Dotted Line

by Elise Faber

  My obsession.

  I’d just gotten so damned good at pretending it didn’t exist that I’d forgotten how strong it was.

  I never acted on my attraction to Cole, of course. He was a client.

  And I was . . . me.

  When the yearning got bad, I carved myself a slice of time with him, whether it was a two-minute phone call or a visit after practice when he’d still been playing. After he retired and I’d passed him off to Dev, it had gotten easier.

  Who said that cold turkey wasn’t an effective way to beat an addiction?

  Morons, clearly.

  Since I was there in that moment. Ha.

  It was just . . . this date.

  This anniversary. My father had died more than two decades ago and—

  The pain, it never fully went away—

  “You okay?” he asked, hand resting lightly on my forearm.

  I pulled away. No touching. No handshakes or hugs. I couldn’t. Not with Cole. I still felt his arms around me from earlier, and having him touch me gently as well was just too . . . I sighed internally . . . too much. Still, I forced a smile to take a sting out of my action.

  “I had business up here, actually,” I lied, turning my eyes toward the ocean, even though I could now barely make out the white tips of the waves.

  He studied my profile for a long moment, long enough for me to think that he was going to buy that fib. But then he proved why I liked him so much when he said, “Lie.”

  “What?”

  He shoved to his feet and touched a finger to my soaked clothes. “Those aren’t going to dry overnight,” he muttered before glancing down at me. “I know when you’re lying, Olivia. You do this thing with your mouth.”

  I immediately relaxed my lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He sighed. “Is there a problem with the commercials?” A beat. “With the donation? Did you come up to break it to me gently?”

  I jumped to my feet and winced, the movement reminding me I’d been assaulted by a wave earlier. Cole reached out as though he were going to steady me then stopped, probably based on the way I’d acted a few minutes before.

  God, he was such a good guy.

  And that wasn’t me.

  I wasn’t good.

  Still, I moved a little closer, wanting him to see my face, to see I wasn’t lying. “No,” I said. “This isn’t about the commercials or the donation. They’re both good. This is truly about a few offers that Dev has for you because the ads are going well, and other companies are interested. They’re smaller offers, but worth listening to.” I shivered when a breeze picked up, shoving my hands into the pocket of the sweatshirt. “But the real reason he wanted me to make contact, and to do it soon, was because the Gold would like to bring you in as a guest commentator for a few games this season, and if you do decide you want to go for that, a decision has to be made by Monday.”

  Silence, then, “Because the season’s starting soon.”

  I nodded.

  “I don’t have much interest in commentating. Would they be willing to discuss different positions?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Player development?” he asked. “Something with their youth programs?” A shrug. “I like helping out kids who don’t have a lot of opportunities.”

  Because he’d once been a kid who hadn’t had many opportunities.

  And with a little support, he’d gotten here.

  “Those positions don’t pay a lot,” I felt obliged to point out, shifting from foot to foot.

  He bent and adjusted one of the stakes on the tent. “So, you came out here to talk about my salary?”

  Shit.

  “Well, like I said, I was in the area.”

  He straightened, voice dropping. “And like I said, that’s a lie.”

  “Look, asshole,” I snapped. “You don’t know what’s going on in my mind, okay? Nor do you have any bearing on where I go or when I do it. If I felt like taking a jaunt up to Tahoe to get a cone of ice cream, I could. If I want to buy another overpriced pair of heels just because I like the color, I—”

  “I like your heels.”

  I froze. His voice was soft, but almost predatory, raising goose bumps on my arms and leaving me struggling to find the rest of my rant.

  My eyes locked with his.

  This time there was no missing the heat in their depths.

  I shivered again.

  “You’re cold,” he said, switching topics so abruptly that I scrambled to keep up. “You should go in the tent. Zip up. I’ll sleep out here tonight.”

  It took me a moment to process his words, but then my brain started working again. Finally. Cole was turning me into a pathetic, unthinking lump. “You can’t sleep outside!” I tugged the hood of the sweatshirt up and crossed my arms. “It’s already freezing out here.”

  My eyes had adjusted enough to the waning light that I saw his eyes spark with irritation. Or maybe it was irritation mixed with heat?

  Either way, I wasn’t going to back down.

  He was the client, and his comfort was paramount.

  “I’ll sleep out here.”

  He huffed and crossed his own arms. “Olivia. Get in the tent.”

  “Yeah, no, Cole. Not happening.”

  A glare that should have skinned me down to my bones. “Look, I’m not the one who’s shivering with about ten layers on. Nor am I the one who got dunked in the ocean.”

  “Your clothes got wet, too,” I snapped.

  He held his hands out. “And yet, no shivering.”

  “God, you’re annoying.”

  A snort. “Right back at you.”

  “I—” That damned cold breeze came up again, whipping around my wet hair and making my teeth start chattering.

  “Olivia.”

  “I’m not going in the t-tent,” I said and stamped my foot.

  Yes. Stamped it.

  Then immediately winced because the ground was hard and cold and, of course, I’d managed to stomp my sole down on a rock.

  “Why are you so stubborn?”

