Forget his hands. Cole could seduce her by reading a voter registration list out loud.
“Are you planning to stay in Calypso Falls?” he asked.
“Good God, no.”
Well, that came out more emphatically than she had intended.
“The town is fine. It’s the people.” She shoved crumpled napkins into her trash bag. “Or more specifically, their memories.”
“Ah.” His voice gentled. “You know there’s nothing anyone can do about that. Except, maybe, you.”
“Well, the problem is, I already did stuff. There was a time when I was always the last one at the party, and not because I was helping to clean.”
“I never would have guessed.”
She scowled in his direction. “You know, for a politician, you’re a pretty damned lousy liar. You might have to work on that.”
“Duly noted. Continue.”
She gave the trash bag a shake. “That’s the long and short of it, really. I partied too hard, never settled down in school, changed my major about every semester. Sometimes more. Let’s just say I was—optimistically—on the six-year track to my degree when I ditched it all for—”
She stopped. She was not going to be that idiot who said she threw it all aside for love. She refused to let anyone else know the depths of her stupidity. Better he think she was a manipulative social climber than to know she had been fool enough to truly fall for Kendall Stirling.
“For your ex?” he asked, and it was so tactful, such a face-saving answer, that she could have kissed him. Purely in gratitude, of course.
Well, at least the first time.
“That was about it.” She scanned the desks. Hard to be sure, given the usual state of mild chaos, but she seemed to have rounded up all the trash. “Anyway, I was a wild and crazy kid who cashed in on her good looks for an upwardly mobile marriage. Too bad for me, the looks ran out before the marriage did.” She tapped the corner of her mouth with her free hand.
“You’re kidding, right?”
Oh God. Had she really said that? What was this, a crash course in How To Sound Pathetic? If Cole said anything about her still being pretty, or any of that horseshit, she might have to kick him out so she could finish the cleaning herself and then dump the trash over her head.
She knew she was still attractive. She knew she was damned lucky to even be alive, and that if all she had ended up with was a crooked smile, a tired limp, and her walking papers, then she had got off easy.
But she was so far removed from the girl she’d once been that if anyone, even Cole, tried to make her believe she still had some of that spark, she would lose all respect for him. Or at least a good portion of it.
“Anyway, enough about my sob story. You have a thing on the schedule for Friday. Have you considered—”
“Jenna.”
How could he make one word, two simple syllables, sound so commanding? Was that something he learned in law school?
“Are you telling me that your husband left you because he thought you weren’t pretty anymore?”
Oh, the disbelief in his voice. No . . . more than that. If she had to guess, she would say it was more like incredulity laced with barely controlled fury.
She had a sudden stab of envy for his clients. Did they have any idea how lucky they were to have him on their side?
“It was a long time ago, Cole.”
“Not that long.”
“Okay, correction. It feels like . . . like it was a lifetime ago.”
“Some injuries take a while to heal. And I’m not talking about your leg.”
She couldn’t let him go on this way, so filled with righteous indignation on her behalf. It was too close. Too scary.
“That was the deal.” She hoped she sounded more certain and flip than she felt. “I was the young, pretty thing who made Kendall look good and entertained his friends and made sure everyone knew how utterly amazing he must be to have seduced someone like me. In return, he gave me money and status and all the trinkets my little heart desired.” Everything but the love she had kept hoping she might win if she were smarter, sexier, more fascinating. “After the accident—which was absolutely my fault, no matter what anyone might tell you—I was no longer capable of fulfilling my part of the bargain. So, you know. The end.”
At least that was the way Kendall had explained it when he told her it was over. Not that he used those exact words. But three years of trying to read him, hunting for the key that she could turn to make him love her, had taught her how see beyond his words.
“What a . . .” Cole’s fists were white around the handle of the broom. Imagining a neck, perhaps? “My grandmother used to say some people were best described as a waste of skin. I think your ex falls into that category.”
“A lot of folks would agree with you.”
“You do know you deserved better than that, right?”
Huh. Her friends had said she was better off without him. Her mother and sisters had made her howl with laughter as they invented new and ever more despicable ways to inflict pain and torture on him. But no one else had said that she, Jenna, was worthy of more. At least, not so convincingly.
She twisted the trash bag in her hand. “Thanks. I, uh, happen to believe that everyone deserves better than that.”
“I disagree.”
“You what?”
“Not everyone deserves better. Your ex, for example, deserves to be tied and staked to the ground over a nest of fire ants.” He pondered for a second. “With honey smeared very strategically.”
“I like that picture.”
“I thought you might.”
“Bree—my older sister—she had her own twist on that one. Hers involved a hungry bear and strings of sausages in every body cavity.” She thought for a second. “There might have been something about polka music in there, too, but I’m not sure.”
“I think I like your sister.”
I think I like you.
She gave herself a shake. She wasn’t supposed to like Cole. At least, not as more than a candidate, or a friend, or someone who was willing to look beyond the labels.
