by Naima Simone
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned Cole,” she murmured. “Now we’re getting down to the truth of it. That’s what this little ambush is about—Cole. Hell, Jenna. Why didn’t you just come right out and say that instead of pussyfooting around with the ‘baby mama’ shaming?”
Even in the dark, Sydney could easily spot the red that flooded the other woman’s face. Her lips thinned as her slender shoulders straightened and she peered down her nose at Sydney. No denying Jenna’s beauty. Too bad it was spoiled by her snotty, condescending, mean spirit.
The memory of that stark, dejected “something” she’d seen flash in Jenna’s eyes moments ago whispered that maybe all wasn’t as it seemed. But in the next instant, Jenna opened her mouth and banished any hint of sympathy Sydney might’ve harbored.
“He might not be able to see through you, but I can. It’s really sad, Sydney. Your husband—if you really had one, that is—didn’t want you, so you’re trying to latch onto Cole, for what? Respectability? Love?” She chuckled, and the sharp edges of it scraped over Sydney’s skin. “As if he could truly want you. He’s a respectable attorney, a good family man, the mayor, for God’s sake. What could he possibly see in you? And if you weren’t so selfish, you would see that you’re harming him. People are talking about how you’re playing him for a fool by trying to make him a substitute father to your baby. Did you actually think your little stunt at the council meeting would give you an in with him? Make everyone else forget your sad little existence? Not going to work—”
“Sydney. Everything okay?” Cole appeared at her side, his voice reaching her from a distant, hollow tunnel.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t drag in air past the pulsing agony that radiated from every pore, every organ in her body. Once more, each word dug deep, unearthing every one of her doubts, secret fears and insecurities.
A big palm settled on the small of her back, and she flinched, the touch like liquid fire through her clothes and against her skin. It possessed too much concern...too much pity, just as Jenna had so cruelly, accurately pointed out.
“Sydney,” he murmured.
“We’re fine, Cole,” Jenna assured him in a sugary-sweet voice. Yes, that was her. Saccharin and strychnine. “I was just making sure Sydney made it to the bathroom okay. You can’t be too careful. Especially in her condition.”
If Sydney wasn’t numb from the neck down, she would be in dire trouble of hurling.
“Sydney,” he repeated her name, and his voice vibrated through her. Sending fissures and cracks through the shield of ice that coated her. She suspected she would always respond to him. Like her own personal curse. “You good?” he asked again.
“Fine. I’m fine,” she replied, even tried to rummage up a smile, but failed. She barely managed to speak past her pain, her fury, her guilt. Smiling...well, that was beyond her. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She didn’t wait for either him or Jenna to respond, not that Jenna would try to stop her escape. Not when it left her alone with Cole.
Jealousy. It slithered through the toxic maelstrom of emotions that whirled inside her. Ridiculous. He wasn’t hers. Would never be hers. She had as much claim as Jenna. But on paper, Jenna made more sense than Sydney...
She glanced over her shoulder. Spied Cole’s tall frame dwarfing Jenna’s. Witnessed the spiteful redhead rest a hand on his chest, right over his heart. And the food Sydney had happily downed all day churned in her stomach, threatening to spike toward her throat.
Swallowing convulsively, she jerked her head back around and weaved a path through the crowd, laughter and chatter bouncing off her. Whereas only minutes ago, she’d felt a part of this gathering, this town and its people, now she was a stranger, wading through their midst, untouched. Unseen.
Unwanted.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, striding to the edge of the field and heading toward the parking lot. Logically, she understood Jenna didn’t speak for everyone in Rose Bend. The fact that she’d just spent all day with two wonderful women belied Jenna’s claim. But deep beneath bone and muscle, where her most secret vulnerabilities lurked—where the rejected and lonely little girl still existed—she believed it.
It didn’t matter if people were talking about her and Cole or not—that didn’t negate the truth. The upstanding, admired mayor didn’t belong with the black sheep, the woman who returned home pregnant, single and with her tail tucked between her legs. Didn’t matter if those were Sydney’s choices and she had her reasons for them. For the people here, it was all about perception. And the princess, the former mayor’s precious daughter, made for a glossier, prettier picture. No matter how much of a bitch she might be.
