Close Enough to Touch

by Victoria Dahl

  His fingers whispered over her skin, down her neck and over her shoulder until he eased her down to lie on the bed. Leaning over her, he kissed along the same path, then down to her breast. His mouth closed over her nipple, wetting the thin fabric of her shirt until she could feel his heat through it.

  She arched into the pleasure as he sucked at her gently, then turned the same attention to her other breast. By the time he pushed her shirt up and exposed her, she was panting.

  His lips whispered against her bare breast. “I love seeing you like this. Like nobody else does.”

  She shook her head as he pressed another gentle kiss to her nipple. “Plenty of people have seen me,” she growled, wanting to shut him up.

  “Not like this,” he whispered. “Not here or now. Not in my bed.”

  Oh, God. Her throat tightened. His tongue traced her with the lightest touch and his breath cooled the wetness and made her want to groan.

  When his hand slipped down her belly, she was relieved. She could give up the fantasy that this light, slow touch had something to do with cherishing her. But he didn’t shove his hand down her panties and get her off. Instead, his fingers dragged over the cotton, and he simply cupped her heat in his hand, holding her as he carefully sucked one nipple between his teeth.

  “More,” she said. “Harder.”

  He paused. She felt him lift his head and look at her, but she kept her eyes closed and turned her face away. His fingers curled a little tighter against her, but when he bent his head again, his mouth was just as gentle. He teased her, tempting her to feel something more than just sexual need.

  His lips slid down to her ribs, lingering over the tattoo he couldn’t stop asking about. It was as if he wanted to collect details about her for his own amusement. Why?

  “Harder,” she rasped, sliding her hand over his to push his fingers more firmly against her. “Cole.”

  “Shh,” he whispered against her skin. “It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay. She didn’t want it like this. Even though the cotton grew wet under his fingers. Even though her skin bloomed with warmth under his mouth. She didn’t want this.

  She pulled his hand higher and forced it beneath her panties. She wound her free hand into his hair and squeezed her fist tight. “More,” she ordered.

  “No.” He twisted his hand up and captured her wrist.

  She pulled his hair tighter until he pushed her down into the mattress.

  Grace turned her body, turning away from him, struggling, forcing him to treat her roughly. He yanked her back against his body, her ass pressed to his cock.

  When she pushed away, her flesh only pressed more tightly against his thickness.

  She wouldn’t be soft for him. No matter what he thought. No matter what he asked for.

  When he shoved her to her stomach and fucked her, Grace was smiling. She didn’t need gentleness from anyone. She just needed this.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HEAVEN ENVELOPED HER in fluffy warmth, and Grace burrowed into it with a sigh of wicked pleasure. She curled her legs up and snugged her hands beneath her chin, finding a perfect little pocket of heat and softness to hide in. Oh, God. It felt so good that goose bumps chased over her skin despite the delicious warmth.

  She felt safe. Cozy.

  Then she smelled bacon. And toast. And coffee.

  It was too good to be true, and her half-comatose brain managed to sound an alert. Something’s wrong.

  Her eyes popped open, wide with alarm before she was even fully awake. She sprang up, ready to fight.

  Yes, something was definitely wrong. She’d fallen asleep in Cole’s bed.

  “Oh, shit,” she whispered as she jumped down from the bed and looked frantically around for her clothes. Her panic twisted higher when she couldn’t find them. Where were they? She reviewed the night in her mind. Yes, she’d definitely had clothes on when she’d come over. And then…

  Yanking the covers back, she spotted the bright yellow cotton of her underwear and then the blue of her T-shirt. Thank God. But once she had those on, she couldn’t find her jeans. Keeping one eye on the corner of the short hall that fed into the living area, Grace searched the room. She could hear Cole moving around in there. Heard the clink of plates as he set them down.

  Was he going to feed her breakfast in bed now? Maybe tell her how special she was and ask what she wanted to do today?

  She didn’t know why the idea felt like a mortal threat. She wasn’t that screwed up. She’d had boyfriends. Men who’d loved her in whatever small way people were truly capable of love. So, why did the idea of sleeping in Cole’s bed terrify her?

