Dotted Line

by Elise Faber

  “Cole! What the fuck?”

  “I’ll get you to your car in the morning,” I told her. “I’ll get you home when it’s safe, but now is not the time.”

  Silence.

  Long, drawn-out silence with both of our breaths slowing.

  Lengthening quiet as we looked at each other and then our breathing began speeding up again.

  She took a hobbling step toward me. Another. And another . . . until she was pressed to me, until I could feel those rapid inhalations and exhalations against my chest, the soft of her brushing along the hard of me. The full length of her rubbed along my front, the flowers and salt scent of her surrounding me. She rose on tiptoe, lips parting, and—

  Winced.

  I didn’t think. Just reacted.

  One moment she was pressed to me, the next she was in my arms, all of those soft curves protected in my hold.

  I’d intended to put her back on the sleeping bag, to set her safely inside the tent . . . and maybe guard the opening so she couldn’t escape until morning.

  But then one of her hands found my cheek, cupping it gently.

  Her lips pressed to mine, tongue sliding across the seam of my mouth.

  Then her other hand slipped between our bodies and drifted down my stomach.

  Seven

  Olivia

  One second, I was in his arms, floating through the air. The next, I was on the ground, the hard surface slightly muted by the padding of the sleeping bag, but that wasn’t the hard I was focused on.

  Nope, the hard on top of me, pressing me down into the slippery material of the sleeping bag was much more interesting.

  Cole’s mouth hadn’t left mine, and it was everything I’d ever dreamed it could be. He had the best lips of any man I’d ever seen, so soft and lush they should have looked ridiculous on his gorgeous face. Instead, they managed to temper the rugged lines of his jaw and nose, make the scars from playing such a physical sport fade away.

  All that was left was Cole.

  Lovely, kind Cole.

  My stomach twisted and I turned away, feeling bile burn the back of my throat. This man was—had been—a client, but more than that, he was just so fucking nice.

  And I’d slapped him.

  He’d bandaged my foot, and I’d yelled at him.

  He’d saved me from drowning, and I’d—

  I swallowed hard, turning my head to the side, and blinking rapidly. Fuck, I was such a mess. I’d thought I’d gotten over my childhood, had proved myself better than my mother, better than the shithole I’d grown up in.

  And I’d slapped him. Yelled at him. Invaded his peace.

  “Honey.”

  I swallowed again.

  I’d done all those things to Cole, but I sure as fuck wasn’t going to puke on him.

  “I can’t do this,” I said, hating the way my voice sounded—weak, broken, sad, so much unlike me. I put my hands to his chest and shoved.

  To Cole’s credit, he immediately leaned back, shifting to the side. But the tent was small, and he couldn’t go far. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  “No.”

  I’d done that myself.

  He seemed to understand what I was thinking, his tone beyond soft now. “Honey.”

  “I need to go.”

  “It’s pitch black, and we’re on a cliff. I don’t know what’s happening here, Olivia, but you trying to sprint off when it’s too dangerous to run miles through the woods isn’t the smart, capable woman I know,” he said quietly. “I’m worried you hit your head.”

  For some reason, that made me laugh.

  Not because I had a brain injury, I hadn’t been lying before. I’d been pressed to the sand, waves crashing over me, but I hadn’t hit my head against the rocks. I wasn’t dizzy or disoriented, didn’t have any concussion symptoms.

  Instead, my past had escaped the locked box I’d spent a lifetime keeping it confined in.

  In front of Cole.

  The one man I’d always liked and respected, the one I’d always wanted but couldn’t have.

  The one man I’d tried to consistently have my shit together for.

  And tonight, I’d lost it.

  Twice.

  I stared at the mesh at the top of the tent. “I didn’t hit my head.”

  “Then what?”

  A sigh before I admitted, “You’re a good person.”

  Silence.

  Then, “Is the implication of that statement that you’re not?”

  “I think that’s obvious.”

  More silence, long enough that my pulse had slowed and, somehow, my lids were drifting closed. Maybe it was the drive up, followed by the near-drowning, and the lashing whip of my memories. But I thought it was more likely that it was just Cole and the warmth of his body, nearby but not touching, the spicy male scent of him clouding the air that had me relaxing back into the sleeping bag.

  He was quiet for ages before he rolled over. I felt his eyes on me but kept my own closed, my breathing slow and steady.

  Maybe he’d think I was asleep and then I could just slip out and—

  What?

  Wander alone through the wilderness in a pair of socks, with no phone and no sense of where I was going? It wasn’t like I could use the stars to navigate, and even if I could, the fog had come in, blurring the landscape around us.

  I hadn’t even been able to make it safely to and from the bush I’d used as a bathroom without hurting myself.

  With my luck that day, I’d fall off the cliff.

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

  He’d realized I wasn’t asleep.

  That probably shouldn’t have been the first thought that went through my mind, but then again, my eyes had flown open at his gentle tone, locked on the roof of the tent. Or maybe that was because he’d brushed his finger down my nose.

  “I swear to God,” he continued, murmuring. “I’ve had more fantasies about you over the years we’ve known each other than when I was a teenager.”

