by Amy Knupp
“You ever get any good answers?”
She thought for a moment, then said, “No. I don’t think too hard about it because I believe every little thing gets us to the place we are, makes us the person we are.” At his silence, she said, “Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Get any good answers?”
“I mostly try not to think about it too hard because I’ve fucked up a lot.”
She didn’t see that, but she was still getting to really know him. Starting to sense that he was hard on himself, judged himself harshly. “But tonight you’re thinking about it?”
“Mason and Gabe told me some stuff that got me started.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“They said they wanted me to work for North Brothers when I graduated from high school.”
“Which you didn’t want to do,” she said, remembering what he’d told her before.
She could see him narrow his eyes in the dimness. “I don’t know. That’s what I wanted everyone to think, because”—he laughed, but there was no humor in it—“I didn’t figure they wanted me.”
“I get it. You went on the offensive. Thinking they didn’t want you, you made sure they knew you didn’t care because you weren’t interested in the first place.”
“Pretty much.”
“Seems human.”
“Seems immature.”
“You were eighteen and grieving.”
“And stubborn and stupid and pissed at the world.”
“And eighteen and grieving,” she repeated.
He didn’t answer, just reclined his head against the headboard, his gaze pointing toward the ceiling. She could feel his emotions pouring off him, negative ones.
“So you’re thinking what if you hadn’t been grieving and had gone to work with your brothers at eighteen?”
“Maybe.”
“What if you had? You’d be doing something way different. Not construction. Brain stuff, which you’re good at. Do you think you’d like that?”
“I like what I do,” he said. He turned his gaze to her. “I like working for you, and I’m not saying that because I’m in bed with you.”
She tried to fight off a grin. “Let’s keep those separate. Working together and sleeping together.”
“I’m good with that.” He reached out and grasped her arm, tugged her toward him. “Come here. Let’s focus on the sleeping together. Or the not sleeping part, more accurately.”
She scooted closer, and he guided her onto his lap, straddling him. “This is how you handle a serious conversation?” she asked, her breath coming out unevenly as she felt his hardness rubbing against her naked body.
“Not much else to say. No answers, only questions, and I’m questioned out.” He palmed her breasts and leaned in to kiss her. There was no question in his kiss, only demands. And she was only too happy to meet those demands.
Chapter Nineteen
Before he even opened his eyes, Cole felt the weight on his chest, as if Tito and a dozen other cats were sitting on top of him. He popped his eyes open, knowing on some level it wasn’t Tito, wasn’t anything tangible, but taking a moment to figure out where and when he was.
Sierra’s apartment.
She was curled up against him, facing him, one leg resting on top of his, her hand on his upper arm. Her hair was everywhere, and he might’ve taken a few seconds to run his fingers through the silkiness, breathe in the orange-vanilla scent—if he didn’t feel like he was coming out of his skin.
He wasn’t supposed to fall asleep. Wasn’t supposed to stay. That crossed a line, took things from a physical let’s quench our mutual needs to…something else. Something more. It was the “more” that he was guaranteed to screw up, whether he wanted to or not.
His phone was likely on the floor, either still in his jeans or next to them. In the near dark, he could barely see his watch, which was still on his wrist, but holding it a couple of inches from his face at a particular angle to the light from around the window let him just make it out—3:26 a.m. Middle of the night, and he had to get out of here before it was morning.
On one level, he fully recognized the dick move for what it was. That didn’t stop the gut reaction that he needed space, needed to breathe. Needed to make sure he didn’t let Sierra think there could be something deeper.
Managing to keep from bolting on the spot, he did take the opportunity to inhale the scent of her hair now, fainter but still distinctly vanilla-laced orange. For the rest of his existence, the smell of Creamsicles would equate to sex. The best sex of his life, a little voice in his head insisted—or maybe that was coming directly from his dick, which was awake and starting to throb.
The temptation to lose himself in Sierra jabbed at him, but the need to make a clean escape was stronger. It was only a couple of hours till the time he’d wake up on Monday morning, and the thought of waking up together, going to work together was not a comfortable one.
Lucky thing he’d fallen asleep on the side of the bed closer to the door, but getting out without waking her up was going to take some effort. His conscience surging again, he tried to tell himself he didn’t want to disturb her sleep, wanted to allow her the best rest possible because they had a labor-heavy day planned at the Draper site, but that was only part of the truth, and not the part driving his actions.
He was an asshole who didn’t know how to do more than casual sex. That was the truth. He’d never been motivated enough to try, had never had what he’d call a real relationship with a woman he’d cared about.
Moving his body a couple of inches to the right, he managed to slide out from under her hand. Her leg was more of an issue, but he went with the yank-the-bandage-off-quickly philosophy and turned on his right side, away from her, pausing for a few seconds to see if she stirred.
His heart pounded as he lay there, listening for a change in her breathing, knowing he was going to follow through with his escape one way or another. A leopard couldn’t change its spots.