  Just as angry tears were pricking her eyes, she dropped to her knees and spotted her jeans under the bed.

  “You up, Grace? Breakfast is ready. Come on out and I’ll feed you.”

  Jeans in her fist, Grace crouched on the floor. Her head popped up and she glared down the hallway.

  That was it. She remembered now. She’d been falling asleep last night, Cole’s arms wrapped around her, and he’d whispered something. Something about staying the night. “Don’t go back there. You don’t even have a bed. Stay with me for a while.”

  Stay with me for a while.

  A few years ago—hell, a few weeks ago—those words would have sent a secret thrill through her. Not because of love or affection or desire, but because those words would’ve offered a reprieve. Another reprieve in a long line of them. Another few weeks or months when she knew she was okay. Alive and fed and clothed and warm and not alone. Not really.

  The thought scared the hell out of her. She sprang to her feet and stalked out of the bedroom.

  “Morning, beautiful,” Cole said, looking as happy as she’d ever seen him.

  Beautiful. Whatever her issues, she didn’t need that kind of bullshit platitude. She had no idea what she looked like, but she knew it wasn’t beautiful.

  She kept walking all the way to the door. “I don’t need to be taken care of, Cole,” she snarled.

  His smile blanked to shock. “What?”

  “I don’t need you to feed me or offer me a place to sleep.”

  “Okay,” he said carefully.

  Her hand on the knob, she took a deep breath and managed a tense smile. “Thanks for the beer. I’m sure I’ll see you later. I just… I can’t stay.”

  She opened the door and took three steps into the hallway and nearly walked straight into a man she’d never met before. He was talking to Aunt Rayleen.

  The woman turned with an automatic scowl that quickly pulled into a sneer when her eyes traveled down Grace’s body. Then she looked pointedly at the door Grace had just closed behind her.

  “Well, well, well.”

  Grace rolled her eyes and moved to walk around her aunt and the man.

  “Couldn’t keep it in your pants, huh?” Rayleen snarled. “That’s because you’re doing it wrong. The pants are supposed to be on your ass, girl, not dragging along behind it.”

  Grace just barely managed to bite back a suggestion about exactly what Rayleen could do with her opinions.

  The man tried to step out of her path at the same time Grace tried to get around him, and they ended up stepping back and forth several times.

  Rayleen snorted. “Old Cole is pretty popular, you know. You’d better watch it, or you’ll end up with the clap.”

  Grace sighed heavily and stopped to glower at her aunt. “The clap? Really? What decade is this?”

  The man snorted, and Grace threw him a glare. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Lewis.”

  “He’s your upstairs neighbor,” Rayleen clarified. “You telling me there’s a bed you haven’t tried to crawl into? Not that you’d have much success with this one. Still, I knew letting a woman in here would be nothing but trouble. You’re using up all the good ones.”

  Grace could only assume that meant Lewis wasn’t a good one, though that obviously had nothing to do with appearances. He was wide-shoulder
ed and dark-haired with a smile that set the bar for wickedness.

  “Anyway,” Grace finally said, “nice to meet you.”

  He stuck out a hand, cutting off another attempt at escape. Grace switched her jeans to her left hand and managed the briefest of handshakes.

  “Okay, you stay right there, and I’m going to…” She kept him in place with one hand while edging around him and closer to her door. “I’m going to take my pantsless ass behind closed doors now. Bye.”

  “Hussy,” Aunt Rayleen said, not quite under her breath.

  “Witch,” Grace responded.

  “Ha! Which one of us is slinking through a shame walk? You do keep your chin up, though. I like that.”

  “Years of practice,” Grace muttered.

  Rayleen’s laughter followed her through the door. Grace threw her jeans on the floor and stalked straight to the bathroom to start the shower. She tried not to look in the mirror, not out of worry for what she looked like, but out of worry for what she’d see in her eyes.

