by Liz Meldon
“Y-yes,” she cried, fingers digging so hard into the leather seat that she swore she heard something rip. “God, yes!”
He let go of her hair as a stunning climax tore through her, and Skye bowed against him, shaking. Her mind’s fireworks had gone postal, exploding as one while sweet heat rocked her body. She collapsed against him, his vigorous pace prolonging the blissful torture of an orgasm that left her momentarily blind, deaf, and dumb. Skye floated back to reality, only just, when Cole’s arm clamped down around her, making it a little hard to breathe, and he hissed her name against her skin. Tensed, Cole spilled himself into her, then slowly sagged into the seat.
With a hand gently clasping the back of her neck, he guided her back to him for one last kiss.
The kind of kiss that could last forever.
Skye had never seen the inside of Cole’s bedroom.
The thought only just occurred to her as she stood at the foot of his bed, staring out two floor-to-ceiling glass walls that overlooked the Pacific. If she had stayed overnight in the past, there was a guest bedroom with her name on it. There was also an awesome home theater setup that she and Cole made use of from time to time, streaming marathons and ingesting way too much popcorn.
Mind you, the kitchen wasn’t bad either. Stainless steel appliances. Black granite countertops. An island the size of a small country. Double-door fridge always stocked with her favourite munchies. The kitchen was Skye’s retreat on the rare occasion that Cole hosted something with people she couldn’t stand. She’d spend at least a collective hour hiding out with the chef and his team, sampling everything before it went out, hoping no one would notice her missing.
But the bedroom had always been off-limits—in both a literal sense, as Cole kept the door closed when he hosted company, and in the metaphorical sense, as Skye tried to wrangle her feelings and preserve a friendship she valued more than anything. Yet here she was. Wrapped in an ankle-length teal swimsuit cover-up, one she had left behind sometime last year, otherwise still naked beneath, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared out across the water. Perfect surf waves rolled toward the shoreline, their white tips surging forward and crashing against the sand. She bit her lip. Crashing. Were she and Cole crashing? Were they about to?
Sex always made things complicated.
It had all seemed pretty uncomplicated, of course, when he carried her into the house, down the stairs, and into the master suite, where he undressed her and dragged her into a shower that rivaled the size of her entire bathroom. It had seemed uncomplicated when he nudged her under the spray, combed his fingers through her hair, and attended to every inch of her with a sudsy loofah.
And it certainly hadn’t felt complicated when he kissed her, when he marched her back against the slate grey tile, hoisted her up, and fucked her through two more earthshattering climaxes.
But in the quiet after the storm, things were complicated. As she watched the ocean, clear blue to match the sky, Skye felt complications creep up her body and gnaw away at her resolve.
This was what she had always wanted…
So why had panic sunk its claws into her and refused to let go?
“Sushi order placed,” Cole announced as he strode back into the bedroom, shoving his phone in his pants pocket. “I got your usual… Is that all right?”
“Fine,” she told him, her voice catching. His brow furrowed—he’d noticed—and she cleared her throat. “Sounds great, actually.”
“In the meantime…” He tossed a packet of something onto the bed. “A sweet for my sweet.”
The chocolate stuffed with ooey-gooey salted caramel.
A Rai’s Sweets staple. Panic sunk its claws deeper.
“I had a few packets in the fridge for you,” he told her. Just the way she liked her chocolate. Cool. Crunchy. The caramel less likely to ooze all over her fingers.
“Cole…” She settled on the edge of the bed. At first, she’d wanted to refuse the chocolates, knowing that this was a serious conversation they needed to have, but she couldn’t help herself. They really were her favourite. So, she snatched the packet and ripped it open, then offered some to him as he sat stiffly on the other side. His polite refusal made her sigh, and she brought one cool ball of deliciousness to her mouth; but her hand fell to her lap seconds later, chocolate slowly melting onto her fingertips.
“Do you regret it?” He asked it so softly that she almost missed it.
