Heat Up the Fall: New Adult Boxed Set (6 Book Bundle)

by Gennifer Albin

  My heart squeezed again at their ease together. He’d been away from us less than five minutes, but the first thing he did when he returned was touch her, smell her. Their connection was effortless and palpable—enviable.

  “Hey, Stuart. Nice win last night against Central.”

  “Thanks. Nice win with the Turkish television rights.”

  “Yes, it’s a great anchor for the Eastern Mediterranean.”

  “Okay, no business tonight, you agreed, Quinn.” Emilie turned to him with a fake pout, her eyes sparkling. “I can think of a bunch of ways to shut you up.”

  “Oh, can you now?”

  “Ugh.” I turned to Cole. “They’re always like this. I hope you have a strong stomach.”

  He laughed, the genuine nature of his happiness infecting me. “I can handle sap, hen, but I actually came over here because I need your help with a small venue problem.”

  “Thank heavens.”

  “Oh, look, Rubes! Chaney’s here. I’m going to go catch her.” Emilie tugged Quinn away by the hand, leaving Cole and me alone.

  “Do you really need me or was that an attempt to help me escape the cloying sexual air that surrounds those two?”

  “I really need you. And I think they’re cute.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Cute?”

  “I mean…they’re fortunate. Don’t you think? To find someone so special at our age, when most people are lucky just to find someone who doesn’t turn out to be crazy or diseased?”

  “There’s a romantic picture.” Maybe Cole was one of those people who freaked out about germs, and he did weird shit trying to avoid contracting STDs or something.

  He shrugged. “I’d like to have a reason to be romantic.”

  His green eyes lightened, the flecks of gold glinting, and seemed to communicate something more than his words. We stared for a moment before I cleared my throat. “You said there’s a problem?”

  “What? Oh. Yes. The credit card they have on file for DE is expired. If you have a new one, they need it, otherwise we can front the total and you can cut us a check.”

  “No, I have one. Where is she?” I’d worked with the owner before, an ex-fisherwoman, and knew she’d get out of sorts if we didn’t settle this right away. As though we weren’t good for it.

  “I’ll take you.” He pressed a big hand against the small of my back, guiding me toward the door that led to the dining room.

  My entire body stood at alert under his touch. Somehow, I made my legs continue to the front, where the hostess pointed us toward the kitchen. Lauren, the owner, hovered over an extra slop sink in the back corner, apparently at the mercy of a rough night.

  Flour caked her gray hair and some kind of red sauce crusted on a cheek, and at the moment she was up to her elbows in crawfish. The back of the kitchen smelled like grease, fish, disinfectant, and dirty water, making me happy that food service would never be a part of my future.

  “Hey, Blondie. Your sorority girl credit card is expired.”

  “I know. Here.” I started to hold the new one out, then realized she couldn’t exactly take it from me.

  “What are you doing?” Cole asked her, sounding genuinely interested.

  “My day manager booked a crawfish boil with a law firm who wants to show their Yankee clients a real Southern meal. But he forgot to tell me and he didn’t peel the damn things, and if you think a bunch of fancy pants Northerners are going to crack open their own mudbugs, your accent must be clogging your brains, handsome.” She grunted, pulling her hands free and wiping them on her apron.

  For all of her sarcasm, I recognized panic when I saw it, and Lauren was about two minutes away from losing her shit.

  Cole must have sensed it too. “Can we help?”

  “Can you peel a couple hundred crawfish?”

  “I’ve never done it before, but….”

  “I don’t have time to teach you, so just hold on while I run this and then go back to your party.” Frustrated tears pooled in her eyes.

  They broke the rest of my resolve to stay silent. Cold fingers of dread snaked around my belly, displacing the warmth from the whiskey and Cole’s presence, but letting Lauren break down over some damn crawdads seemed mean, even if this was supposed to be my party.

  “I know how to peel them. I can show Cole, too, if you have a shirt and an apron I can borrow.”

  Lauren eyed me with a sharp, pale gaze. “What’s a princess like you know about mudbugs?”