  She used people. It was an ugly thing to see in oneself. That sometimes people were no more than shelter for her. No more meaningful than a roof and walls and a warm bed to wake up in. Not always, but often enough.

  And it wasn’t just other people. She used herself, too. After what had happened with Scott, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

  Oh, she’d pretended it had been a real relationship. Maybe it even had been, at the start. But three months after she’d moved into his place, she’d suspected he was cheating. A month after, she’d known for sure. And as tough and proud and self-respecting as she’d always imagined she’d been, Grace had said nothing.

  She’d put her head down and pretended not to know. Not because she loved him. Not because it hurt too much, but because she hadn’t had anywhere to go.

  The worst part, the part that ate her up on nights when she couldn’t sleep, was that Scott had known. He’d looked at her as if she was dirt. Less than dirt, actually, because when you walked all over dirt, it wasn’t the dirt’s fault. But Grace—she’d let it happen. So he’d walked a little harder. And then when he’d tired of even that horrid little game, he’d kicked her out.

  He’d known. And she’d looked straight into his disgusted eyes and begged him not to break up with her. But he hadn’t needed her anymore. She’d ruined any chance that she could help advance his career, and his career was all he cared about.

  Grace got into the shower and scrubbed as hard as she could.

  She’d never let that happen again. Ever. She’d never be dependent upon anyone for anything. And she wouldn’t be so proud that she’d yell her way out of a job again either. What the hell did she have to be so proud of? She was nearly thirty, she had nothing, and she could barely support herself.

  Yeah. You’re definitely a kick-ass chick, Grace Barrett. The coolest of the cool.

  The tears that had been hanging around for days finally won the battle and spilled down her cheeks. But it didn’t count in the shower, did it? It never did. They weren’t real tears when your face was already wet. So Grace let the water wash them away.

  This wasn’t who she’d planned to be. It wasn’t what she’d worked toward. After a couple of years of being angry and lashing out at the world, she’d gone back to school to get her GED, and she’d put herself on a path to do something she’d really loved. For a while there, she’d been so proud of herself. She was good with makeup. More than good. She’d called herself a makeup artist, and she’d meant it.

  But then she’d found that the perfect place for her wasn’t so perfect after all. And the space she’d carved for herself was too small. And the anger she thought she’d left behind was still in there, bubbling over at the worst times.

  For a while there, she’d been a success. A small one, maybe, but someone who could be proud of herself. Now she was a failure by any stretch of the word. A weak person who’d thought she was strong.

  But this was the moment. This was her chance. She could make something of herself, or she could keep being a tragic story. The typical tough girl who was really bleeding inside, pretending she didn’t need anyone when she really just wanted to be wrapped up in strong arms.

  “Yuck,” she muttered, wiping tears from her eyes. It didn’t matter. More tears immediately replaced them.

  God. She’d come all the way to Wyoming, several worlds away from L.A., and she was doing the same damn thing. Fighting with people, falling into bed, letting a man offer a helping hand. Except it was never a hand, was it?

  That thought made her snort with wet laughter, and the tears stopped.

  She was going to do this. She was going to go into work today and do a great job. She’d kiss a little ass if she had to, because she was strong enough to do that. She could deal with people who treated her like shit, because she wasn’t shit. And she could walk away from a man who told her she was beautiful and tried to take care of her, because being taken care of and lied to wasn’t love or security or anything but being treated like a wounded bird.

  She didn’t need that. Not anymore. She’d pay Scott the money she owed him. Somehow. And that would be the end of her old life. She was moving on.

  * * *

  COLE COULDN’T BEGIN to guess what had gone wrong this morning. Well, aside from the fact that he was sleeping with an incredibly prickly, difficult woman who couldn’t even cuddle after sex without getting tense about it. So, after standing in the kitchen, stunned, for a few minutes, he’d figured it out. She’d woken up, panicked at the idea of having spent the night and she’d bolted. No big surprise, really. She was more vulnerable than she wanted him to know. He’d already figured that out.