  I found I couldn’t stop myself from rolling to face him. “You were practically a teenager when we met.”

  “And you were an intern.” A flash of white in the dark light. “And this teenager’s wet dream.”

  That made me blush. It shouldn’t have. I felt like I had spent most of my formative years in locker rooms and around much dirtier sentiments. I considered myself unblushable, completely unflappable. Hell, I’d seen more penises in my lifetime than a porn star.

  And yet, Cole.

  Or rather, thinking about Cole hard and aching, turned on by his fantasies of me, that made me blush.

  It also made my filter disappear.

  “I’ve thought of you, too.”

  He went stiff. “You—” He shifted closer, the inches separating us becoming centimeters, then less as his front pressed to my side. “You’ve thought of me?”

  My teeth sank into my bottom lip as I considered what I had admitted. Then, maybe it was the fog or the waves crashing in the background, perhaps it was Cole’s scent in my nose and the heat of his body against my side. Whatever it was, I decided that I didn’t have anything to lose in that moment, and so I rolled to my side to face him.

  “Yes.”

  His eyes were black in the dim light, but I watched them get even darker at my admission. “Honey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ve thought about me?”

  It was hard to shrug when I was on my side, but I managed it, at least one shoulder.

  “A lot?”

  Another one of those awkward shrugs.

  His hand lifted, resting on my hip, and I swear to everything that was holy—which for me was namely Louboutins and sparkly Kate Spade purses—that I felt the heat of his hand like it was on my bare skin, and not through the thick layer of cotton. “For how long?”

  I swallowed. “A while.”

  Fingers squeezing lightly. “How long?”

  “Long en
ough.”

  His hand rose again and before I had a chance to miss it, he moved it up, used his palm to cup my cheek. Heat. Breath catching. Rough against smooth. “How long?”

  I shook my head, feeling my hair slide over his skin. “I said, it doesn’t matter.”

  He chuckled, and I felt it arrow between my thighs. “Always so stubborn,” he said, and his palm peeled up, though his fingers stayed in place, and the calloused ends raised goose bumps on my arms when he stroked them along my jaw.

  “There’s a reason that people call me a bitch.”

  Suddenly, I found myself on my back, Cole on top of me, and it was fucking glorious, but more glorious were his words, his flashing eyes, the tightness in his jaw.

  Not directed at me. Instead he was frustrated for me.

  “That’s fucking bullshit, and you know it. Only tiny-dicked little assholes would call you a bitch,” he growled. “You say it how it is. That’s a good thing. I always know where I stand with you. That’s a really good thing. So no, fuck whoever says that. They’re the bitches.”

  “I—”

  I opened and closed my mouth a few times, trying to process the words, trying to understand why hearing something I’d told myself a million times spoken aloud hit me so hard.

  Then I shook my head, not because I didn’t believe the words, but because thus was the power of Cole.

  I respected him, valued his opinion.

  That was why I tucked the sentiment close.

  What I didn’t anticipate was Cole’s reaction to my headshake.

  “Honey,” he murmured, cupping my jaw again for a brief moment before flipping us, so I was cradled against his chest. “How do you not see yourself clearly?”

  I saw myself very clearly.

  That was the problem.

  But I also really liked the way he was holding me, the gentleness with how I was cuddled against him, the warmth and scent and comfort seeping into me.

  Still, I was me, and me being me meant that I couldn’t just lie there and let him hold and comfort me, not without him understanding the monster he was cradling so carefully in his arms.

  Yes, I was being dramatic.

  No, that wasn’t going to stop me.

  “I know myself,” I said. “And one of the things that I know down to the marrow in my bones is that I will never be the kind of woman a man wants long term. I know I’m smart and pretty,” I hurried to add when I felt the protest bubbling up in his chest. “I know I’m capable and fuckable and tough. But”—and here was the truth that I didn’t want to give, but knew I had to anyway—“I’m not a girl who will ever be content to be in a relationship like the one you want. I’ve been clawing my way out of my shitty childhood for most of my life, and that’s left scars.” My voice dropped. “And on top of those scars, armor. Heavy, impenetrable armor that no one will ever be able to penetrate. I’m not that woman, Cole. Not the kind, sweet one you’ll want to make a life with, and it’s time we both stop thinking about each other and move on to what we deserve.”

  Work for me.

  A family and fulfilling life for him.

  Quiet, but when I lifted my gaze to meet his again, I didn’t see what I expected. Instead of distance, there was understanding.

  I felt a blip of alarm in knowing that I’d given Cole understanding.

  I’d been trying to insert distance and—

  “How do you know what kind of relationship I want?”

  I blinked, that having been pretty much the last response I’d expected to my droning. “Um—”

  “I’ve had sweet and kind,” he said. “It’s fucking boring. I like fire, honey. I like to bicker over whether my woman should wear heels in a fucking forest and to argue whether I should model for an underwear line—hint: no fucking way. I like a challenge. I like strong. I like a woman who tells it how it is.”

  My heart rate had picked up, and it felt as though the organ would pound out of my chest. “You say that now.”