Sierra was still, continued her even, barely audible breaths, so he sat up and bent down, feeling for his clothes, locating his phone and wallet, gathering everything in his arms. He’d dress in the bathroom. Less chance of bothering her.
Less chance of getting caught, asshole.
“Cole?”
He froze, bent over with his bare ass pointed to her, his hand outstretched toward his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
He straightened, searched for the right thing to say, or the rightest in the situation.
“Gotta feed Tito,” he said, and went ahead and picked up his shirt.
“Who’s Tito?”
“My cat.” He stood, having secured all his clothing and belongings and leaving Sierra’s shirts and leggings in a pile next to the nightstand.
She raised her upper body and supported herself on one elbow, the sheet staying where it’d been, giving him a shadowed view of her tits. His mind filled in the blanks for the parts he couldn’t see, and even in the dim night, they were fucking first-class.
“I didn’t know you have a cat,” she said.
“He’s a son-of-a-bitch tom cat who goes asshole if he doesn’t get his dinner.” That wasn’t a lie. Tito had been known to knock things off counters or shelves or claw the crap out of the area rug when he went too long without being fed. What made it a stretch was that it took longer than a few hours for Destructo Tito to strike. Cole had fed him later than usual Sunday morning, and the cat’s evening meal was only three or four hours delayed so far.
She didn’t respond, and the silence made him antsy. Since the cat was out of the bag, so to speak, he set his clothes on the mattress, dug out his boxer briefs, and put them on.
“You’re freaking out,” she said, not really as a question, as he pulled his jeans up.
He felt even more busted than he had when she’d woken up, but there was only so much dishonesty he could allow himself. Because it was Sierra, and dammit, he couldn’t help
caring more than he wanted to.
As he sat on the edge of the mattress, he allowed himself to touch her hair, running his fingers through the ends, pushing a chunk of it back over her shoulder. “I’m not good with sleepovers, morning afters,” he admitted. “I’ve never stayed the night.”
Her surprise at that was tangible, as she moved her head minutely and he could just barely make out the wrinkle in her forehead.
“Never?”
He shook his head.
“You take women to your place,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Never.”
She sat up, losing the sheet completely, moving her legs crisscross style, and he was sidetracked by the parts of her that were hidden in the dark well between her legs.
“You sleep with women a lot though, right? I mean, just asking. It’s fine, part of your history. I’m just curious.”
“I sleep with women some. Wouldn’t call it a lot. That’d be Drake. The man-whore North.”
“Okay…” She was obviously struggling to grasp what he was saying, as if she wasn’t fully awake yet. “Staying till morning doesn’t mean you’re locked in. To us, I mean.” Her husky-from-sleep voice dipped lower and tugged at something in him, something besides the insistent member jutting uncomfortably into his jean zipper. “We don’t have to do strings.”
“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t do strings, general rule, but he couldn’t say this night with Sierra was a one-off, no matter how much smarter that would be. Couldn’t imagine not having another few chances to be with her. But strings… No. “Tonight, last night, whatever you want to call it—this—was good, better than good. A thousand times better than good. But I’m not a strings guy.”
She reached out and ran a finger over his bare chest, sending a shiver through him.
Could he stay? Would it suck to crawl back under the warm blankets, sweep her hot body into his arms, sink inside of her, sleep for a few hours, then start his day with yet another dose of sex with Sierra?
Maybe he could try it once. Maybe he could start to blur the edges of his leopard spots after all. Sex with this woman, okay, sex and more with this woman… If anyone could change a man, change him and his fucked-up selfish ways, it would be her.
He leaned down and kissed her, in part to buy himself time, in part because how could he not kiss her? As their lips met and her fingers closed around his biceps, a vision of them heading out to their trucks together in the morning to go to work popped into his mind, and the domesticity of it snapped him out of the temptation to stay. He ended the kiss, sat up, shook his head.
“Tito needs his tuna,” he said as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay tonight.”
He was sorry, all right. Sorry-ass bastard. But he was what he was, and he’d have to keep that in mind before he tangled with Sierra again, because she deserved so much more than he could give her.
Chapter Twenty
“Something’s going on with you,” Hayden said as Sierra slid into the red-vinyl booth across from her at Frank’s Diner bright and early Monday morning. Just hours after Cole had retreated, as a matter of fact. Sierra had texted her friend first thing to set up the impromptu breakfast date.
“Just because you’ve known me since second grade and have been right there with me in my best and worst moments ever doesn’t mean you can tell something’s up before I even sit down,” Sierra said, unable to keep a grin off her face. “Maybe I just need coffee.”
“You undoubtedly need coffee. You also need to tell me why you forgot to wear your coat and why your eyes are lit up this early in the morning.”
“I forgot my coat because I was running late, and unlike you, I don’t set my stuff out the night before, nor do I wake up before the roosters or the sun.” Sierra looked around at the buzzing diner and waved at her friend and neighbor Roxie Giardini and her guy, Will, who were several tables down.
“Morning, girls.” Tilly scurried up to their table with a pot of coffee and efficiently filled both their mugs. “Where’s your coat, Sierra?”