Stupid of Sydney to think she could start over. That people would let the past go.
That she could hope for more...for different.
“Sydney.” A firm hand cuffed her wrist, drawing her to a halt.
She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to see who had a hold of her. If that low, midnight-and-sex voice didn’t identify him, the sizzle and snap of her neurons and the heat pouring through her veins certainly did.
“What?” she asked, hating the waspish tone. Hating that she let any emotion filter through. She tugged at his grasp, and he released her. Only to circle in front of her so his big body blocked her escape.
“Look at me,” he ordered, and though irritation sparked inside her, so did that heat. It flared higher, hotter at the demand in his low voice. “I’m right here, not over my shoulder.”
Lip curling, she shifted her gaze from the cars packed into the lot behind him and met his eyes. The light from the tiki torches posted around The Glen and the parking lot didn’t quite reach back to this pocket of darkness where they stood. They stared at one another, caught in some kind of in-between—in between light and dark. Silence and noise. Reality and an alternate universe where only they existed. A no-man’s-land that offered a false sense of privacy. And danger.
Danger to her senses. Her common sense. Her body.
“What?” she repeated.
“You tell me,” he said, studying her face. She refused to recoil or duck her head from his scrutiny that veered too close to intrusive. No, she lied. Not intrusive. Perceptive. Which wasn’t awful unless you had a lot to hide. And she did. “What happened back there with Jenna? You don’t even like her, so why were you with her?”
“As if I had a choice,” she snapped. “She insisted on escorting me to the bathroom, just like she said. But her intention wasn’t to make sure I made it to the porta-potty safely. No, she let me know just where I stood with this town, with you. Especially you. Seems she’s appointed herself your personal bodyguard and she warned me off of you.” She shook her head, her lips turning up into a mocking smile. “What did you do? Fuck her and not call the next morning?”
She was lashing out, being a bitch. But she couldn’t rein it in. Couldn’t prevent the words that probably betrayed her hurt, her jealousy.
“What did she say to you?” he asked, voice flat.
And that sliced deeper than Jenna’s accusations. He wasn’t denying having sex with her. And why that should bother—no, no. It didn’t hurt. It eviscerated her. But it shouldn’t. He could screw whoever he wanted. Cole was single, sexy as hell and owner of his choices. He didn’t have to answer to anyone, least of all her. And given how people treated her over her decisions, she damn sure would be the last person to shame anyone. But goddamn. Images of him and Jenna together assaulted her. His honey and almond skin dark next to hers. Her vibrant red strands tangled in his hands. That large, muscular body stretched out over Jenna’s...
Sydney sucked in a breath. Her belly roiled, rebelled. Closing her eyes to block out his face, she laid a hand on her stomach.
“What’s wrong?” he fairly barked, encircling her upper arm. God, he needed to stop touching her. “Is it the baby?”
; “No, the baby’s fine,” she murmured through numb lips. “I’m fine. And not your responsibility. You can go back now. I’ll make it to my car safely. I’m sure somebody’s looking for you.”
She moved forward, but his grip didn’t loosen. Held her still. She glared at him, her fury mating with hurt and that ever-present lust.
“No, you’re not my responsibility,” he agreed calmly. Too calmly. Because one glance at his stony features, half enshrouded by shadows, showed he was holding back. He was hiding behind those taut lines, the darkened eyes, the clenched jaw and the grim line of his carnal mouth. The sight of his barely stifled emotion—whatever it was—sent a wicked, perverse thrill spiraling through her. “But you are my friend. Are friends not supposed to be concerned?”
“Friends?” she shot back, yanking at his grip, and like the good man he was, he let her go. But the way her skin burned from the brand of his fingers, he might as well have been still clutching her. “You’ve been avoiding me since that night in your office. I’m surprised you can bring yourself to look at me. And we’re friends?” She scoffed, slicing a hand through the air. “I’m your regret. The reminder of all you’ve lost. And now, according to Jenna, I’m your charity case.”