“No,” she insisted. “Not for a second.”
He exhaled sharply, his hand flexing in and out of a fist. “Good.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
To anyone else, it might have sounded like they were on the same page, but Skye knew Cole better than that. So, she took a slow, measured breath, and set her chocolates aside.
“But,” she started, fully aware that this would kill their post-sex-pre-sushi pleasantness, “it complicates things.”
Cole’s phone buzzed, and her eyes narrowed when he started to reach for it. Slowly, he threaded his hands together and set them on his lap.
“It doesn’t have to.”
“No, of course it doesn’t.” She couldn’t fault him there, but that was wishful thinking. “But you know it does.”
“Skye…” He shook his head and stood, strolling for the window-wall, his eyes lifted to the horizon. “We can just carry on the way things have always been. Nothing needs to change.”
Her shoulders slumped, the panic giving way to hurt. Didn’t he want them to change? Hadn’t what just happened meant something to him? She started fiddling with the fabric of her cover-up.
“I don’t want to do that.” Finally. It was out there. Skye swallowed hard and caught Cole frowning as he pulled one hand out of his pocket and curled it into a fist. Curled. Uncurled. Pumping in and out—his thinking tick. She’d always thought it an anxious habit, but could never prove it. A smile flashed across his face, one so brilliant she couldn’t miss it. But within seconds, it was gone. Restrained. Hidden away, same as always. The hurt melted to frustration, hedging on anger.
“Really?” Cole asked, his gaze still on the water—faraway, beyond what Skye could reach.
“Is that such a fucking shock to you?” she snapped, and he turned back sharply, his frown deepening. She waited for him to say something, to counter her accusation. Her eyebrows shot up the longer they stared at one another. “Seriously?”
He opened and closed his mouth, words failing, before posing the question she’d always dreaded. “Do… Do you want to end our contract?”
“No.” Ending the contract could potentially mean Cole stepping out of her life—for good. She didn’t want that either, but she couldn’t stand the thought of things fizzling out, all because neither of them had the courage to say what they really felt.
She ought to just tell him. Feelings—she had them bad. Maybe love. Probably love. But she couldn’t slice herself open and spill her soul for a man with the emotional capacity of a thumbtack. He had always been so adept at pretending, and the thought of him doing it with her… Well, she couldn’t stand it. If he didn’t feel the same way, if he hadn’t the audacity to say it, then why should she?
And she knew that was pathetic. Childish. Two teenagers pretending not to understand the effect they had on one another. It was petty, too.
“Skye, I don’t want to end it either,” he muttered, crossing the room and taking a seat beside her. The bed jostled slightly, and she looked briefly at the water before pinning her stare on her hands.
“I’m sorry, Cole, but I just…” She gulped. “I need more from you.”
“I… I’ve been trying to give more, but you just won’t take it.” Cole exhaled, the sound rife with frustration. “You keep telling me you don’t want the money, but I don’t have much else to gi—”
“I’m not talking about money!” Was he being purposefully obtuse? From the furrowed brow and the slightly distracted way he kept glancing at his pocket whenever his phone buzzed,
Skye wasn’t so sure. A rush of heat spread from her cheeks down to her chest, and he swallowed hard at the sight. Obviously he was aware he’d said the wrong thing, but when he made no effort to fix it, she shook her head and stood. “I can’t… I have to go.”
“Skye.” He snagged her hand before she could stalk out, his touch electric. Why had she said anything at all? A hint of physical contact and her body responded—she should have just mounted him after he gave her chocolate and spent the rest of the night in blissful fucking ignorance. Maybe if they had spoken tomorrow, taken some time to digest, things would be different. But here they were. She had broken the seal. There was no going back now.
So, she waited. She met his stare, she squeezed his hand, and she waited. Her heart leapt at the faint sound of something on the tip of his tongue, but disappointment hit hard when he said nothing instead. Fine.