  “A princess born and raised in New Orleans. Do you want my fucking help or not?”

  She studied me another moment before nodding, beckoning Cole and I to follow her to the office at the end of the hallway. She tossed extra-large Wharf T-shirts at both of us, swiped my credit card, then paused at the door. “I’m the only manager here tonight, so this is a huge help, Ruby. Consider your drinks on the house for the first hour of your next party.”

  Lauren turned and left without another word, leaving Cole and I alone in an outer office area. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “What about my free drinks?”

  “You’re just my lovely assistant. Come here and unzip my dress.”

  “Um.”

  “Cole, for fuck’s sake, I’m not hitting on you. I want to change into this T-shirt so I don’t get crawfish guts on my dress, and then I want to go shell those fuckers and go back to the mixer before my buzz wears off.” I turned my back to him, having flashbacks of the day in the dressing room, when I’d started things with Liam by asking him to do the same thing.

  Somehow I doubted Cole would be so bold.

  His long fingers brushed my hair forward, clearing a path, then took their time tugging my zipper halfway down. They dragged against the bare skin along my spinal cord, and an involuntary gasp escaped my lips at the electrical charge they shot into my breasts, then straight down between my legs.

  At home, I would accuse him of voodoo. I wondered if they had dark magic in Scotland. I thought they did, like fairies or whatever, but some real Haitian witch would kick the shit out of a leprechaun. Maybe that was just Ireland.

  “I can get it now, thanks. Turn around,” I ordered.

  He obeyed, the expression on his face unsettled. I pulled the zipper the rest of the way down, then slipped the huge T-shirt over my head. It was shorter than my dress, but it covered my ass, and that was all that mattered. I should have taken my shoes off, too, but the thought of traipsing around the stinky kitchen in my bare feet was too much to bear. At least I’d worn sandals and not expensive heels.

  Cole unbuttoned and shrugged out of his crisp pink dress shirt, still turned away from me, and then hung it over the back of the desk chair in front of him. He pulled his undershirt off next, revealing the most gorgeous back ever put on a man—tanned muscles bulged and rippled in every direction and once, making me want to know what it felt like to dig my fingers into them while his weight rested on top of me, inside of me.

  In that moment, I knew I had never wanted a guy more than I wanted Cole.

  But it wasn’t supposed to be this way. I was supposed to follow my own goddamn advice, listen to the girls telling me that, no matter how hot he was, how sweet he seemed, there was something missing.

  Emilie and I were going to find out what it was, and then I would feel better.

  I laid my dress over his shirts, then handed him an apron and tied a second around my waist. “Let’s go shell some crawfish.”

  His gaze traveled down my legs, heating my skin in its wake, and I wished mine were tan and pretty like Emilie’s, not pale with a tendency to freckle. If the brightness in his eyes told the truth, Cole didn’t mind. He was from Scotland—he probably liked pale.

  “Am I going to be forced to defend your honor when the kitchen staff starts drooling over you in that getup?”

  “I’m going to pretend not to be insulted that you prefer a dirty T-shirt and apron to my favorite dress.”

  He stepped in front of me, bracketing my face with his palms a
nd forcing me to look up at him. I got dizzy, probably from the whiskey, but couldn’t tear my eyes away. “You look amazing in that dress. Like Grace Kelly, that’s what I thought when I saw you.”

  “Well, I’m no princess. Just a girl from Louisiana.”

  “A Cajun princess. Which is probably why you look even more fetching now. You looked beautiful before, like a girl I’d love to parade around in front of my friends. Now you look like the girl I’d like to toss on that desk and screw silly. The fact that you’re both at once drives me crazy.”

  “I…oh.” I didn’t sound like myself, and no better words would form in my brain or come out of my mouth. My whole body ignited at his frank statement, even as the acknowledgment of my less-than-classy side made me uncomfortable.

