Her pulse kicked into her throat as she stood there, taking in the view. Cole’s arms were stretched up over his head, hugging the pillow he slept on. The position flared his lats. His broad shoulders were definably muscled, his sculpted back tapered to a narrowed waist and trim hips. His ass was nothing short of perfection—rounded muscle that dimpled in the cheek, proving there wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on this fighter’s body.
His legs were thick and long. She’d known Cole was tall, but in the queen-size bed, he looked huge. His feet hung off the end, as did most of his blankets. Sweeping her gaze back up his body—and by body, she meant his ass—Katie noticed a dark pink scar three, maybe four, inches long at the base of his spine.
Seeing the evidence of why this man was here helped yank her back to reality and the impropriety of her standing in his doorway gawking at his naked body like some desperate groupie. Because, yeah, if she was honest with herself, she’d been secretly wishing Cole was a back sleeper. Hell . . . she was no better than those women last night, except she would never have shared him with a friend.
Faced with the discomforting truth that she was a hypocritical voyeur, Katie marched over to the bed and yanked his blankets off the floor. It took sheer willpower to cover his deliciously tempting body. She’d thought herself immune to men, and that this one was getting under her skin, waking places she’d rather keep dormant, pissed her off all over again.
“Cole! It’s almost eight o’clock. Wake up!”
When she got no response, she grabbed the pillow his arms weren’t wrapped around—annoyed to admit she’d never been more envious of down, but that was okay, because it gave her even more fuel for the windup as she smacked Cole in the back of the head with it. “I said get up!”
He flinched and uttered a groan into the downy fluff that sounded more like a growl, but she didn’t heed the warning and wound up to smack him again. Only this time, his arm shot out at the last second and he ripped the pillow out of her hands, pulling it down on top of his head as he sandwiched himself between the two cushions.
Unbelievable . . . He moved so fast, she didn’t even have a chance to react. “How did you do that?” she demanded.
“Do what?” came the muffled reply from between the pillows.
His sleep-roughened voice was so damn sexy, she swore she could feel it vibrating into her toes. Focus, Katie!
“Catch that pillow without even looking. It’s like you knew it was coming.”
“Yeah, well, you get punched in the skull enough times, and after a while you start to grow eyes on the back your head.”
She wasn’t sure what to say to that. But now that he was awake, it was about time they got down to business. “It’s almost eight o’clock, so if you want me to do your assessment, you’re going to have to come to work with me. I can fit you in between the appointments I have this afternoon, and you can use the gym while you wait. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck here until I get back tonight. I still need to stop at my dad’s this morning before my nine-thirty appointment, so if you’re coming, be ready to leave in the next thirty minutes.”
Cole lifted the top pillow from his head, rolled onto his back, and stretched. It was a lazy catlike sprawl that showed off every cut of muscle, every dip of flesh. Katie’s mouth went ash dry. Cole had a body made for two things—fighting and sex—and she had no doubt he was a champion of both.
“What’s the matter with your dad?” he asked, lacing his hands behind his head as if he had all the time in the world to lie there, half naked, and shoot the shit with her. Obviously, he was completely comfortably in his bare skin. Then again, with a body like this, who wouldn’t be?
If she hadn’t dragged those covers past his hips before waking him, would he still have turned over? He certainly made no effort to pull them any higher now. The white sheet was draped so low on his waist, she could see the bands of corded muscle, cutting divots at his hips, guiding—tempting—her gaze to travel lower and totally debunking her theory about why he’d refused that woman’s sex-fest offer last night.
Holy hell, there was nothing wrong with this man’s phallus. Clearly, it was in well-working order. The thin white sheet was nearly sheer against his tanned skin. The shadows in the room were the only things obscuring her view of his impressive display of morning wood. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment, her jaw dropping in shock. She tried to speak, but nothing came out.
Her gaze shot up to his. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed her staring. Sleep darkened his eyes to shiny sapphires, or maybe it was something else—something more carnal. The faintest hint of scruff shadowed his jaw. For crissake, the guy even woke up sexy as hell and ready to go. How was that even possible? His brain clearly failed to recognize he had a disability—which was good for him, because she couldn’t imagine a man like Cole being stripped of his sexuality.
Not that she wanted to partake in it, she reminded herself. She was here to help him, not fall victim to his charms. To give a man like this access to her body would be to hand over all her control. Never again would she be helpless or allow herself to become another man’s property—his prey. Appreciating masculine beauty was not the same as wanting it to touch you. She’d learned the hard way that men like Cole were a ball of fire, and the old adage was true, if you played with fire, eventually you’d get burned—and she had the scars to prove it.
“He had a stroke a few months ago,” Katie finally replied once her brain and mouth finally reconnected.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Can we . . . umm”—she cleared her throat—“not do this in here? I think if you and I are going to be living together for the next couple of months, we need to set some ground rules and establish a few . . . boundaries.”
At her suggestion, his dark brow arched in question, his top lip tugging into a smug grin that did funny things to her stomach. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she snapped.