But she did.
And tonight, with bits of streamers still on the walls and something both fierce and tender on his face whenever he looked at her, she was finding it harder and harder to remember why she wasn’t supposed to want anything more from him.
“We, um, we should probably finish up here,” she said.
“Yeah. Don’t want to still be cleaning when the sun comes up.”
He didn’t move.
Neither did she.
But even though her feet and hands weren’t in motion, that didn’t mean she was dormant. Oh, hell no. Parts of her were positively bubbling. And insisting. And jumping up and down, demanding that she pay attention, damn it.
Holy crap. She had almost forgotten this. For the first time, she truly understood why it was called being turned on, because that was exactly how she felt—like someone had flipped a switch, one that activated sensations that hadn’t fired in way too long.
It was itchy and urgent and burning. It made her want to stop and examine it, committing every shortened breath, every melting muscle, to memory. Except that would take too long and she was pretty sure that if she didn’t do something about this, soon, she was going to melt where she stood, like the Wicked Witch of the West. Except instead of moaning about what a world, what a world, she’d be saying fuck me now, fuck me now.
Seemingly oblivious, Cole worked his broom into the far corner. “As the future potential mayor, I have to apologize for the citizens of our fair town.”
She was dying of unyielding lust and he wanted to talk about Calypso Falls? Except—well—he did sound kind of distracted. And a lot more breathless than she usually associated with sweeping.
Trash bag in hand—be
cause nothing said seduction like Hefty—she made her way slowly across the room.
“I don’t really have anything against Calypso Falls.” And she wasn’t just saying that to keep him on her good side. Or her naughty side. “I like the way it’s grown over the years. I like the gorges. I like the university and the ice cream and the Commons.”
“But?”
Had there been a little crack in his voice?
She wished she could be sure enough of her leg that she could put some extra wiggle in her walk. She used to be hell at wiggling.
“But, like I said, history. And before you try to deny it, remember why I need to stay in the background in this whole race.”
His hands tightened around the broom handle. “Okay. I can’t oppose that one.”
Honey, there are so many things you shouldn’t oppose . . .
“If I could erase that, I wouldn’t mind staying here, close to my family. But as it is . . .” She let her voice drop. “I want to see what it’s like to live someplace where people don’t automatically blink when they hear my former last name. Either of them. I want to walk down the street and know that when people look at me, they see me, not some . . . some man.”
“Trust me, Jenna. No one in their right mind would ever look at you and see a man.”
That sounded promising. Add in the way he had ceased his sweeping and now seemed to be clinging to the broom for dear life, and possibilities twinkled in the air like stars in the sky. “Thanks. But you know what I mean.”
“I do,” he said. “And I don’t . . . uh . . . blame you.”
“You don’t?”
She let the bag slip from her hand but continued walking toward him. He had long ago abandoned his tie and freed the top button on his shirt. She was pretty sure that if she didn’t taste that exposed triangle of skin very soon, she was going to forget how to breathe.
“Not at all.”
She was pretty sure he had no idea what he was saying anymore. Good. She liked a man with all kinds of smarts, but there were times when mindlessness was a highly desirable state.
It was high time she pushed them both closer to it.
She reached for the drawstring at the top of her blouse and tugged it open. Cole’s eyes widened, then closed, then popped open again, as if he were compelled to keep watching.
“However,” she said, coming to a halt a breath away from him, “like I said, there are a lot of good things right here in Calypso Falls. Things I’ve never done, even though I’ve lived here almost my whole life.” She swayed in his direction. “Things I would love to explore before I leave.”
“Jenna . . .”
He was probably planning to say something sensible. Too bad she was on a quest for senseless.
She braced her hands flat against his chest and stood on tiptoe. His face lowered. His lips parted.
She nuzzled the bottom of his chin with the tip of her nose, a light grazing of skin on skin that had him sucking in air through his slackening mouth. He leaned down, no doubt in anticipation of a kiss.
Instead, she popped another button on his shirt and kissed his neck. Lightly. Lingering.
“Jesus, Jenna.”
Oh God, she had missed this.
Her lips slid across his skin, learning his taste. Her hands tightened in the fabric of his shirt. She worked her way around his neck, around his collarbone, freed another button and ran her tongue along that firm line.
Something clattered behind her, the sound muted by the blood pounding in her ears and the hard gasp of his breath against her hair. The broom, she thought with a faraway corner of her brain, but even that remnant of sense was pushed aside by his hands yanking her closer. One on her waist, one on her butt, pulling her hard against him while his own lips found the spot behind her ear.
Dear sweet Heaven, but it felt good. So good.
But it wasn’t enough.
She pushed his shirt aside and let her hands and lips roam, exploring the planes and muscles she had spent the last months watching from the corner of her eye. Everything about him was solid, hot and hard beneath her touch, and she still hadn’t made it below the waist. She could only imagine . . .