  “It’s in my fucking DNA.”

  And it was. Right in there with holding a grudge and never admitting I was wrong. My mother had taught me many things.

  Before disowning me, but that wasn’t really the point in this moment.

  Cole was close enough for me to see the lines forming between his eyebrows. “Stubborn,” he said. “And beautiful. So fucking beautiful it makes my heart skip a beat anytime I’m within thirty feet of you.”

  His voice hadn’t changed, and so it took me a few seconds to process the words he’d spoken.

  “Wh-what?”

  He took a step closer. My breath caught.

  “I’ve always thought you were the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen.”

  “I—”

  Another step closer. I could smell him now, spicy, and male, and intoxicating.

  “And smart. So fucking smart that I sometimes feel like an idiot around you.”

  That made me frown.

  “Cole—” I began, but he cut me off by saying, “Brilliant. Fucking hilarious. Tough as hell.”

  Words stoppered up in my throat.

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  I liked Cole, had been lusting after him for ages, but he’d never given me any indication that he’d done more than tolerate me. I’d always assumed I was a necessary evil in his life, someone to steer his career when he was more interested in playing and doing his charity work.

  Shaking my head, I slid a step back. “It’s the ocean air,” I said.

  He took a step forward. “Nope.”

  “Hero complex then.”

  “Not that either.”

  My eyes cut to the side, saw the tent, knew it was my only escape. “I’ve changed my mind,” I said. “I’ll take the tent.”

  His chest brushed mine, head lowering until I felt his next words against my lips.

  Too bad
they sliced right through me.

  “Running, Vivie?” he asked, lids half-mast, eyes hot, lips so close.

  What I wouldn’t have given for him to kiss me.

  But he’d called me Vivie.

  And nothing could have reminded me so effectively of our differences. Every single one of them. A man who was interested in helping others more than himself, who rescued people without hesitation, who offered dry clothes and tents, who saw a woman who might be pretty on the outside but . . . wasn’t good on the inside.

  Vivie, I heard my mother’s voice as clearly as though it were spoken directly in my ear. Why were you born so bad?

  I reared back, eyes stinging, but I couldn’t let him see.

  Couldn’t let anyone see a softness, a weakness to exploit.

  I had to be surrounded by steel and spikes and barbed wire.

  “Olivia?” He caught my arm when I spun away.

  My reaction was instinct, and I would be horrified for it later. But it also was more proof of the bad, of the unkind, of me being rotten to my core.

  I spun back to face Cole, my arm coming up, and—

  Smack.

  My palm collided with his cheek.

  His expression darkened. His hand released me.

  I ran for the tent, zipped myself in, and threw myself down onto the sleeping bag, knowing with a surety down into my bones that I’d just ruined one of the few good things I had in my life.

  I should have never come here.

  Six

  Cole

  I stared at the silent tent, my cheek stinging, for a long time.

  What the fuck had just happened?

  No, seriously.

  What the fuck had just happened?

  Sighing, I went over to check on Bucky, making sure he was tied off, so he wouldn’t wander off into the woods, then took an inventory of my packs. A pillow I hadn’t had a chance to put in the tent, an extra blanket, my jacket, a few hand warmers.

  It was going to be a cold-ass night.

  But it wasn’t the cold air that was filling my insides with frost. It was the look on Olivia’s face when I’d called her Vivie.

  Devastation.

  Absolute, soul-crushing devastation.

  What the hell was that?

  Dev called her Viv with regular frequency, so did most of her other clients. The only reason I hadn’t was because I’d worried if I’d broken the barrier—first name to nickname—that I’d forget she was supposed to be my agent.

  And not my woman.

  I’d needed that mental distance

  She wasn’t interested in me that way—or so I’d thought. Now, I wondered if I’d been missing something critical for all these years.

  Dumbass, of course you’ve been missing something critical.

  Why did my mental critic always sound like Olivia?

  Probably because I hadn’t been able to get her off my mind for the last eight years.

  Sighing, I knew part of that was because she hadn’t fawned over me, because she’d called me on my shit during a time in my life when women had been common and frequent and accommodating. But not Olivia. Never Olivia.

  We were all business, and so I’d tucked the attraction away.

  Now it was out, and I didn’t know how to put it back.

  I tucked the pillow against a rock, pulled the jacket on over my damp shirt, and lay down, tossing the blanket over me. It was thin as hell and just reinforced the fact that it was going to be a bitterly cold night.

  In the meantime, I tried to puzzle out what I’d discovered.

  Absolutely no use of the nickname Vivie. Viv seemed fine, though I wasn’t sure if it would be fine coming from me. That was the critical question, it seemed. Was it me? Or was it the name? But she’d come out to see me, to pass on news that wasn’t critical, and I didn’t think she would do that with another client . . . or maybe that was just ego talking.

  “Fuck,” I muttered, knowing that I would probably never understand Olivia unless she decided to let me in. And since that seemed about as likely to happen as hell becoming my own personal ice rink, I just had to deal with not understanding her reaction.