“I don’t need one today,” she said. “It’s not that cold.”
Tilly eyed her briefly, then nodded at the customers who’d just walked in the door. “The usual for you girls today?”
“Plus a plate of hash browns,” Sierra said, adding to her blueberry pancakes and bacon order. At Hayden’s raised brows, she said, “Starving. And I need calories to get through my day. I don’t get to fluff pillows for the next ten hours.”
“Your loss. It’s much better than hammering nails.” Hayden poured multiple single-serve containers of fat-free creamer into her coffee, then watched Sierra expectantly.
Sierra folded easily, mostly because she was dying to pick apart her situation with Cole and figure out what to do next. “I slept with him.”
Hayden had been about to take a sip of coffee but set her mug down hard. “Cole?”
She said it loudly enough that Sierra glanced around to see if anyone had picked up on it.
“Who else would it be?”
“Weren’t you just, less than a week ago, debating whether you should ever look at him again because he worked for you and things would be awkward and it’s against your personal policy?”
“Well…” Sierra dumped in a packet of real sugar and stirred her coffee. “Yeah. Then you told me to go for it.”
“And you went for it.” Hayden’s smile was smug.
“Hole in one, baby,” Sierra said, making Hayden roll her eyes and shake her head as she allowed a short laugh.
“It was unquestionably good,” Hayden said. “It’s written all over your face.”
“It didn’t suck.”
“But did you?”
“Stop,” Sierra said, laughing.
“How did this happen? Last I knew you were limping around after he rescued you from your clumsy self.”
“No limp left. Only a little soreness.” Sierra leaned forward and told her how he’d showed up last night, quiet and withdrawn and all too willing to get physical. “And then he ran.”
“Midnight bolt?”
“Three a.m. He slept for a while,” Sierra said, “and I think it freaked him out. Which I mentioned to him.”
“And he said?”
“He had to feed his cat.”
“Liar,” Hayden said.
“Hundred percent, and I told him that. He then admitted he doesn’t do sleepovers or mornings after.”
Tilly appeared with their plates and set them in front of them. “Frank said to tell you the hash browns are even better with cheese.”
“Frank doesn’t have girl hips,” Sierra said. “Tell him thanks for the best pancakes in the world.”
“You can butter him up yourself,” Tilly said. “He’s acting like a grizzly today. Can I get you two anything else?”
They both shook their heads as they dug into their food. Tilly hurried off to another table.
“So what’s next?” Hayden said once she’d swallowed down a syrup-drenched forkful.
“With Cole? I’m thinking about cornering him in the conference room at work.”
“Naked?”
Sierra grinned and shook her head. “In my mind, maybe. I’ll be a little more subtle. At work.”
Hayden drew in a long breath and shook her head.
“What?” Sierra forked some potatoes and had a fleeting thought that cheese would make them even more amazing.
“How much of this is good sex and how much is you wanting more than just sex with him?”
“It was good,” Sierra said with feeling. “So much better than good.”
“Yeah?” Hayden’s eyes twinkled conspiratorially. “Can I live vicariously through you?”
“You need to find a guy. A North brother.”
Hayden shook her head, which was a lot more positive than her usual reaction to Sierra’s suggestion that someone of the male persuasion would make her world temporarily better. “So he was unselfish and hung like a horse?�
��
“Five orgasms, less than two hours.”
“Who had the extra one?”
“Five for me. Two for him.”
“Jeez. You need to not screw this up.”
“Hey. Who says I’m the one who’ll screw it up? He’s a guy.”
“A scared guy. A guy who sounds like he’s way into you and not ready to be way into anyone.”
“What makes you say he’s into me?” Sierra checked her phone for the time, saw she had a few more minutes, and stuffed a large bite of bacon in her mouth.
“He fell asleep next to you, for one.”
“Maybe,” Sierra said after swallowing her food.
“He came to you when he was upset about something.”
“Maybe.”
“He admitted he doesn’t do mornings after. A guy doesn’t just say that, he makes up an excuse.”
“Like feeding his cat?” Sierra asked.
“See? He even tried to lie but couldn’t keep it up.”
“Oh, he could keep it up.”
“I don’t want to hear any more,” Hayden said as she pushed her half-eaten pancakes to the side and moved the bacon front and center. “I’m at hating you level now.”
“You love me. You want what’s best for me.”
“Is that Cole? Like, long term?”
Sierra set her fork down, thinking about that question, as she had been for the past several hours. “I like him a lot,” she admitted. “He’s different from any guy I’ve gone out with. Rough around the edges, not so white-collar—”
“Not at all, right?”
She nodded. “He’s so reserved normally. Keeps his feelings to himself. But he’s opened up to me about his family. The things that are bothering him.”
“I told you he’s into you.”
“And while he’s normally so serious, sex was…fun. Like, we laughed together.”
“Weird.”
“And good,” Sierra said. “I want more. More sex and more him in general. A lot more.”