He broke into a full-on smile and damn if that wasn’t a panty dropper. Was that . . . a dimple in his right cheek? Seriously, this wasn’t even fair.
“You’re standing in my bedroom—uninvited—lecturing me about how we should be respecting one another’s privacy? Kind of ironic, don’t you think?”
If her cheeks burned any hotter, her face was going to melt right off.
“I should probably warn you, if you’re going to insist on invading my privacy like this, I sleep naked.”
Katie opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Dammit . . . Cole’s ability to render her speechless was infuriating. Exhaling an exasperated huff, she spun around and marched toward the door, never feeling more humiliated than when his gloating chuckle followed her out.
“Hey, Katie . . .” he called after her.
The sound of her name on his low, husky voice sent an unwelcome shiver of desire rippling through her body with the finesse of a tsunami. Her feet halted at his call before she was aware they’d stopped. “What?” she snapped, refusing to allow herself to turn around and indulge in that visual feast for one more second.
“Will you close the door behind you?”
Holy shit, that woman was gorgeous when she was mad—well, she was gorgeous anyway, but when the fire of ire burned in her verdant eyes . . . she heated his blood like nobody’s business. Cole would be willing to bet that rendering her speechless was a coup not many men had counted, and she was damn lucky those covers hadn’t fallen any lower than they had or she’d have gotten one hell of a surprise when she’d busted in and so rudely awoken him.
He chuckled at the thought—would have served her right, presumptuous little thing, standing there, lecturing him about boundaries. He normally didn’t sleep late, but he hadn’t slept for shit and he was still on Vegas time. Did she realize it was only quarter to six by his internal clock? Probably not. Damn, it felt like he’d just closed his eyes and a moment later, Katie was smacking him with the pillow. Last night’s workout had felt amazing, but it hadn’t run him into total exhaustion l
ike he’d hoped. Every time he closed his eyes, a certain fair-haired, green-eyed female had been there to haunt him. This was crazy. He hadn’t known Katie for more than a day and already she was getting under his skin.
“Twenty-five minutes, Easton!”
Gol-damn, she reminded him of Marcus when she talked like that, which effectively killed his cock. Too bad she’d didn’t look more like the old bastard.
“I’m up,” he growled, forcing himself vertical and snagging the clothes he’d piled on the night chair before. He quickly dressed, making a note-to-self to have her hook him up with some crutches today. Being confined to this chair all the time was annoying as hell.
Twenty minutes later and with five to spare, he entered the kitchen to find the dower woman scowling into her cup of coffee. She looked as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders, and he couldn’t help but wonder what burdens she carried that made her appear so bleak at times. Something inside him stirred at the sight of her, but he quickly dismissed the concern as misplaced gratitude.
He was generously compensating Ms. Miller for any inconvenience or disruption his presence caused her. He’d be damned if he was going to feel bad about making her a minute or two late. “Ready?” he asked, grabbing a PR Bar off the counter and shoving it into his coat pocket. He poured a cup of coffee into a to-go cup and turned around to find her watching him.
The expression on her stoic face was unreadable, and maybe that was a good thing, because she was probably still pissed about that whole bedroom thing. He grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl in the center of the table as he made his way to the door. “If you don’t hurry up, you’re going to be late,” he called over his shoulder as his wheels hit the ramp. By the time Katie got to the car, he was already inside, ready to go, and waiting for her.
“How long have you lived in Somerset?” Cole asked as they drove through the middle of town. He was pretty sure if he blinked, he’d miss the entire thing. It wasn’t too difficult to orient himself, except everything basically looked the same under this blanket of snow.
“I don’t live here.”
The briskness in her voice caught his attention.
“Well, not anymore, anyway. I grew up in Somerset.”
“Where do you live?” He glanced at her before turning his attention back out the passenger window. Was that actually a full-service gas station? He wasn’t aware they still had those. Hell of an idea, though, considering it was negative ten right now and there probably weren’t a lot of people excited about standing outside to pump their gas.
“Nowhere right now. I guess you could say I’m in between places. When I left Somerset, I swore I’d never move back.” Her bark of half-hearted laughter held no humor. “But then, never say never, right? I hadn’t counted on my dad having a stroke, so I guess you could say I’m in the middle of an extended visit right now.”
“I see . . .” But he really didn’t. Cole had the feeling there was more to Katie’s situation than she was telling him. Curiosity and boredom made him prompt, “Where were you living before you came home to”—air quotes—“visit?”
“Baltimore.”
“Maryland? That’s far from home. What’s in Baltimore?”
“The John Hopkins Spine Center.”
“Your uncle said you work for the Packers.”
The slight stiffening in her spine was nearly imperceptible, but the tension in her voice was not. “Worked,” she clarified.
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story. I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Must be an interesting one to make you want to walk away from a job like that. They’re not easy to come by.”
“There’s more to life than money, Cole. It doesn’t buy happiness.”
He swung his head around to look at her just as she pulled into the driveway of a modified two-story home. “No, you’re right, it doesn’t. But it sure as hell makes life easier. Take it from someone who’s lived on both sides of that coin. And don’t tell me you’d still be doing this for me if I wasn’t paying you a shit-ton of money.”