“Is that what she said to you? Fuck that.” He edged closer into her space. “As if she knows anything about charity. You know who Jenna is, Sydney. The kind of person she is. Why would you take anything that comes out of her mouth as gospel? Especially over my word. You are not a pity project. And I would hope my actions since you’ve returned home would’ve proven that.”
“That’s just it,” she snapped. “They have proven it. Ignoring your own pain to feel my baby’s first kick. Placing yourself in the position to suffer more of that pain just so I wouldn’t be alone at my appointment. Do you know what else Jenna said? You’re a good man. And you are. So good you would take on the burden of your sister’s best friend without a complaint.”
“I’m not a fucking saint, Sydney. So don’t make me out to be one.” The darkly rumbled words rolled through her, vibrating in her chest, tumbling and settling lower, much lower.
He was a man. God, she recognized that. But as far beyond her reach as he loomed, he might as well be one of those celestial beings. She could look, but not touch. Want him, long for him. But dare not to hope that he would ever return that desire.
She rubbed her fingers across her forehead, suddenly tired. So damn tired. “This is pointless. All of this,” she waved a hand behind her, “is because of you, and you should be enjoying it. Should be celebrating seeing it come to fruition. You claim not to be a saint, but once more you’re over here trying to save me. Go be someone else’s savior. Like I said, I’m good. And I’m also done.”
She stepped forward, and at the same time, he shifted closer. In the span of a breath, they crowded each other’s personal space. No part of his body touched her, but somehow, he still surrounded her. His scent, his heat, his intensity. She should backpedal, insert distance between them, so she could think. So his overwhelming presence didn’t scramble her thoughts. So it didn’t ratchet up the hunger inside her.
“I’m not done. And I haven’t addressed the evidence you brought up to prove your very flawed case.”
She scoffed, assuming an annoyed nonchalance that was ninety percent bullshit and ten percent nerves. “Using lawyer speak? Really?”
“Sydney.”
“What?”
“Shut up. Or in ‘lawyer speak,’ you’re out of order,” he tacked on, the steely tone of his voice betraying that he would condone nothing but obedience from her.
She reeled at that hard note; he’d never used it with her before. What did it say about her that it both angered and aroused her? That you need to get your shit together and check him. Or climb him like a rock wall. Dammit. Even her conscience was no help.
“As far as avoiding you and not being able to look at you...” He paused, the strong line of his jaw clenching. “That has more to do with me than you, Sydney. You came to me crying, seeking the comfort of a friend. And I...” He bit off the words, scrubbing a hand over nonexistent curls. Turning his head, he stared off in the distance for several silent, taut seconds before returning his burning, golden gaze to her. “And I took advantage of that. I almost stole what you weren’t offering. So it has nothing to do with not being able to look at you. It’s me I can’t stand. Me I’m angry as hell at, not you.”
“How do you know I wasn’t offering?” she breathed, the question blurting out of her before she could trap it. Or consider the lunacy of voicing it.
She didn’t even have alcohol to blame for her lack of control. That heat in his eyes looked a little too close to desire—she could blame her inhibition on that. Hell, just staring into it, feeling singed by it... Yeah, it had her head swimming harder than if she’d downed a bar full of cranberry vodkas.
Cole stiffened, air sucking through his flared nostrils, his eyes narrowing on her. “Don’t joke with this, Sydney. Now isn’t the time,” he commanded, iron still threading through his voice.
“Why do you assume I’m joking?” she pushed, even as her mind screamed caution in red, blinking letters. For her, this man was pain wrapped in beauty. Yet, she didn’t walk away. Because though she’d matured, she obviously hadn’t lost the impulsive streak that didn’t heed danger. She would end up wrecked by pressing this. But in this moment, with his glittering, hooded stare licking over her skin and that big, wide body unnaturally still, as if forcibly holding himself in check, she didn’t give a damn. She wanted him to break. To shatter. And take her with him.
