by Dawn Atkins
“And dog-sitting is charming. I’m charmed, Cole.” His name on her lips was pleasant. When Kylie said it, flames licked his insides.
Forget Kylie. Deborah was racking up long-distance fees just to get to know him right now. He needed to picture her, so he whipped her profile out of his briefcase, and flipped to her photo. With her voice in his ear, she looked warmer to him. The phone call was a good idea. Thank you, Janie.
“So why international law?” he asked.
While Deborah explained her lifelong interest in travel, her affinity for foreign languages and her fascination with law, he carefully tore out her photo, folded back the edges and tucked it into his wallet, just as if she were already in his life. A good idea all around.
“The best thing about Personal Touch is that we don’t have to play games,” she said after a bit. “We can lay our cards on the table. Isn’t that a relief?” Her edgy tone told him she’d been burned—lied to, left hanging or cheated on. Ouch.
“Right,” he answered after a pause. Was sleeping with her stand-in playing games? Lord. He and Deborah hadn’t even started anything yet. And the thing with Kylie had just…happened. He swallowed hard.
“Dating can be so childish, don’t you think? Will he call again, did he really like me, all that?”
He understood that part of it, at least. “Absolutely.” Was that a knock at the door? Kylie? No, across the hall. Whew.
“Cole?” Deborah said.
“Hmm? What do I…?” He retraced Deborah’s last words. “Oh, yes. T. Cook’s is terrific. Great food. When you get into town, maybe we’ll have dinner there one night.”
“How about making a reservation for Saturday, the day after I get back? Say seven? They fill so fast.”
“Right, sure. I’ll do that.”
“I don’t mean to push, but do it soon, won’t you? It would be a perfect place for our first date and I’d hate to be disappointed.”
“No problem.”
“This is exciting. We’re all set. And I’m glad I called, Cole. I feel so much better. You seem real to me now.”
And she seemed real to him. No longer just a photo in a profile, words in a bio. Hell, he had dinner plans with her. Meanwhile, Kylie would bound in here any minute. Sweat sprang out on his body.
Deborah surprised him with a yawn. “Sorry. It’s late here. How about if you call me tomorrow and we can talk about how our day went?” She sounded hopeful…and hardly pushy at all.
He took down her cell number—and her schedule—and they hung up. They’d spoken, at least, and he liked her. He hadn’t exactly felt a connection, but it was too soon for that. Except with Kylie it had been instant. Like fingers twined. Long-lost lovers.
Forget Kylie. Think of Deborah. He’d better snap to on the T. Cook reservation. Jeez. But he liked women who went straight after what they wanted. Women like Kylie.
He couldn’t stop thinking of her for one blessed minute? He clutched his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, then caught sight of Radar who actually looked as though he felt sorry for Cole. He was really losing it if he could imagine sympathy from a creature probably plotting the next place to deposit his opinion.
“Maybe I’ll just tell Kylie what happened,” he said to the dog. “Maybe we’ll just work and she’ll leave.”
Radar emitted a sharp snort—he thought Cole was full of it—and trotted to the door where he barked. His hypersensitive ears had heard Kylie’s car. Cole raced after him, not sure which of them was more excited to see the woman whose steps rang on the stairs.
KYLIE MARCHED up Cole’s stairs to his landing and checked her watch. Exactly seven. On time. She patted her briefcase, which she’d jammed with work, and tugged at her jacket—she’d stayed in a business suit, since they had business to conduct—and knocked briskly on the door. She waited with her feet together, both hands holding her briefcase in front like a shield or a chastity belt, tense and determined. They would work first, play later. Everything was completely under control.
Then Cole opened the door and she melted like chocolate in a warm fist. “Hi,” she whispered, letting her briefcase hang from one hand at her side.
His face lit with joy, but he struggled with some emotion and stepped back instead of grabbing her into his arms.
She moved inside.
“Listen, I’ve been thinking,” Cole said. “Maybe we should rethink what we’re doing.”
Oh, no. If he got sensible, she was sunk. She so needed another night with him, making love, feeling that release, not to mention some time to discuss her projects and get his insights. She had to reason with him.
“We’re getting carried away, right? I know. But I have the solution. We work first.” She rushed for the kitchen table, ignoring Radar, who almost tripped her trying to get a tummy scratch, and threw her briefcase onto the table. She started on the clasp, aware that Cole was approaching slowly, not entirely convinced.