No. She couldn’t. Because she was already light-headed from the brush of her skin over his, the heat of his mouth trailing down her neck. Anything more and she would lose her hard-won balance and hit the ground, tugging him down with her.
Not such a bad idea, on the whole. And oh, did she want the whole.
She raised her head and her hands, gently tugging his head upright, wrapping both her hands around his face. Her thumbs stroked beneath his chin and her fingers danced against his cheeks and she drank in the sight of him, all while leaning back as much as she dared because, oh yeah, her hips wanted—needed—to be at a better angle. Tilted. Pressed. Pushing.
His hands closed over hers. His eyes stared down at her, dark and searching.
“Jenna—”
She shook her head. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t give me the list of reasons why this is a bad idea.”
He said nothing, but from the way his lips straightened, she knew she had guessed right.
“The thing is,” she said, swaying ever so gently from side to side, “I already know the reasons. But there’s something else I know, and I bet you do, too.”
His hands tightened at her waist. He wanted to ask. She saw it in the tightness of his shoulders, the tiny twitch of the muscle in his cheek that she had seen so many times when he wasn’t certain what to say. She had never pieced it together until now.
She dragged one slow finger over that little twitch, smoothing, soothing, soaking up the feel of stubble against her skin. That. She needed that against her. All over her.
“You want to know what I figured out, Cole?”
He still didn’t say anything. His hands slid lower, though, hard and tight on her hips, and she couldn’t hold back the grin as she leaned closer to whisper against his lips.
“I’m the best you’ll ever have.”
With that, her plan to kiss him was shoved aside by his arms gripping her, pressing her so tight that she could scarcely breathe but it didn’t matter, nope, not at all, because he was kissing her, finally kissing her, hot and hard and slightly garlic -scented. Any hesitation he might have had was long gone. She felt it in the desperate clutch of his hands, heard it in the unevenness of his breathing, absorbed it in the slam of his heart against hers.
“Do you have any idea—” he began, but she cut him off.
“Oh yeah. Lots of ideas.” She arched her neck, all the better to let his lips sink into her. “But you know what?”
“What?”
“Ideas count for squat.” She slid her hands down his shirt, leaving a trail of popped buttons in her wake. “Actions, Cole. I need actions.”
If ever there was such a thing as magic words, she seemed to have stumbled across them. One second Cole was there, holding her, obviously wanting her, but desperately trying to hold back.
The next, he had not only given up the fight, he had jumped to the Jenna side.
He grabbed her tight, hard, and spun her around so she was against the desk. She tried to pay attention but his hands were everywhere and his mouth was everywhere else and she was dizzy and drowning and laughing and fighting for breath while he moved her and heated her and then she was sitting on the desk—wait—but God, no, don’t wait. He was edging her knees apart or they had simply fallen open from sheer inability to stay where they were supposed to, but who the hell cared because he was right up against her now, hands sliding beneath her skirt and pulling her in hard against him, lighting up everything inside her while he kissed his way up and down her neck.
Oh, dear God. Talk about still waters running deep.
She needed to grab her thoughts and pu
ll them back. She needed to take charge, to live up to her promise to be his best. Except his hands were tugging her blouse free of her skirt and his palms were sliding across her back, skin to skin to ever-lovin’ skin, and her brain was the last thing she could focus on because it was all so good, so real, so demanding. Forget taking charge. She couldn’t back away long enough to take a breath.
And she had never been so glad of it in her all her wild life.
Thank God she had undone his shirt while they were both still standing, because her fingers had stopped following her directions. They were on their own quest, sliding up his chest, thumbs playing back and forth across his nipples until his breath hitched and she smiled, not with her mouth—it was far too busy trying to taste every inch of him—but inside her. Deep, where it mattered.
Deep, where she wanted him.
Her hands slipped lower. It was hard to wiggle them down to where they needed to be, what with him being Velcroed to her, but the little bit of her brain still capable of thought kept reminding her that one second of missing him now would mean a whole lot more happy really soon, so she pushed against his chest ever so slightly. Not enough to discourage. Just enough to tilt him upright so she could get her hands down to that crucial snap at his waist.
Except something went wrong. Because instead of standing up and giving her free access, he was stepping back.
Away from her.
And not, as she wildly hoped, to toss his clothes to the ground.
“Jesus, Jenna. We can’t do this.”
“The hell we can’t.” She reached blindly, only to have her hands caught by his.
“Jenna. I don’t mean—we’re in the middle of the office.” He waved wildly. “Storefront. Big glass windows. There could be people out there setting up folding chairs and selling popcorn.”
Shit.
She grabbed for her shirt and shot a reflexive glance toward the parking lot. Everything else was closed, the bits of the lot that she could see looked empty, but holy . . . They had been one iPhone away from starring in someone’s home video of The Candidate Rises.
Life of the Party Page 10
