”
Chapter 39
In the kitchen to get their refills, Cole splashed a shot of whiskey into Bailey’s cup and chased it with coffee. He filled his own mug with just plain coffee. He didn’t need alcohol jacking up the volume on his raging hormones. But, Jesus, it’d been tough keeping his distance when she’d all but invited him to take her. He could have been buried inside her right this minute, racing toward what he imagined would be the most intense finish line he’d ever shot across. He’d never burned for victory as much as he did right now.
Bracing his hands on the counter, he hung his head between his arms and willed his body to behave.
He wanted her. Christ, he wanted her.
But he had to be careful. If he didn’t do this right, she’d run the first chance she got. She was skittish and wary, and she’d been so badly hurt, emotionally and physically. His chest ached at what she’d been through. And Daniel … that fucker. Cole could have punched him again. A hundred times. If it would change anything.
“Are you all right?
Cole raised his head. He hadn’t heard her follow him in, yet she stood in the kitchen doorway, looking uncertain and concerned. She’d left the blanket in the other room, and she must have been a bit chilled still, because her nipples poked at the material of her T-shirt. Oh, that’s hot, he thought. Just … unbelievably … hot. And so not helping.
“I’m good,” he said, voice strained. “Just give me a minute.”
She stepped toward him. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. Totally sure.”
She cocked her head, baffled. But then his situation must have dawned on her because color washed into her cheeks. “Oh.” A small smile began to play at the corners of her mouth. “Still?”
Embarrassed, he laughed softly and closed his eyes. He felt like a damn teenager. “Again.”
“Wow.”
“From where I’m standing, it’s more of an ‘ow.’ “
He didn’t hear her moving until her warm hands slipped under his shirt and slid up his back. The rest of his body stiffened as his heart went turbo, and he inhaled a strangled breath. “That’s really not going to help.”
Her laugh sent moist air across his bare skin where she had pushed up his shirt, and then he felt her lips against his back, the gentle flick of her tongue.
“Just so we’re clear,” she said, her mouth moving over him. “I’m the one taking advantage of you, not the other way around.”
His fingers gripped the edge of the counter. If it had been made of porous material, it would have been dust. “I don’t want you to regret this.” He couldn’t believe he was actually trying to talk her out of it!
“The only way I’m going to regret it is if you don’t shut up and kiss me.”
He turned to her, and before he could make another attempt at arguing for rational thinking, his lips were otherwise occupied.
She tasted like coffee and whiskey … and need. And all thoughts of waiting until both their heads were clear fled. He caught his hands in her hair and backed her against the pantry door. Her scent—fresh soap and what was it? Rosemary and mint shampoo, perhaps?—overwhelmed his senses, and he couldn’t get enough fast enough.
His hands raced under her shirt, and her moan vibrated against him as he found the hook of her bra, released it and dove in. Her skin, so soft, so silky, was burning under the pads of his fingers, and he felt her shudder when he teased her nipple with his thumb.
She began to fumble with his belt, and he pressed against her to trap and still her hands. “Slow down,” he murmured.
As much as he ached for her to touch him, he also wanted it to last, and that wasn’t going to happen if he let her get her hands on him too soon. “We’ve got time.”
She moved restlessly. “I don’t want to go slow.”
He answered by lifting her and turning so that he could settle her onto the island in the center of the kitchen. Breathless, she braced her hands on his shoulders and laughed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m making it tougher for you to get at the goods.” He grinned at her flushed face as he pulled her T-shirt over her head. Her eyes shone with heat and impatience, her lips wet and full. Her bra had fallen open, and he gazed at her breasts, his mouth going dry. “You look amazing.”
She nipped his chin. “Not nearly as amazing as you do.”
He kissed her long and hard, tangling his fingers with hers and drawing her hands behind her back, where he trapped them there with one hand. She fidgeted against him, trying to tug her wrists free. Christ, if she did any more wiggling, he was going to be done and neither of them would be satisfied. Levering his hips back, he leaned his forehead against hers and took several breaths.
Bailey let out a frustrated groan. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to back off—”
He silenced her with another kiss. Back off? Like hell.
With his free hand, he released the button on her shorts and tugged down the zipper. He slid his hand down inside her underwear, and her mouth trembled open under his. He was certain he heard a choked moan deep in her throat, but then he used the hand that cuffed both of hers behind her back to force her forward on the counter, angling her hips for easier access.