She fought the button—she’d jammed the case so full she’d had to sit on it to latch it—sensing Cole was about to object. “The meeting should go fine as long as we appeal to Brandon’s ego,” she said, digging at the latch. “He’s stung, humiliated, which is why he hasn’t been willing to talk to us. What we must do is reinforce his dignity by letting him think he’s doing Janie a personal favor by accepting her services—” Her briefcase sprang open, spewing the top items: a file, a notepad, clothes, her toothbrush and two packets of honey she’d tossed in at the last second.
Cole picked one up and a slow smile replaced his worry like sun conquering clouds. “You had something in mind?”
“For after…?” She loved this look on his face—lust and delight and mischief. Oh, Cole. She wanted him so much. For this one night. She lunged into his arms to kiss him.
He gripped her so hard it almost hurt and kissed her back as if she were about to leave forever. Which she was…kind of. Tomorrow she headed to L.A. for the retreat. And they had to stop sometime soon. Didn’t they? The idea made her feel empty, as if she were losing something enormous—a home, her best friend Patti. Oh, hell. Way too sentimental.
Cole broke off the kiss, still holding her. “I’m concerned about Deborah,” he said, looking pained and guilty.
“You are? Oh.” She felt a nasty rush of jealousy, which she squelched. “Of course you are. But she’s not here yet, is she? And we have this perfect storm of need and opportunity right now. She’s not back for two more weeks?”
“And four days.” But he still looked guilty and she couldn’t stand that. This was supposed to be fun and easy, not painful or hard. She had to suggest the right thing.
“Okay…” She took a shaky breath for courage. “If you need to get mentally ready for her, then we should stop. Just call it quits. We’ve had a great time. Any more is overkill.”
“It has been great,” he said wistfully, running the back of his hand along her cheek. “Very great. Incredibly great.”
“So, let’s plan some strategy and I’ll leave.” She grabbed the honey out of his fingers and threw it into her briefcase. That was that. She tossed in her shorts and top and the other spilled items, except the notepad, a pen and the Marlon Brandon folder. She felt hot and nervous and tense. Don’t let me go. Make me stay. The thought alarmed her.
“Kylie,” he said.
She jerked up her gaze, relief at the ready, but he was only holding out the black-lace panties she’d packed for a sexy little thrill.
“Oh, yeah.” She shoved them in the case, aware that Cole watched like a dieter ogling an éclair, and closed the lid with a sharp click. “So, sound like a plan?”
He swallowed, shifted his weight, then said, “Probably best.” He sat at the table.
She sat, too, and picked up her pen. She looked down at her tablet, where she’d jotted a few notes already and settled in as best she could. “As I said, we should stroke his ego—”
“Don’t say stroke,” Cole interrupted.
Her eyes shot to his, which burned with emotion. He tr
ied to smile at his joke, but didn’t manage it. Instead he took a ragged breath and held her gaze, the tension between them ticking like an erotic time bomb about to blow.
“Okay, massage his ego?” she tried to joke back.
“Not that, either.” He stared at her, eyes hot and hungry. “If this is the last time we’re going to be together, Kylie, I don’t want to spend it working.” He reached for her hands, gripping them hard. His were shaking terribly.
“Me, either,” she whispered, squeezing back. “The meeting’s not till Tuesday, and I already have some preliminary ideas. We could talk when I get back from L.A. on Sunday morning and—”
But Cole lunged over the table and stopped her with a kiss, maneuvering his way around the table to her, pulling her to her feet so abruptly her chair crashed to the floor behind her. Radar gave a startled yelp at the sound.
“One more night,” he said, swinging her into his arms like some kind of he-man. Her heels slid off her feet and clunked to the floor.
“Just one,” she said, so relieved she didn’t care if it was wrong or bad or meant she was in emotional trouble. She had another night with Cole and that was all that mattered.
“We can work afterward,” he said, justifying this to himself and her, she knew.
“Absolutely.” Who knows? Maybe they would work. She didn’t even care.
She woke at 3:00 a.m. to the lush glory of satin sheets covering her front and aroused man cupping her back. They’d fallen asleep, a no-no, but they’d talked a little strategy just before drifting off.
And they had accomplished a little something work related. Around eleven, they’d left the bed to try to make some notes on the meeting, but Cole noticed the Home Town Suites folder and insisted she show him her storyboards.
She had, loving the expression on his face, laughing at the fact she was putting on a presentation stark naked. He’d been impressed. “Fresh angle,” he’d said and absolutely meant her pitch, not her bare body. “They don’t know what they’re getting, these S-Mickey-B people.” She’d felt so reassured by his words. Then she showed him the wrap-up marketing plan for Lock-It. The company was exploring new products that she wouldn’t be around to work on and she found herself near tears.