  But then she hadn’t answered the door when he’d knocked on his way out. And when neither she nor Eve had shown up at the ranch, he’d tried calling, and she hadn’t bothered answering the phone. Not the three other times he’d called either.

  So not a momentary panic, but something deeper.

  But what? It had been good last night. Hot and sweet and intense. And even after…she’d finally relaxed in his arms and fallen asleep. For once, he’d been happy for his insomnia, because he’d gotten to see Grace, relaxed in sleep. Her blackened eyelashes resting on pale cheeks. Her wide mouth warm and soft.

  She’d looked so young, and it made him wonder what she’d been like as a teen. A runaway, he suspected from what she’d told him, living on the streets sometimes. It made him feel odd and uncomfortable, imagining that. She was so small. How in the world had she made it out of that okay?

  Or maybe she wasn’t okay. There was that darkness in her eyes.

  Not always, though. Not when she needed him. Not when she was coming.

  At the thought, Cole shifted, telling himself not to go there. Because just that hint of a memory had blood rushing to his cock, a pleasant, dull—

  “Cole.” A hand curled around his biceps. He hoped it was Grace, but he knew before he even looked that it wasn’t. She’d never touch him that way in front of other people. She’d never deign to slide a possessive hand around his arm as if she were claiming him. But Madeline would.

  “Are you avoiding me?” she asked.

  Yes. He looked down at her hand on his arm, but she didn’t bother taking the hint.

  “You didn’t come by last night. I was a little surprised.”

  “I’m not your boyfriend anymore, Madeline.”

  “I know, but…for old time’s sake?”

  “Old times,” he murmured, shoving away from his place against the barn so that her hand would drop. “But I wasn’t really your boyfriend then either, was I?”

  “Hmm. Are you sure? You felt like my boyfriend.”

  “Madeline,” he said, hoping she’d hear the warning in his voice and back off.

  “It’s lunch break,” she said. “Come ride with me.”

  His shoulders snapped to instant, utter tension, and his leg suddenly began throbbing. “I can’t. I’ve got work to do.”

  �
��Work, like holding up the barn? It’s lunchtime, Cole. And I know for a fact that Easy told you to keep me happy. Isn’t that your job?”

  For a moment, he couldn’t hear anything except the blood rushing in his ears. His heart hammered with twin storms of anger and alarm. He started to say, “My job is being a ranch hand,” but he cringed away from it. A few months ago, he’d been the boss. He couldn’t make himself say it. Not to this woman.

  Maybe that was the worst part about all this. If he had to see this woman again, he wanted to be whole, strong, successful. He wanted to be in control and he wanted her to know it. But here he was, playing the part of her crippled errand boy. Her toy again, just as he had been before.

  “Please?” she pressed. “Pretty please?”

  And then there was a memory. Lying in her bed, spent and naked and sweaty. He’d been starry-eyed in love with her and floating in a cloud of satisfaction. And then she’d asked him to go spend the night at her friend’s hotel. Pretty please? She really liked you, Cole. And you obviously liked her a lot, too.

  He’d said no at first, and Madeline had lost her powers of cute persuasion and been immediately irritated. “Are you kidding me? You already fucked her. What difference can it possibly make?”

  “It doesn’t seem right. If you’re there, it’s one thing. But this feels like cheating.”

  “She’s a very powerful woman, Cole,” Madeline had said, her voice caught somewhere between a coax and a threat. She’d shoved her arms into a robe and gone to light a cigarette and glare out the window.

  He’d said yes, finally, and headed out the door to a waiting car.

  His throbbing leg pulled him back to the present.

  “It’s just a quick ride, Cole. Why are you being such an asshole?”

  He had a few choices. Walk away and admit defeat. Explain that he couldn’t ride. Not yet. Or tell her that he hated her guts because of what she’d done to him. Emotional wounds or physical ones?

  He went for something less drastic. “I broke my leg last year. It’s still acting up. No pleasure riding right now.”

  Her anger dropped away and she smiled. “Pleasure riding, huh? Is that why you didn’t come by last night?”