  Seeing as the sun was fully down and I was exhausted after my rescuing, I decided this was as good a time as any to go to sleep. Stifling another sigh because the last thing I needed to do was to resemble a hormonal teenager, I settled against the pillow and tried to ignore the fact that it was uncomfortable as hell and my back wasn’t what it once was. I’d played ten seasons of professional hockey, not to mention the ten previous as I’d made my way up through the amateur ranks. Which meant I’d dealt with my share of injuries. It also meant that my body wasn’t what it used to be, and I wasn’t looking forward to how it would feel waking up in the morning.

  Bucky chuffed and I listened to him settling in, letting the sound of the waves crashing wash over me, drawing me closer to sleep. Odd twist of events or not, I still found my peace, just like every other time I was out here.

  I let my eyes slide closed.

  Blackness swept me under.

  The crack of a twig snapping nearby brought me to rigid attention.

  My lids flew open and I blinked, trying to adjust my vision to the darkness.

  Another snap.

  Then a curse.

  A feminine curse that belonged to a sexy female whose voice I knew almost better than my own.

  Rolling quietly to my side, I watched her make her way through the trees and rocks, hobbling across the rough ground, the socks not doing much to help protect her feet.

  “Fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck,” she muttered, picking her way across to the tent.

  I didn’t say a word, which I knew was decidedly in the realm of creepy, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care, not when I had the chance to observe her in an unguarded moment.

  Even in the bulky clothes, she was still the most attractive woman I’d ever laid eyes on. Curvy, confident in her body, in her femininity. I might not be the guy who loved to get into a suit and tie—I’d had more than enough of that during my playing days—but I’d always loved the way she dressed. Tight slacks, high heels, blouses that seemed destined to drive me crazy.

  I’d nix the heels while beachcombing if it were up to me, but since I didn’t purport to think I had a single say in what Olivia wore—

  “Fuck,” she hissed, jumping on one foot while holding the other.

  Which lasted all of a few seconds before she tipped to the side. I was on my feet before my brain processed the movement, arms wrapping around her waist, catching her against my chest.

  Curves.

  All those fucking luscious curves pressed to me.

  Her breath caught, spine stiffening as I lifted her off her feet and carried her to the tent. All along the way, her scent filled my nose—flowers mixed with salt—and it took everything in me to not bury my face in her hair and inhale.

  “What—”

  I bent and deposited her on the sleeping bag, nudging the unzipped flap of the tent to the side as I did so.

  “Cole—”

  Ignoring her, I leaned back on my heels and picked up her foot. I got the sock off then used the flashlight from my pack to examine the bare skin. Blood dripped from a cut just beneath her toes.

  Fucking hell.

  “It’s—”

  I reached for my pack again and extracted the first aid kit and a bottle of water, using the latter to rinse the cut and the former to clean, dry, and bandage the injury. “No walking,” I ordered, unrolling the too-long leg of the sweats I’d loaned her down and over her foot so it wouldn’t be cold.

  “I’m—”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No walking, and definitely no fucking heels.”

  She huffed, yanking her foot from my grasp. “It’s a fucking cut. That’s it. And less than half an inch at that.”

  “It’s dirty out here,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “I’m fine,” she replied through some gritting of her own.


  “Infection can set in—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she said, flopping back onto the sleeping bag and glancing up at the top of the tent. “I seem to remember you having your own cuts and staying on the ice with them bleeding down your face.”

  This woman was beyond the pale.

  “I had several trainers and a team doctor to look after me,” I said, sweeping an arm out to the trees and dirt surrounding them. “Don’t see any of them here, do you?”

  “No, but I’m fine because you treated a tiny cut like you were proceeding over an open-heart operation.”

  “Because it’s dirty and infection—”

  She kept her eyes on the roof of the tent. “Heaven save me from mansplaining men. I understand how infection works. I also think that I could have walked over to the tent, poured some water on the cut, slapped a Band-Aid over it, and still have kept my foot.”

  “You—”

  She slapped her hands on the sleeping bag then pushed up to sitting. “You know what? I’m done.” Olivia shoved past me, hair whipping across my cheek as she crammed herself through the opening of the tent and onto her feet.

  It was the wavering that did it.

  Well, that and the way she favored her foot.

  Or maybe the fact that she picked up her heels and seemed to be contemplating putting them back on.

  I grabbed her arm. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  She yanked it free. “I will fucking dare,” she snapped. “I will do whatever the fuck, whenever the fuck, however the fuck I want.” She stepped closer, her mouth mere centimeters from his, so close that he felt the heat of her breath against his lips. “So, fuck you, Cole,” she said. “Just because you saved me from drowning—and thank you for that—but it also doesn’t mean you can control what I do.”

  “I’m not trying to control you, dammit.” I dropped my hands to her shoulders. “I respect you so fucking much, Olivia. You’re brilliant. You’re the reason I could afford to have this property and do what I’m doing with the ranch in the first place.” I stared into her eyes, willing her to understand. “But like it or not, we both know each other. Extremely well. And I know you’d rather cut off your own leg than accept help.”

  “I—”

  “No bullshit now.” I released her, stepped back, and took her shoes from her hands and launched them across the clearing.