“If I was anyone else but me, what would you have done?” she taunted softly, tilting her head. “Finished what you started? Taken my mouth? Bruised it? Owned it?” she whispered. Rising on tiptoe, she pressed her forehead against his chin, a breath shuddering out from between her lips. An answering shiver rippled through his large frame, and her eyes closed. “You can’t take advantage of what I would’ve freely given you.”
A second passed. Then two. A couple more. And neither of them moved.
Until he did.
Cole stepped back. Away from her. Leaving her brittle and cold in the summer heat.
Slowly, she rolled down to the soles of her feet, humiliation churning in her stomach. Jesus, when would she learn?
She parted her lips, the apology there, ready to be uttered. But it wouldn’t emerge. Instead, she tore her gaze away from Cole and turned. Walked away from him before he could do it. Before she could glimpse the regret and guilt that would undoubtedly darken his gaze. Again.
“Fuck.”
The harsh, coarse growl reached her only seconds before a hand gripped her hip, spinning her around and hauling her against a solid, wide chest. Another hand stroked roughly up her back, over her neck, and tunneled through her hair. Long, implacable fingers twisted in her hair, tugging her head back, sending tiny pinpricks scattering across her scalp. A moan broke free of her. But before embarrassment at the needy sound could set in, Cole crushed his mouth to hers, swallowing the tail end of that sound.
Oh. God.
She hadn’t been ready. No matter how many times she’d dreamed of his kiss, of his rangy, powerful body pressed to hers, she hadn’t. Been. Ready.
Not for the hot, demanding thrust and sweep of his tongue. Not for the wet but firm slide of lips against lips. Not for the sensual graze of teeth over sensitive flesh. Not for the deep, ragged groan that poured into her mouth and vibrated against her chest.
He consumed her.
Licking. Sucking. Stroking. Giving her pleasure even as the firm grip and tug on her hair demanded she surrender to him. He took utter control of the kiss, of her passion...of her. He angled her head so he could go deeper. So he had more access, more of a claim.
With a whimper, she circled his wrists, held on. Because that’s all she could do. His lust beat at her like hot,
living flames, stoking hers higher and brighter. Rising on her toes again, she opened her mouth wider—so wide the corners of her mouth twinged. She would emerge from this with bruised, swollen flesh. And loving it. Craving it. She wanted his mark of passion on her.
As if reading her mind, the kiss turned harder. Wilder. Wetter. Cole crowded impossibly close, his chest pressed against her breasts, and her nipples peaked, beading. Her flesh had grown more sensitive with the pregnancy, and just the minute shift of his body arrowed electric spikes of pleasure straight to her aching, drenched sex. Seeking some relief of that carnal pain, the emptiness, she squeezed her thighs, but it didn’t work. Every twist of his tongue around hers, every greedy pull as if he couldn’t get enough of her taste, of her, increased the lust clawing at her, demanding to be satisfied. Didn’t stop her from meeting him thrust for thrust, lick for lick, moan for moan.
And when his hips rocked forward, his thick cock grinding just under her swelled belly, the wide length riding over her clit, she emitted a soft, shocked cry. And when he repeated it, slower, firmer, she damn near erupted. Her knees trembled, almost giving out. So long. It’d been so long since she’d been touched as a desirable woman.
And she’d never experienced this...this intense, uncontrollable need and ravenous hunger that threatened to raze her to the ground and leave only ashes behind. One kiss. This one kiss rivaled the best sex she’d ever had. God. If just a meeting of mouths and tongues could render her a shivering, throbbing mess, what would the actual act do to her? Would she be the same after he slid into her body, stretching her, molding her, burning her...
Damn, she wanted to find out.
Even if it meant being irrevocably changed afterward.
“Um... Cole?” The hesitant, feminine voice that shook a little interrupted on their lust-soaked cocoon.
Sydney flinched, the intrusion an icy dousing of reality. Cole’s grip tightened on her for a fraction of a second, as if he protested releasing her. But then his hands dropped away as if scalded. Or repulsed. He stepped back. Then back again.
