Well, hell. Two could play at that game.
She pushed on his chest—oh, right, he was finally on the bed beside her—and rolled to her side.
“That wasn’t fair,” she said, but given that she was working at the zipper on his pants as she said it, she was pretty sure he knew she wasn’t angry.
“Weren’t you the one who said that all’s fair in love and—”
Good. She loved rendering a man mute. Especially when it took nothing more than one well-placed slide of her palm. It gave her hope that by the time she was through with him, he would be left as mindless and limp as she hoped to hell she’d be.
“These pants have got to go.” But instead of tugging them down, she pushed them open, letting her hand settle deep in the vee that ensued. Her fingers crept low. She used her kiss to push him onto his back, fingers playing him like a piano.
Scales had never been this much fun.
She toyed and played as she let her mouth trail across his jaw, down the length of his neck, across his shoulders. She kissed her way down his chest and over to the far side of his ribs—not because she thought it was an undiscovered erogenous zone, but because it gave her the chance to brush her hair and cheek and breasts against him. All the while she kept practicing her scales, muscle memory moving her fingers in a pattern that she knew he couldn’t predict. His fast gasps brought a smile to her lips and another one deeper inside.
She was doing this to him. She was the one making him arch against her touch. She—battered, used, discarded Jenna—was driving this amazing man into a frenzy of need.
She was so glad she hadn’t died in that stupid accident.
“Cole?”
She interpreted his strained garble as an answer.
“I need to move for a minute.”
Immediately his eyes popped open, tinged with worry. “Are you okay?”
It took her a moment to understand his concern. “I am so beyond okay that it’s probably illegal in twelve states. But if I don’t get to that drawer,”—she tilted her head in the direction of her bedside table—“in the next, oh, four seconds, I can’t promise—”
He rolled up and away before she could grasp his intent. When he rolled back with the box in his hand, something shifted inside her.
“I love a man who knows what a woman wants before she even says it.”
“Does that mean I can count on your vote in November, ma’am?”
She bit back the giggles that his words had prompted and fixed him with her very best dubious stare. “Well, I don’t know. I might need to do a bit more research.”
“Research, huh?” He rolled off the bed, shucked his remaining clothes, and rejoined her. “There you go. Is that the information you need?”
She forced herself to maintain a critical glance as she surveyed the goods—which were, indeed, more than worth her vote.
“Why, yes, that’s very helpful. But I, uh, need to be sure you can—um—deliver on your promises.”
She was inordinately proud of herself for completing the sentence. It hadn’t been easy, what with the way he was licking her belly button.
He sighed against her stomach. “You undecided voters. You need so much convincing.”
“Hey, I only get one chance to vote. I want to make sure I choose the bes—ooohhhh”
Dear Lord. He hadn’t been lying about making his best oral arguments without words.
“Cole—”
It came out more like a gasp than a word. He laughed against her, low and long, his lips brushing against all kinds of happy, and she arched up, more than ready to stop playing.
Except, once again, he moved away a second too soon.
She would have protested if she had any voice. Instead, she moved. Pushing him onto his back. Remembering, with her last bit of sense, to check that everything was fully covered before she straddled him, kissing that corner of his mouth while all the aching parts slid against him, seeking, sparking, celebrating.
“Remember what I said downstairs?” she whispered.
“Memory’s shot.”
Excellent.
“I think I said something about this.” She arched and moved and took him inside her, just enough to send the first shock waves rolling through her without making her lose the last bits of her control. “And then I said I would do this.” She slowly moved down a fraction of an inch, tensing around him as she pulled back again, moving like she had all the patience in the world when in actuality every part of her was screaming to move, push, hard, now.
“Jenna—”
“I still don’t know,” she said.
“What?”
The agony in his voice. The barely constrained need, the rawness, like she was torturing him beyond the point of all mercy or reason.
“My vote.” She moved a little lower, bracing herself on his shoulders, hearing that same edge in her own voice and knowing that at any second she wouldn’t be able to play, wouldn’t be able to speak, wouldn’t be able to do anything but push and gasp and shudder and grip. “I . . . don’t . . . know . . .”
He grabbed her hips. “Yes,” he growled, just before he tipped her, just before he rolled on top of her, just before he pushed into her once, twice, hard and needy and sending her flying out of reason, out of sense, out of everything except him, gasping out her name and falling into her.
***
Cole hadn’t intended to spend the night at Jenna’s. Even after it became clear that it was going to be a night to remember, he had never considered that it might become a sleepover. Stay for a couple of hours, have himself a damned fine time, then be on his way.
Except Jenna had had other ideas. Ideas that meant he was in her pseudo-tent a lot longer than he would have expected.
Ideas that meant that when they were both finally sated to the point of exhaustion, he had passed out. Totally and completely. He doubted that a fire alarm screaming in his ear would have roused him. Once he was out, he was gone until the bleating of Jenna’s alarm jerked him to wakefulness.
