by Laura Wright
“I want these,” he said, giving the fabric a nip. “Want to carry them around in my back pocket so I can smell you all day.”
She laughed and groaned simultaneously. “You are completely perverted, Cole Cavanaugh.”
“Get used to it,” he returned, then suckled her through the fabric.
Grace’s hands fisted the sheets as every nerve ending in her body stood at attention. This man drove her to distraction, captivated her. Made her wish there was no world outside these walls and that the rain would never stop.
She felt his fingers on her inner thigh; then he pulled the cotton fabric aside and licked her from entrance to clit. She gasped and her hips jerked up.
“You are the sweetest,” he whispered between gentle flicks to her swollen bud.
“Oh God, Cole . . .” She came up on her elbows. She wanted to watch him.
He was so focused, his tongue pressed flat against her sex. Slowly, he moved in circles. Grace could hardly hold her weight. The buildup inside her was quick and almost painful and made her feel frantic. She wanted everything at once. His fingers inside her. His cock inside her. She wanted to flip around to that ridiculous sixty-nine position and suck on him as he was now sucking on her.
And then Cole penetrated her with his tongue. Her head dropped back, and as he pumped inside her she felt the heat fill her, swell within her. She was going to come. She didn’t want to. She wanted more of this, of him. But it was too late. Cole drove up inside her and started flicking his tongue deep within her pussy. Grace cried out and bucked against him, letting her body take the orgasm it craved. Never had she felt like this. Never. What would she do if this was it? If this ended? If Cole Cavanaugh never touched her again?
She sat up, sending him back. Her eyes met his as her hand wrapped around the thick shaft straining inside his jeans.
“Hungry?” he asked, his lips glistening with her arousal.
“Starved,” she hissed.
She got to stroke him once. Down his shaft. Then Cole’s hand covered hers and he shook his head. “Can’t.” His pupils were dilated and his nostrils flared. “Now I’m going to get the fuck off this bed and you’re going to take those panties off, give them to me, then slip your jeans back on and be ready in five minutes.”
“Why?” she asked breathlessly.
“We’re going to dinner.” He pushed himself back and off the bed. “You said you were hungry.”
“Not for food.” She pouted.
He stood there for a moment looking down at her with jaw tight, muscles blazing, and tattoos so ready to be licked. “Sorry, Doc. That’s all I can give you right now.”
Seventeen
“How did you get so good at this?” Cole demanded when Grace sent another dart straight into the target.
“Single woman after work at the Bull’s Eye,” she explained. “Lot of time on my hands.”
Cole didn’t believe her. “Really.”
“Or maybe it was summer camp.” She looked confused, then shrugged. “Either way, I’m clearly gifted.”
Cole laughed. He was doing a lot of that these days. Didn’t go hand in hand with his fists, feet, and fight mentality, but it changed something inside him. Something he’d never known he was missing. He followed her over to the booth she’d claimed earlier and slipped in beside her.
“You know this was the booth you and Rev were sittin’ in that night I saw you?” he told her.
“That was clearly not one of my lonely after-work single nights.”
She was kidding around, and normally he would’ve followed her there just as he’d followed her into the booth. But after what they’d shared today—both in her pink bed and out—he just couldn’t get there.
He sat back against the fake leather. “Seriously, Doc. What’s up with you two?”
Her humor waned. “We’re friends,” she said evenly.
“Like you and me are friends?” he pressed.
Her cheeks turned pink and she glanced around the room nervously. “I am really thirsty after my incredible win. And hungry too. A ton of calories lost tonight, Cavanaugh.”
“Grace—”
“What say we both order turkey burgers and ice water?”
“There a reason why you’re avoiding this question? It’s real simple. You like him or you don’t.”
She sighed. “Well, of course I like him. He’s a man of the cloth.”
“I think that’s a Catholic thing.”
“Whatever. Do I like him? Yes. Do I go on dates with him sometimes? Yes. He’s a good man. Stable. Kind. Wants things I want.” She stopped, realizing what she’d said. Maybe hadn’t meant to say.
“And what’s that?” Cole asked her, feeling every muscle in his body go rigid. “What do you want, Grace?”
Once again she glanced out at the crowd. When she turned back, she put her elbows on the table and let her chin rest on her palms. “I want to be happy. I want to be loved. I want someone to grow old and cranky and sexually bored with.”
When that last bit registered, Cole laughed. “You don’t want that.”
“I actually do. I mean, I’m hoping the bored thing happens when we’re both ancient and drooling on the lapels of our housecoats. But I want it. Here in River Black. I didn’t get a chance to really set down roots here. I have that chance now.”
Cole frowned. River Black. Just like Deac had said. Of course she wanted to stay here, live here. Why wouldn’t she? She had a life, work, friends. A home.
You could have those things, a voice whispered in his ear. Don’t have to fight anymore. No more battles. Only win after win after win—starting with her.
No. That’s not in the cards for me. Home and the love of a good woman. No. I don’t get the happy ending, because Cass didn’t get one. Period. End of story. Fight. Goes. On.
“So, you planning on Rev being the one?” he said. “The one who buys you that housecoat and drools beside you?”