  His forehead pressed to mine. “I say that after having known you for more than a decade. I say that after having seen you grow from promising intern into a fabulous and capable agent who oversaw my career for eight years. I say that after having seen your temper flare more than once and cheering you on when you stood up for yourself.” A kiss to the tip of my nose. “I know you, Olivia.”

  “Then you know I’m a pain in the ass.”

  A flash of white. “You’re fucking incredible.”

  “Zero stars. Would not recommend.”

  He snorted. “Strong. Tough. Spine of steel.”

  “I don’t let people slide when they’re wrong.”

  “I don’t need someone to excuse my bad behavior.” He touched his lips to my cheek. “And I’ve never seen you shy away from someone correcting you either.”

  Maybe that was true. It stung when I was wrong, but I’d preferred someone to tell me rather than stumbling around like an uninformed idiot.

  “I work a lot.”

  “So do I.” A shrug. “I also don’t need a babysitter.”

  “I’m not the type of woman who’ll have dinner on the table when you walk through the door.”

  His tongue touched the corner of my mouth, and my breath caught. “I can cook.”

  It was his tongue, that flick of hot and wet against my skin, that made me blurt, “My mother called me Vivie, and things weren’t . . . good.”

  He sucked in a breath. “Then it’s Olivia from here on out.”

  Silence then, “I’ll probably never open up.”

  That one gave him pause. Then, “Not sure what you think opening up is, honey.”

  “What?”

  “You gave me that tonight.”

  I frowned. “I hardly gave you anything.”

  His mouth curved. “Then I can’t wait to hear the rest of it, whenever and however you’re comfortable. You decide when you’re ready to drop that armor around me, I’ll catch it and hang it on the wall so that it’s ready for you to don when you head back in the world.” His lips on my cheek, my jaw, my ear. “You eventually decide that I’m safe enough to be around without that, I’ll never underestimate how much that cost you.” His voice rasped along my throat. “Because I know you, Olivia.”

  I opened my mouth to say . . .

  Fuck if I knew.

  It felt as though someone had taken my world and spun it in the opposite direction, realigning its axis and sending me for a loop.

  “Now,” he murmured, shifting to the side, zipping up the tent, then flicking the opening of the sleeping bag over us. “Stop talking and sleep.”

  And somehow—maybe because of that world shifting, or more likely because Cole had ordered it and he was warm and holding me tightly against him—I managed to shut my mouth.

  A moment later, I managed to shut my eyes.

  And a moment after that, I tipped headlong into sleep.

  Eight

  Cole

  I lay awake for a long time, just enjoying the feel of Olivia in my arms.

  Right.

  This was absolutely right.

  She’d given me a lot before she’d succumbed to exhaustion, even thinking she hadn’t, and I turned the pieces over in my mind, knowing there was still a lot for me to learn hiding under that armor. I’d been given a sliver, and I needed to decide that night if I was going to dive in there, make that sliver something larger, something I could make myself at home in.

  Because I knew if I did, there was no going back.

  I wasn’t the type of man to force my way into a woman’s heart and then leave.

  I lived in commitments and permanents, and Olivia deserved to have a man who knew everything about her and loved her all the more for it. I thought I could be that man, but I needed to be absolutely sure.

  Could I handle the battle, the struggle she was sure to give me on the way?

  Could I get her to trust me?

  Could I put myself out there, knowing I may not ever get the equal in return?
And if that happened, never getting fully into Olivia’s heart, would that be enough?

  I thought myself in circles, understanding that mentally I was standing outside on the cliffside, readying myself to take a leap. Then I realized I would always leap.

  For Olivia, it was never a question.

  That cliff was no barrier.

  It had always been her.

  And so, decision made, I watched the sky get brighter, black turning into navy, the fog slowly burning off, becoming progressively brighter, hints of orange and pink and red transforming into a pale blue that was very close to Olivia’s eyes.

  Seeing her eyes in the sky was the last piece.

  I’d been seeing her everywhere in my life since the moment I’d laid eyes on her, the red of her lips was the color of my truck, her shining black hair the Tesla I’d recently ordered. I heard her laugh in my sleep, smelled her scent in the flowers when out riding. She was everywhere and—

  She was mine.

  Now, to convince her of that.

  Olivia was on Bucky’s back and looking ridiculously adorable.

  Not that I was going to tell her that.

  Her scowl was fierce, her nose wrinkled, her blue eyes shooting fire at me. Probably because I’d cut off her argument about not riding my horse by picking her up and depositing her into the saddle. Though, she hadn’t attempted to slide down, like I’d thought she would, and had instead picked up the reins like she’d done the same thing a hundred times before.

  “You better have packed up my heels carefully.”

  I’d grinned, since they were already securely stored in Buck’s pack, then had patted my horse on the rump and moved to his shoulder to lead him to the proper trail—that being the one that would lead us to Olivia’s car, rather than the one that led back to the ranch.

  “I could have walked,” she muttered, when I slipped the reins from her hands, not because she didn’t look comfortable on the back of the horse, but because it gave me a reason to stick close.

  “You could have,” I said, leaving off the part where that would have happened over my dead body, and asking her instead, “How’d you learn to ride?”