“I’m glad today happened,” she said as firmly as she could, “but, Cole, I need more. Not an end to anything. I just need more.”
And with that, she tugged her hand free and made her way through the house. She paused, briefly, to change from one dress to another in the hall, grabbing her tote along the way. With her mind a clouded mess, her feet did most of the work, following familiar paths taken many times over until she was standing in the front driveway, staring at the car she and Cole had christened less than an hour earlier.
Within minutes, a town car rolled up. Skye glanced back, waiting for one last attempt, for Cole to come running out after her and demand that she stay, that they talk more. All he’d have to do was kiss her. That was all it would take.
Nothing.
Swallowing her hurt, she climbed into the car on shaky legs—and left.
11
New POV
“I’m sorry…” Skye pressed a hand to her forehead, heart pounding so hard that she could barely hear Hans Timmons, owner of Gallery Sens, through her phone. “You’re going to have to repeat that.”
He chuckled kindly. “I said, I’d like to offer you a job. J. O. B. Does that sound appealing to you, Miss Summers?”
“Yes,” she all but squealed. How embarrassing—you’d think she was fifteen and getting hired at her first job ever. But to have a museum contact her regarding employment, it kind of was her first job—career-wise, anyway.
“Now, I know you applied to assist the curator,” Hans remarked, and Skye had to amp her phone’s volume to hear the old man’s gentle voice. “Unfortunately, I’ve decided to fill that position with someone who has more experience.”
Just like that, her excitement faceplanted. “Oh?”
“I think you’ll get there,” he assured her, “but you need a little hands-on work outside of your classes. Now, the position I have isn’t glamorous—”
“I didn’t get into this field for the glamor.”
He laughed again. “Well, good! You’ll find none of it here. The position I had in mind is ticket seller. You’ll essentially man the front desk. Answer phones. Sell admissions. Educate curious lookie-loos and the like.”
Glorified receptionist. Skye swallowed hard. She could do that. It didn’t sound all that difficult, though she knew the museum got a little busier when Coral Bay’s college resumed classes in the fall. First-year students were told to visit Gallery Sens after their Sex Ed and Consent lecture during orientation week. It was like a rite of passage. Everyone went in thinking it would be a porn shop, and then they left feeling cultured. Being a local, Skye hadn’t participated, but she had heard all the stories.
“I know it isn’t what you want,” Hans continued softly, “but I think you’ll gain a lot of experience learning how everything works. You’ll be hands-on during opening and closing, and you’ll assist when we have shows and functions to attend. What do you say? Would you like some time to think on it?”
“No,” she told him. “I mean. I know I should take the time, but I think this sounds like a wonderful opportunity to learn.”
And no one else had called her for follow-up interviews—or an interview in general. She had been fortunate to land the few she had.
“Does that mean you’re accepting?”
“Yes, it certainly does.”
“Splendid!”
They chatted about a few minor details; the offer would be made official when she came down to cross her Ts and dot her Is. After a few more minutes of her thanking him and Hans expressing his excitement for her to start, and both engaging in the who says goodbye first game again, Skye hung up and flopped down on the couch. Oz gave a sleepy meow in protest when the cushion bounced, and she reached over to ruffle his fur. Unimpressed, the cat got up, stretched, and sauntered down to the armrest to continue his late afternoon snoozefest uninterrupted.
As she took a few contemplative moments to herself to process what had just happened, an enormous smile crossed her lips. Apparently her life didn’t have to be consumed by boy drama and stress. She could, on her own merit, land a job in a shitty economy. With a steady paycheck coming in, she might even be able to stop taking an allowance from Cole…
And possibly end their sugar daddy/baby relationship altogether.
Just like that, the smile was gone, and her stomachache, the one that had been tailing her ever since she left Cole’s the other week, sidled back into place. Once again, they hadn’t spoken much since it happened. Skye had wanted the time to think, unencumbered by her heart’s desire to be close to Cole no matter what, and she had let his phone calls go unanswered. Of course, every voicemail he left was listened to, scrutinized, and relayed in cryptic summary to her friend Brynn.