The bitter edge in his tone wasn’t lost on Grace as he said this. She stared hard at him. “Why are you asking me this? Pressing this? And with so much anger.”
“There’s no anger,” he lied.
“Do you not want me to date Wayne anymore?”
Of course he didn’t. He didn’t want her anywhere near him, or any man. But how could he ask that? How could he even suggest it? When he was unable—no, unwilling—to give that to her?
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” he grumbled, his chest tight. Jaw too. “I’m gonna head up to the bar and put our order in.”
“I can do that. Or we can wait for a server.”
“This’ll be quicker.” He slipped out of the booth. “I know how hungry you are.” And I know I need a minute. Get my shit together. Get my head together. “Turkey burger, right?”
“Yes. With cheese.”
“Anything else?”
“Can I have some fries?”
He couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. “You can have anything you want, Doc.”
Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. It was all Cole saw before he turned away and headed for the bar. As he maneuvered through the noisy Sunday night crowd, he knew he needed to back off this possessive track he was on with her. She didn’t belong to him. Not that she needed to belong to Wayne either.
He groaned. He was hopeless.
His ass started to buzz just as he came up to the bar, and he grabbed his phone out of his pocket. He recognized the number glowing up at him as Deacon’s cell.
He stabbed the green call button. “We’re having some dinner,” he said instead of a hello. “Can I call you back later? Nothing much to report about the visit with Sheriff—”
“Cole!” Deacon broke in harshly. “Oh, fuck . . .”
Just the weight in his brother’s voice had his heart dropping into his stones. “
Is it James?”
“No. He’s fine.” There was a heavy exhalation. Then, “It’s Caleb Palmer.”
Cole’s gut started to churn. “He’s out, ain’t he?”
“Worse.”
“Shit. What’s worse than that?”
“He’s dead.”
* * *
Grace picked at the cold turkey burger she’d brought from the Bull’s Eye to the kitchen of the Triple C. It was the meeting place the brothers had all decided on, since James and Sheridan were staying there and Mac was working there.
Everyone except James was seated around the massive table drinking coffee or beer, supplied by a concerned-looking Elena Perez. Grace didn’t know the dark-haired woman all that well. She’d seen her in town a few times. And she knew she was Blue’s mother, and about the scandal of Blue being Everett Cavanaugh’s son. But Grace had the feeling there was tension in the house around her. The woman was trying real hard to take care of everybody, yet she looked very uncomfortable and self-conscious while doing it.
“He had a heart attack in his cell,” Deacon informed them. He had a beer in one hand and was rubbing Mac’s shoulders with the other.
“Are they sure?” James countered, his gaze flickering to the table, where Sheridan sat, her face pale.
Cole looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
The man shrugged. “I mean, besides Grace’s fruitless conversation with him, did someone else get in there somehow and kill the bastard so he couldn’t talk tomorrow?”
“Talk about what?” Grace asked. She still couldn’t believe the man she’d sat across from not one day ago was dead.
“Anything he might know about Cass’s death,” Deacon supplied as Cole gave her a tight smile.
He was sitting across from her, tense but oddly protective. Every time she looked his way, she caught him staring at her.
A plate was set before her. Meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Steamy and making her mouth water. “I can’t sit here and watch you eat that cold lump,” Elena said. “Please . . .”
“Oh, thank you,” Grace stuttered. “You didn’t have to—”
“Oh, yes, I did,” Elena fired back before returning to the stove.
Grace got the feeling the woman was very pleased to have the entire family there in the kitchen, no matter how on edge she was.
“Well, it seems we’re back to square one,” James said. “Unless . . .” He looked at Grace questioningly. “Anything from your dad—”
“No,” Cole said quickly, almost snappishly. “Nothing to report.”
“What’s wrong with you?” James ground out.
Cole’s eyes were on Grace. “Nothing. Just pissed about Palmer, is all.”
“Can’t say I’m all that broken up about it,” Sheridan put in. Though her face was pale, her voice was strong, resolute.
“I hear they’re having the funeral tomorrow night,” Mac said, sipping her beer.
“Who the hell’s gonna go to that?” James said with a snort of disgust.
“I say we all go,” came a new voice.
They all looked up. Blue Cavanaugh was standing in the doorway. He wore his cowboy duds, caked with both dust and mud. His handsome face was tan and sharp angled, making his vivid blue eyes stand out. One thing was true, Grace mused: the Cavanaugh brothers—though very different in their appearances—were all gorgeous as hell.
He shrugged, didn’t seem bothered by their hard, curious stares. “The Cavanaugh family should put in an appearance, is all I’m saying.”
“Why?” Cole asked tightly. “That asshole tried to kill one of our own.”
Grace glanced at Sheridan. The woman nodded. “Can’t argue with that logic. I won’t be paying him any respects. But I will be sleeping better tonight.”
“Oh, baby,” James said with a look of love so deep and true the whole room felt it.
“I think everyone can make that decision for themselves,” Deacon put in. “But there might be something to learn there.” He shrugged. “Palmer’s wife and daughter might not be so closed off in that environment. Grief has a way of getting people to drop their defenses.”