  He ran his hands down to my waist and pulled me closer, near enough that he could lower his mouth and finally end this torturous cycle of almost kissing, but he didn’t. “Tell me, hen, are you still with that worthless twally?”

  Cole’s voice dipped, doing that husky thing again that turned my knees into jelly. Fire licked from my belly into my thighs, my mind still stuck on the visual of he and I going at it on Lauren’s desk, and if he hadn’t had hold of me, I might have actually fallen down.

  “Who? Liam?” I shook my head. “No, I’m done with that.”

  “That’s good. Otherwise this moment would have really tested my morals,” he breathed as he lowered his face and pressed his lips against mine.

  The relief of finally kissing him for real made me squeak with pleasure. His lips were sure but soft, exploring mine with practiced grace and far too much ease for a first time. My hands fisted in his borrowed T-shirt, dragging him closer and tilting my head to get at more of him. He tasted like mint and rum, maybe a mojito, and when his tongue swept over mine, my own involuntary groan surprised me.

  We devoured each other, like we were making up for the three near misses over the last couple of months and more, besides. Cole bent slightly, hands cupping my ass and lifting me against him, until my ankles crossed behind his waist and his erection pressed between my legs. His answering groan tightened my stomach with need and he pushed his tongue more firmly against mine, exploring my mouth in a way that made my mind race with possibilities.

  My arms trembled with the effort of holding our faces at the same height, but I didn’t want to move. He kissed me until I was hot and breathing hard from the lust. When he slowly lowered me back to the floor and set me on my shaky toes, it was the last thing I wanted.

  He rubbed his hand over his shorn locks, cheeks red and chest puffing air, eyes burning with the same desire that threatened to incapacitate me.

  “That was worth waiting for,” he commented, his voice soft.

  “I’ll say.” I wanted to kiss him again and again. Maybe the fastest way for Emilie and I to end our scheme was for me to find out Cole’s secret for myself, disappointment be damned.

  He opened the office door. “After you.”

  “Seriously?”

  “We promised to shell crawfish, and as much as I’d like nothing more than to see what’s under that T-shirt, this is not the place.” Composed Cole had returned, stick up his ass and all.

  I wanted nothing more than to dislodge that thing. When I stepped past him, I let my hand brush the front of his pants, still noticeably tented from our impulsive, crazy hot kiss, and paused to look up into his face. “I guess you’ll have to wonder if the rest is worth waiting for, too.”

  He groaned, raising a hand to tuck a stray piece of my hair back into place. “Lead the way to the crawfish, Cajun Princess.”

  I did as he asked, unable to stop the silly grin on my face or to clear the lightness in my head. That kiss had exceeded every expectation. It felt like we’d been born to fit together, nothing awkward or hesitant about it, and it begged the question as to whether sex would be the same way. I’d never had a non-awkward first time.

  I’d be happy kissing that boy for the next two weeks straight.

  The sink filled with the rusty red deceased mud puppies waited where Lauren had left it. I plucked one from the top, then dug until I found a second for a little demonstration. “See how this one’s tail is curled under, but this one’s is flat?” Cole nodded. “Throw out the ones that aren’t curled. It means they were already dead before they were boiled, and that’s bad eatin.”

  “Bad eatin?”

  I blushed, the slip into my home dialect erasing the cocoon of pleasure. “They don’t taste good.”

  “Ruby.”

  “What?”

  “Your past isn’t anything to be embarrassed about, at least not as far as I’m concerned. It’s made you who you are, and that accent is fucking adorable. I say shit all the time that you can’t understand.”

  His reassurance eased the tension in my shoulders and I offered him a smile. “That’s true. Anyway, once you have a good one, you twist off the tail, like this.”

  Cole winced at the resulting crunch, his prissiness making me giggle.

  “You want to suck out the brain?”

  “Why on earth would I do that?”

  “It’s a custom. Tastes pretty good, really.” When he refused the offered head, I pressed it to my lips and slurped it clean. For the first time since coming to Whitman, it felt nice to do something that reminded me of home.

  “Oh my God, I am so glad I kissed you before you did that.”