“Wait,” she said. “I want—”
But he moved his fingers, and she jerked hard against him, her head dropping back. He buried his mouth against her throat, tasted her heart hammering under his lips, heard her heaving breath begin to hitch. When she gasped out his name—”Cole, oh, God …”—he fought down the need to tear open his jeans and get inside her.
Instead, he focused on driving her higher and higher still until she stiffened and shuddered with a low, ragged moan.
He eased her back while she gasped for breath, her legs falling to either side of his hips as he leaned over her to kiss her chin, her jaw, the side of her neck.
Smoothing his hand down her ribs, he used his fingertips to lightly inspect her stitches, worried that all that straining she’d just done might have hurt her. Everything felt fine, and a quick glance reassured him that the wound looked as it should in this stage of healing. Even the incident in Payne’s pool hadn’t disturbed anything.
“While that was great and everything,” she said, breathless, “it wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Her voice was so husky it sent a chill up his spine. Jesus, he wanted to get inside all that Bailey heat now and lose control.
He raised his head to meet dark and glazed green eyes. As he watched, the tip of her tongue wet her lips. Willpower, he decided, wasn’t something you could expect to hold forever.
“What’s with the past tense?” he asked. “I was just slowing you down.”
Scooping her off the counter, he carried her toward the bedroom.
Chapter 40
Bailey wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on, giddy all over again with anticipation. “Oh, thank God.”
Her head felt light, her body still humming with the aftermath of what he’d just done to her. She didn’t let herself think, focused entirely on feeling as, after lowering her to the bed, Cole came down beside her, shedding his shirt along the way. She ran her palms over his broad shoulders and gripped when he brought his hand up to cup her breast.
Through his jeans, he was hot and hard against her hip, and she ached to have nothing between them. She started unbuttoning his fly. “You should get out of these pants.”
“You should get out of these shorts.” He tugged them and her underwear down her legs and off.
She fumbled with his zipper, her knuckles pressed against the bulge under the denim, and she heard his intake of breath. “Hang on there, Sparky,” she said, “I’ve almost got it.”
He chuckled, covering her hand with his. “Let me take care of that while you think of something to call me besides Sparky.”
She rolled on top of him and straddled his hips, waving away his helping hands. “Don’t. I let you torture me earlier. I want payback.”
He groaned, bowing his head back against the pillow as she worked his jeans and briefs off. She couldn’t wait to touch him, couldn’t wait to feel him inside her, filling her.
Suddenly, he flipped their positions so that she was under him. The sudden move made her dizzy, and she laughed in surprise. He reached down and snagged his jeans from the foot of the bed and dragged them up. He grinned at her as he got his wallet out of a back pocket and then a condom out of his wallet. “Lucky for us, I saw that there are more of these in the bathroom.”
She flushed with anticipation as he quickly took care of business, then she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him
close, eager to take him finally, finally inside her.
He plunged.
She gasped.
He tensed.
She arched.
Neither moved, savoring the first intense moment of connection, the silence marred only by their rapid, shaky breathing.
He shifted, withdrawing slowly then sinking deeper this time, slow and easy.
She swallowed, her fingers digging into his back. “Oh … God.”
He withdrew almost completely, then slid a hand under her and lifted her hips slightly as he drove forward, faster this time, more forceful, as if he couldn’t get deep enough. “Jesus, Bailey.”
The strain in his voice, in his body, did wonderful things to her senses, and she spun with them. He felt so good, so right.
He kissed her as he began to move, his rhythm sure and steady as his tongue teased hers. She threaded her fingers through his hair, loving the taste of him, his smell, his texture. The way he moved and kissed and thrust.
His hand skated over her, setting off firecrackers of sensation everywhere his fingers stroked. She wondered at his ability to know exactly where she liked to be touched, how much pressure to apply, how fast or slow to do it, to make her pant. How could he know all of that already?
Or was she so responsive because she was with him?
Maybe she loved him.
The thought hit her with the force of an orgasm. Staggering. Breathtaking.
Was it even possible?
She hadn’t expected love to be on the menu. Lust, sure. But not love. And what do you know? It appeared to be the only damn choice, for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was even the daily special.
She’d take it, she decided, take him. And she was greedy for more. Seconds. Thirds. And dessert. Mounds and mounds of dessert.
Whatever he had, she’d take. She’d give back as good as she got, and more.
She’d eat up every moment with him until she had no choice but to walk away.
And then how would she live without him?
His rhythm faltered and he stopped, his breath uneven as he trailed his lips back to her ear. “We need to slow down or I’m not going to last. You feel too damn good.”