She had rolled over, greeted him with a kiss that gave him half a mind to stick around even longer, then rolled out of bed with a comment about shower, breakfast, class. By the time she emerged from the shower, steamy and toweled and pink, he was dressed and ready to roll. Good thing, too. If he hadn’t been fully clothed, the sight of her wrapped in a scrap of fabric would have made it almost impossible for him to leave.
But leave he did. Hands in his pockets, whistling back at the birds providing the soundtrack for his morning, he rounded the corner of the mall and headed for his car.
Only to come to a halt as a familiar minivan pulled up beside him.
“Good morning,” Ram said through his open window. He gave Cole a telling head-to-toe evaluation. “Or should I say, good night?”
Could he claim that he fell asleep in the office?
Even as he opened his mouth, he knew he’d hesitated a fraction of a second too long to fool the person who knew him better than anyone in the world with the possible exception of his mother. Any lingering hopes were crushed by Ram’s snort.
“I guess champagne and balloons weren’t enough of a celebration.”
Cole closed his eyes and assessed his options while Ram hopped out of the van. It wasn’t easy. His brain was still muddled from the lack of sleep, lack of coffee, and total flood of morning-after bliss.
“Don’t say anything to anyone, okay? Nobody needs that.”
“I don’t know. You’re looking mighty relaxed this morning, so I’m guessing you needed it pretty bad.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know. Lips are sealed and all that shit. But let me tell you, you’re not fooling anybody. Everyone has seen the way you two look at each other.” He looked up to the sky, as if checking the weather . “Maybe now we’ll be able to focus.
You know. Now that we don’t have to wade through a cloud of hormones to get to the computers.”
“Mature, Ram. Real mature. What are you doing here at this hour, anyway?”
“Some of us still have to work today.”
“Not for me, you don’t.”
“Oh, the ego. The man wins a primary and the world revolves around him.” Ram’s knuckles rapped against Cole’s forehead. “Hello, genius. Day job, remember?”
“Yeah, genius, but your office is on the other side of town.”
“I know that. I also know that Brews and Blues has excellent coffee and breakfast sandwiches. And that it’s only a block out of the way of my usual commute. And Lucy still can’t handle the smell of coffee in the morning, so here I am, husband of the year, suffering for the sake of my wife.”
“Oh.” It was about all Cole could manage. In fact, his brain was having a hard time keeping up with just that explanation, which was probably why Ram burst into laughter so loud that it bounced off the building and echoed back around them.
“Man, you are definitely doing the zombie thing today. I’d offer to buy you a coffee, but I’m afraid if we walk in there and Jenna’s working, you’ll either fall over or end up arrested for public indecency. Not the best image for the next mayor, I’m thinking.”
“Prospective next mayor.” The correction was automatic. Good. Nice to know his reflexes were working again. “And she’s not working this morning. She had an early class.”
“Hope she has a little more brainpower this morning that you do. Otherwise she could be kissing those tuition dollars good-bye.” Ram jerked his head toward the shop. “Since the coast is clear, want to join me?”
He shouldn’t. He should head home, hit the shower, and hook up a caffeine IV. But Ram was right. Nothing that Cole could make at home would equal the stuff at Brews and Blues. And home was ten minutes away, while there was a cup of wakefulness right there in the shop, just waiting to be poured for him. And since Jenna wasn’t going to be there . . . .
“Sure, but only on two conditions.”
Ram rolled his eyes. “Fine. I won’t ask for details.”
“You’re a pig. You know that? My conditions are, one, I buy, and two, we don’t talk about the election. I barely remembered that Lucy is pregnant. I need to spend a few minutes being a normal person again.”
“Deal.”
They ambled toward the shop in easy silence. When they were finally within inhaling distance, Cole couldn’t keep from filling his lungs with the scent of promise.
“And Lucy can’t stomach that right now?” he asked.
Ram sighed. “It’s killing her. Coffee, meat cooking, the dog when he’s wet. The other night she almost tossed her cookies after we had all that rain. She said all she could smell was worms.”
Cole’s stomach cramped in sympathy. “How long is that gonna last?”
“Don’t know. She’s never had it this bad before. I’m hoping that means it’s a boy this time. Love my girls, but it would be nice to have someone else to blame when the toilet seat gets left up.”
Lucky for Cole, they had reached the shop and he didn’t have to come up with a reply. He was fresh out of wit and wisdom today.
But as soon as he followed Ram into the shop, he knew he’d made a severe tactical error.
It might have been the way the regulars in the shop burst into applause at his entry.
It might have been the way that the barista behind the counter—the one he could never remember by a name other than Not Jenna—rang the giant cowbell that hung over the till.
But he really knew he was screwed when he spotted a familiar head peeking up from behind the bakery case. She glanced at him for a second before her gaze darted to Ram.
He could tell the exact second she realized that Ram knew all. Her eyes widened and her head wobbled, as if she were losing her balance. Not easy to do when squatting, he was sure.
A moment later she stood. He caught a glimpse of a muffin that looked to have been squeezed in half.
“Oops,” Ram said.