  “Then you squeeze the tail and just peel the shell away from the meat.” I demonstrated while Cole watched, his eyebrows furrowed like a little boy paying attention in class.

  He grabbed one and I watched, correcting him a few times when he tried to toss away meat, but he was a fast study. We both focused on the mudbugs for a while, so when a slurping noise met my ears, it totally surprised me.

  Cole’s face twisted as he dropped the crawfish head, looking a little horrified and a lot green. “That was disgusting.”

  I laughed. “The actual taste or the texture? You can get used to the latter.”

  “Tell me about your parents,” he requested, concentrating on the next crawfish, dumping the flesh in a pan to be rinsed and discarding the shell in the trash.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard all about them.”

  “I want you to tell me.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re your parents, Ruby. I’ve been wondering about you for weeks. I’m curious.”

  Wondering about me for weeks. The idea terrified and pleased me at the same time. This thing with Cole was dangerous. Even if every girl who had dated him before turned out to be crazy—unlikely—we would never work, not long-term.

  “My father developed software about fifteen years ago that helps fishermen track the movements of fish, currents, water temperatures, things like that. His family has made their living fishing off the Gulf Coast for generations, have always been poor but happy about it. A few years after that, he developed an anti-spam package that Microsoft acquired. My mother makes exercise tapes—Josephine’s Jam Off, you’ve heard of it.”

  “Are they happy?”

  The question surprised me; I never thought much about it. “I think so. I mean, they fight but I never felt like a divorce was coming down the pike.”

  Cole nodded. “And you’re an only child?”

  “Yes. I think they tried but it just never happened. I’m jealous of your plethora of siblings.”

  “You’ve got DE and Emilie, now.”

  “True. And for all of my sarcastic complaining about sorority life, I love them.”

  “But you don’t love Whitman.” His brow furrowed as he stared at me, more consternation in his gaze than desire, for once.

  “That’s not true.”

  “But you don’t want to date anyone who goes here.”

  I knew he was trying to wrangle the reason out of me. It wasn’t like, a big secret or anything, so I shrugged. “I’ll never be good enough for the guys here, so I kind of decided to beat them to the punch.”

&nb
sp; “From where I’m sitting, you’re way too good for most of the guys here. Why do you think so little of yourself?”

  “I don’t. I’m being real.” He stopped shelling, watching me in a way that said he was waiting for clarification. “I went out with this guy freshman year, and things were great until he took me home for Thanksgiving. He made up some excuse, but it was clear that his parents hadn’t approved.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I ripped the tail off another crawfish. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m over it now.”

  “If you were over it, you’d realize that even though there are superficial families at this school, and in the world we live in, that we’re not all like that.”

  No good answer came to mind. We finished the last of the crawfish in the sink, washed our hands and forearms, then returned to the office to change clothes. There was no funny business, which for some reason both relieved and disappointed me. Cole unnerved me—he didn’t behave as expected or fall into the established Whitman stereotypes, and those were how I navigated my life. Without them, I felt unmoored, as though a director had demanded I improvise an entire audition.

  Cole was the richest of the rich, the oldest of the old money, and the guy every girl warned me to steer clear of. He was also warm and funny, direct and sensitive, and I wanted to know him better in spite of the deck that seemed stacked against him. The truth about where I’d come from, that my parents’ fortunes were younger than I was, hadn’t made him flinch. The story of what had happened with Michael hadn’t seemed to surprise him, but he hadn’t pulled away, either.

  Not to mention that the idea of taking him to bed made my body want to melt from the inside out.

  Hope was a dangerous thing, something I’d worked hard to avoid. Like expectations, hope almost always ended up dashed against the rocks of reality.

  Giving into my lust and curiosity about Cole would be like making it through to the very last round of auditions, sure I was about to be handed the career-making role I’d always dreamed of, only to have the director tell me they’d chosen the girl they’d been after all along.

  While those kinds of chances exhilarated me in the theatre world, in the real world, they inspired nothing but terror.