The pair had met in college, both at least six years older than everyone else in their classes, and had been friends ever since. Brynn had started working at a coffee shop up the street while she hunted for museum work, and had been in New York visiting family since graduation. Her recent return meant Skye could rant about her “boyfriend,” though she had to be careful about how far she went and selective in the details offered. Being in a secret sugar daddy relationship with a contract kind of put a damper on girl talk, but Skye made do with what she had.
Unfortunately, the meat of the issue was that Cole couldn’t communicate with her. He wouldn’t confirm or deny any feelings for her, despite Skye giving him the opportunity. Brynn thought they were already dating, so Skye had been forced to play up the communication struggles they’d had lately instead.
All things considered, Skye was almost equally at fault. Sure, she had told him she wanted more, but she could have elaborated. She could have specified. She could have just spilled her guts and told him she had feelings for him. But she hadn’t. And he hadn’t said anything either. So, there they were, a week later and awkward.
A sharp knock at the door sent her shuffling across the living room. Through the peephole she saw yet another bouquet of chocolate roses, but this time no Finn. She accepted them with a smile, offering the delivery guy a taste—which he turned down—before locking herself in and falling back against the door.
And then there was Finn.
Finn, who hadn’t stopped calling and texting her. Finn, who greeted her each morning with a cute message. Finn, who couldn’t seem to stop talking about how interested he was in her. Finn, who had stolen a little piece of her heart—over the freakin’ phone.
Ugh. She dug the card out of the bouquet, her smile returning as she read it.
You still owe me lunch, you minx.
Hope this is a suitable substitute. Don’t eat it all at once.
Or do. Who am I to judge?
xx Finn
“Fuck me,” she muttered before chomping off a rose head, whole hog, and chewing a mouthful of delicious, perfectly tempered chocolate. Seconds later, her phone buzzed from where she had left it on the coffee table. Cole. Again. She looked down at the bouquet. She looked back at her phone.
Not ready to address either, she ignored the call, set the bouquet in the fridge, and opted for TV and Oz cuddles instead. Somehow, it had felt li
ke the universe was setting her up to choose between Cole and Finn, and Skye just couldn’t do that. Not right now, anyway. It was hardly an even playing field—for either of them. She had known Cole longer. She adored him. They had an established emotional connection, an easy friendship. Being with him had just felt right. But none of that negated the fact that they were currently in an official stalemate.
Finn made her heart happy. He was upfront about his romantic interest in her. He knew the details of her sugar daddy relationship with Cole and still wanted to pursue her. Intimacy with Finn had also felt right, in its own way. But he wasn’t a safe bet. Not yet. She just didn’t know him well enough. Internet sleuthing listed him as a playboy, but most of those articles were at least a few years old. Could she take a chance on puppy love with a guy as smooth as Finn?
She zoned out, staring at the TV screen, absently gnawing her lower lip—feeling like the worst person ever. How could she even entertain the idea of Finn, the magnificent creature that he was, when she felt such strong, deep-seated feelings for Cole?
Were those feelings even real if she was so easily taken with Finn?
Groaning, Skye snatched her remote and switched to a reality show, hoping it might cheer her up. It was always nice to see that there were bigger screw-ups out there in the romance department than Skye Eloise Summers.
Mercifully, reality TV proved to be just what she needed. A half hour blitzed by with only a few panicky thoughts, and when she finally grabbed her phone, ready to check the voicemail she knew Cole had left, she found a text from Brynn instead.
Work was dead so I got sent home early. Drinks tonight? Karen and Jazz are in town.
Skye brightened at the thought. Karen and Jazz were two college pals who had fled the Coral Bay coop after graduation. It’d be nice to see them—but it would be even nicer to have a distraction from all her boy drama, which had totally eclipsed her job-offer-high. So, she fired a quick message back, thumbs flying over her screen.