The applause had died down, thank Heaven. Cole waved in the general direction of the regulars, muttered something about being grateful for their support, even managed a joke about being caffeine-deprived. Not bad for someone who was two steps from death by embarrassment.
With the crowd dealt with, he squared his shoulders and approached the counter.
“Good morning!” the barista chirped. “Mega congratulations and everything. What can I get for you gentlemen today?”
Ram placed his order in a booming voice. Was he trying to draw attention to them? Not that it mattered much, because Cole found he needed all his energy to avoid staring at Jenna.
Because looking at her was now filled with unexpected dangers. Every inch of her sparked another memory, a new desire. Her hair, caught in some loose knot or twist or whatever, with straggling bits framing her face as if to proclaim to the world that she had been so thoroughly mussed in the night that there was no taming her. Her cheeks, rosy with mild whisker burn. Her lips, which he could swear looked fuller and redder now than when he first walked in.
And then there was the little scratch on her neck. Not from a hickey gone wrong, but from that moment when he had pulled some of the gauze across her and wrapped it around her, making a joke about doing a veil dance, only to discover there had been a pin left behind.
Mood breaker? Only for as long as it had taken him to kiss it better.
A nudge in the ribs—thank you, Ram’s elbow—brought him back to the moment. The barista was staring at him, no doubt waiting for his order. Ram was looking at him as if he were debating dumping ice water over Cole’s head.
Jenna, meanwhile, watched with a half smile on her lips, then reached up to deliberately stroke the scratch.
He should never have hooked up with a woman who didn’t play fair.
“Americano, please. Large. Sausage sandwich. And, uh, one of those quiche tarts. Thanks.”
The barista nodded and turned to grab cups. Jenna murmured something to her, earning a nod. Ram tapped his foot—always a sign of nervousness.
Jenna sighed and came around the counter.
“Good morning, Ram.”
Simple words. But Cole knew Ram noticed that there was no, “Good morning, Cole.” It was the polite public equivalent of saying, nope, no need to greet Cole a second time today.
He had a horrible feeling he was blushing. His mother would be so proud.
“Morning, Jenna.” Ram’s gaze ping-ponged between them. Cole knew his old friend was debating between coming out and saying something or slinking away to leave them alone. Time to man up.
“Jenna, do you know how long Ram and I have known each other? Since second grade,” he said, not even pretending to wait for an answer. “We’ve shared a lot in that time. We know pretty much everything there is to know about each other.”
“More important,” Ram added with a fast glance over his shoulder, “when know when to shut up about what we know about each other.”
“I figured as much.” Jenna gave her head a little shake, sending those wayward strands of hair swirling. “But it’s reassuring to hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Thanks, Ram. How’s Lucy today?”
Ram launched into long and detailed description of the joys of Pregnancy Number Three, expanding on totally idiotic details, purely to fill the time, Cole knew. Some of the tension eased out of him. He knew Ram understood the value of discretion. But damn, it was good to see that Jenna shared his belief in his friend.
His moment of peace and gratitude came to an abrupt halt as someone tapped his arm. He stepped back, assuming he was blocking the counter, only to come face to face with— Oh, shit.
Jenna’s father.
It was ridiculous. Cole knew that Jenna had no contact with Rob. He knew
that Rob had ceased to be a father to Jenna decades earlier. But his first instinct was that Rob was preparing to either interrogate him or deck him for sleeping with Jenna.
His second instinct was to realize that Jenna, facing the other way, had not yet noticed Rob. Maybe, if he could guide the other man outside—
“Congratulations,” Rob boomed. “Heard you had a solid victory last night.”
The coffee shop went silent.
Jenna froze in mid-sentence. Cole saw the sudden hunch of her shoulders, the abrupt lift of her chin.
Damn it. The bastard was not going to mess with Jenna again.
“Mr. Elias, I’d like to talk to you. Can we step outside for a moment?”
Rob didn’t reply. He was too busy staring at Jenna. For a moment Cole caught the yearning in the man’s eyes. He could read the loneliness and the wistfulness and—yes—something that looked very much like what Cole saw in Ram’s face when little Tia climbed into his lap and stuck her thumb in her mouth.
“Mr. Elias—”
Jenna turned. “You were told that you aren’t welcome here.”
Rob shrugged. “I hear you sell coffee. Are you in the business of turning away customers?”
“Leave.”
Cole saw the way the cold fury under Jenna’s soft word made Ram flinch. Cole himself had to fight to keep from taking her hand, turning her away from Rob. But he could put himself between them, and he did.
“This is the second time I’ve heard Jenna ask you not to come in here,” he said quietly.
“She’s not the owner.” Rob peered past him. “Her sister is the only one who can set the rules here. Not her.” For the first time, he really looked at Cole. Measuring. Assessing. “And definitely not you.”
Cole did a mental eye roll. Was this guy for real?
“No, I don’t make the policy here. I’m just a customer. Just like all these people”—he nodded toward the shop filled with folks who were either staring or pretending not to stare—“who want nothing more than to start their day with peace and quiet and good coffee. So how about we get you a cup to go?”
Life of the Party Page 13