Katie looked at him, her frown pulling her arched brows tight, making her look more quizzical than irritated. “What money? I never asked for any money from you.”
Then where in the hell did that thirty grand go? “Marcus didn’t wire you thirty thousand dollars?”
“No, and I wouldn’t take it even if he tried. That’s a lot of money, Cole, and that’s not why I’m helping you.”
She put the SUV into park and cut the engine. When she turned to open the door, he caught her arm, stopping her. She instantly froze, turning to stone beneath his grasp. “Then why are you doing this, Katie?”
Her full lips thinned as she pressed them together, lines of displeasure bracketing her mouth as her frown deepened. He didn’t understand why she’d look offended. It was a reasonable question. If life had taught him anything, it was that no one did something for nothing—everything had a price tag. It might not be paid in green, but there was always a cost. And if Katie’s fee wasn’t monetary, then what in the hell did she want from him?
“I’m doing this for you because you need my help, Cole. Because you didn’t deserve what happened to you, and my uncle believes I can get you back in that cage again.”
It sounded good—too good, actually—which naturally made him suspicious. How altruistic and genuine, but Cole knew there was more to it than that, and he’d be damned if he was going to be indebted to someone. “That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t take the thirty grand Marcus was supposed to pay you.”
Katie glanced at the clock on the dash and then up to the house before exhaling a frustrated sigh. He knew she was in a hurry and was banking on that to aid him in breaking down her resistance.
“I owe Uncle Marcus a lot. If it wasn’t for him . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she grimaced as if assaulted by a barrage of bad memories. “Listen, my reasons for helping you are my own, okay? I don’t want to discuss them, nor do I owe you any explanations. Just be glad I’m helping you and leave it at that, all right? And I’ll make you a deal. You don’t ask me about my past, and I won’t ask you about yours, all right?”
It was a deal he knew he should take, because if there was anyone who didn’t want someone digging into his past, it was him. But there was something about Katie Miller that sparked Cole’s interest in a way no other woman ever had. She had depth and complexity—a paradox of contradictions. It seemed as if her nature was continually at odds with her nurture.
One moment she appeared pensive and untrusting of him, and the next she was this self-assured, confident woman whose eyes sparkled with attraction and desire. For fuck’s sake, every place her gaze had touched him as he had lain in bed this morning had felt like a caress, heating his flesh until his skin felt too tight for his body. And when that curiously aroused gaze fell to the covers draped across his waist, lighting on the tented sheet as his erection strained to breach the cover’s edge . . . he’d just about lost it, necessitating the cold shower he’d taken this morning to clear his head.
Obviously, he and Katie shared an attraction he could not, would not, act on, but that wasn’t the point. Every time he touched her, she recoiled as if she thought he was going to jump her or something. A reaction like that was reflexive, born from painful experience and the need for self-preservation. He’d be lying if he said that didn’t bother him—the thought of someone abusing women, especially this woman, stirred his protective instincts. She might not admit it, but with her odd behavior coupled with the refusal to discuss her past, he’d be willing to bet someone had hurt this woman—badly.
When she pulled her arm from his grasp, he let her go. She wasted no time fleeing the SUV. Once outside, she hesitated a moment, looking as if she were debating whether or not to offer him help. Before she could emasculate him more than the chair already did, he snapped briskly, “I’ve got it.” He didn’t mean to sound harsh, but this was a sore subject, and he’d
be damned if he’d have this woman waiting on him. It took some effort, but using the RAV for leverage, he managed to make his way to the back of the vehicle and unload the chair.
The ramp in her parents’ garage made it easy to get into the house. Katie stood at the entrance and held the door open for him, calling, “Hi, I’m here! Sorry I’m late!”
Cole gestured her to step inside and he followed her in. He nearly ran into her when she stepped into the kitchen and abruptly stopped, muttering “shit” under her breath. Her attention was fixed on the table—more specifically, the dozen red roses sitting in the middle of it, with a yellow card from Studio Fleurette poking out of the bouquet that read, I love you, Katie. Please forgive me.
Tossing her purse and keys on the counter, she marched over to the table and plucked the flowers from the long-necked vase—card and all. “Ouch!” She cursed, shifting her hold on the roses as she carried them over to the sink and flipped the switch on the wall. The garbage disposal roared to life, gurgling and grinding. It surprised the shit out of him when Katie began shoving the bloodred flowers into the sink, head first. The disposal greedily chewed up the roses, consuming the bunch until there were only spiky stems left.
“Katie!” A woman, presumably Katie’s mother, shouted her name as she rushed over to the sink, sounding appalled and looking utterly horrified. “What are you doing? Stop that!” The woman—a dead ringer for Katie, only about twenty years older—reached over her and flicked the switch. As the gurgling came to a growling halt, Cole made a mental note never to buy this woman flowers. When she let go of the stems, they were sticking out of the sink like little green pikes. Her hand was bloody from where the thorns had bitten her.
Win by Submission Page 5