Grace’s stomach started to churn and she pushed her plate away a few inches. Granted, she’d come to despise Caleb Palmer and wanted him to never see the light of day. But the way Deacon was talking, the way Blue was talking, and James—it was disrespectful and inappropriate, and not something she wanted to be a part of. It had been one hell of a day and she was beat.
As if sensing her mood, Cole pushed back his chair. “It’s time we went home. Doc?”
Every member of the Cavanaugh clan stopped and turned to look at him. For a moment, Grace didn’t understand what the problem was. But then she got it. Those expressions—especially the ones on his brothers’ faces—told the whole tale. Hotel-living player and fighter had used the words “we” and “home.” She wondered if they’d ever heard that out of him before. She guessed not. No doubt it was, even now, echoing through their minds like a puzzle they weren’t sure how to piece together.
But Cole wasn’t one to stick around and explain. In fact, he didn’t acknowledge any of them. Not until he came around the table and reached for her hand. Not until she gave it to him.
“Grace has had a long day,” he said, then released a weighty breath. “Shit, we all have. Boy, things keep changing.” He looked at each one of them in turn. Even Blue, who was still camped out in the doorway. “But at some point this merry-go-round is going to creak to a stop and each one of us is going to have to decide to stay on or get off. Whether the truth is revealed or stays buried with Cass.”
No one said a word as he led Grace out of the room and out of the house.
Diary of Cassandra Cavanaugh
May 9, 2002
Dear Diary,
Mom almost found out about my sneaking out at night to meet Sweet. She was coming downstairs for something from the kitchen and I was coming in the back door. She thought I was a wild animal.
She locked the door!!
I spent the rest of the night in the barn. All the animals had gas and I wanted to cry. But at least I was with Sweet beforehand. I think he’s going to ask me to be his girlfriend. We sure kiss enough.
Well, someone is still following us. I know it. I can feeeeeel it. It freaks me out. ’Course, I still can’t tell Mac about it. I just don’t want to get her in trouble or me in trouble. But guess what? Someone else is helping me. I didn’t think I could trust anyone with my secret. But sometimes you have to trust. Anyway, now I have a lookout when me and Sweet are together.
Maybe we’ll get married someday.
Mr. and Mrs. Felthouse.
Mr. and Mrs. Sweet.
Don’t know which I like best.
Gotta go to school. I’m sooooo tired.
Zzzzzzz,
Cass
Eighteen
“What are you doing in there?” Grace called through the door.
Cole glanced around the bathroom. Was this bullshit? Or had he actually pulled something off here? He didn’t know. He was going on instinct, not experience.
“Keep your underwear on, woman,” he called out. “Oh, wait. It’s still in my pocket.”
“Not funny.”
He grinned. “C’mon now. It’s a little funny.”
“Seriously, what’s happening in th—”
Cole cut off her words by opening the door. She was right there, waiting, hovering, her brow furrowed.
“Going through my medicine cabinet, Cole?” she asked wryly.
His grin widened. “Honey, you’re going to feel real bad for sayin’ that in a second. Or real good, depending on how you see things.”
He stepped aside so she could see what he meant, and her mouth promptly dropped open. That’s right, Doc. Slowly, she walked inside the dimly lit bathroom. Took in
the bubbles, the steaming water, the two cherry-scented candles he’d found under the sink. Granted, it wasn’t the Ritz or anything, but it was nice.
“You drew me a bath,” she whispered, her back to him.
Ah, Christ, Cole thought, cringing. Was it his imagination or did she sound on the verge of tears again? Why the hell did he try things he knew nothing about? Maybe she hated baths. Maybe sitting in a vat of hot water disgusted her. Shit, who knew? Whatever it was, he had to get out of it. He could say it was for him . . .
“You drew me a bath,” she repeated. Then she turned around to face him.
Relief rushed through Cole. No tears, though she looked a little weary. And from the day she’d had, who could blame her? But in her green eyes true appreciation glowed. She didn’t just like the bath setup, she was slightly awed by it.
“I thought you could use some pampering,” he said.
“I could,” she agreed, her gaze moving over his face until she connected with his eyes again. “I really could. This was so thoughtful of you.”
Okay. Why’d she sound so surprised? He wasn’t a total cretin. Granted, he’d always used the bathtub in his hotel as a superlarge ice bucket for parties after his fights. But this was much better. And he was glad he hadn’t screwed it up.
“It was nothing,” he said, his voice rough. “So I’ll step out. Give you some time, and maybe give Belle some time. I think she’s pissed at me. Thinks I’m neglecting her.”
“No.” The single word snagged Cole’s attention.
“I’m serious, Grace. She gives me the evil eye every time I walk past her. ’Course that could just be the basset hound thing—”
“I meant no to your leaving,” she said, her eyes soft.
Oh. Damn.
Not leaving the bathroom. Her in the tub. “Oh, Doc. I can’t get in the water with you.” Just saying the words made his chest tight and his lower half start having ideas.
“I know,” she said. “But if you can handle it, I’d love to have you stay in here with me. Talk. Hang out.”