Cole had pulled her into his arms and reassured her. “Of course you’re sad. You’re leaving the company you started. That’s hard. But you have a plan. You’re moving ahead. Change makes everyone shaky—even incredibly strong, sexy, determined, sexy, independent, sexy women.”
He was right, of course. And he had a plan, too. Deborah was out there waiting to bring it to fruition. Deborah or another woman like her. A corporate-wife-in-the-wings. Which also made Kylie sad. So she suggested food and they created a gigantic quesadilla stuffed with peppers and mushrooms and tomatoes and three kinds of cheese and fed it to each other while they watched the stand-up marathon on Comedy Central.
It was such a lovely pleasure to laugh with Cole—just let go and relax, lean over to lick dribbles of cheese off his chin, smear her grease-slick lips against his, like some old married couple who did this every night.
So of course they’d broken the all-night rule. Special occasion. Their last night, right? And it was so cozy in Cole’s bed now, twined in a sensual cocoon, legs overlapped, their bodies slick, Cole’s breath warm against her ear, his body a lovely human chair in which she reclined.
She was wide-awake now, though, so maybe she should go home and work. Seize the moment, get ahead, or at least catch up.
As if he’d read her mind, Cole slid his hands up to cup her breasts. Don’t go.
“Mmm,” she said, sliding her backside against the lovely length of him, her fleeting urge to work popping like a floral-scented bubble in their Mexican-night tub. Maybe she’d stick around a little longer….
Radar sighed and she heard the clink of dog tags, followed by a thump. He’d read her mind and jumped off the bed to avoid all the thrashing around.
Cole’s mouth found her ear. “You stayed all night.” He sounded so relieved that she just smiled, refusing to feel guilty. It was three in the morning. Not even Kylie worked that late…or early.
Then Cole pushed into her from behind, slowly and deliciously, his way made easy by the juices of all the love they’d made together. “Honey, I’m home,” he murmured.
“I thought you’d never get here,” she murmured back, loving how he filled her up and made her ache.
“You’re slick and soft,” he whispered, his breath warm on her skin, his length sturdy and demanding.
“And you’re hard and in so deep.”
“Mmm.” He reached under her and around to cup one breast, then over her with his other hand to touch her clit, sending a sleepy thrill along her nerves.
In the dark, her sleep-heavy muscles were lax and slow. “I feel like I’m dreaming,” she said.
He tightened his grip, keeping her snug and close. “I never want to wake up.”
“Never.” That was just sex talk, she knew, and she wanted his mouth, so she shifted so they could kiss. Now all of her was connected and busy—mouth, breast, backside, sex and clit. Her brain, too, was full of thoughts of Cole’s body, his careful attention, his tireless touch.
Lust poured through her in thick, needy waves. He played her body to its natural crescendo, making her rock and writhe. He pushed steadily in and out, holding on, keeping them together, controlling the pace until they lunged together into a climax, thrusting hard, crying out, ending with a long sigh that lapsed into a lovely cuddle.
“Was it a good dream?” he asked softly.
“The best ever.” She reached up to cup his cheek and felt his smile with her fingers. A smile she knew matched her own in the dark. So relaxed, so easy, so wonderful. So temporary.
They had to stop. She would be in L.A. until Sunday morning and Cole had Deborah on his mind. Kylie got a sharp, hollow pain like an unexpected drop on a roller coaster. I want to go on.
She was being silly, of course. The late-night dream feeling had taken over. This intensity couldn’t last. It was like finding a hot new ice-cream flavor. She’d gone through a toffee-praline phase back when she was such a frenetic exerciser weight didn’t stick. Every other night it was a praline waffle cone dripping with sweet honey flavor.
Then one day the flavor tasted cloying, grainy, boring. She moved on to double-fudge brownie, quickly switching to pink bubble gum, then lemon sorbet. Never again would she ruin something wonderful by keeping at it too long.
Better to quit Cole while the honey-brickle flavor was still golden on her tongue.
Besides, he was too much like her for anything long-term to work. She’d get bored. Him, too, no doubt. Boredom meant going dull and dead—in her life and in her work. They’d needed each other for now, at this time and place in their lives. This couldn’t last. Nothing ever did. That was the point—to stay open and ready for the next good thing. And she had plenty of them to come.
They just didn’t seem to matter right now in this cozy bed with this remarkable man breathing so comfortably near her ear, holding her in a way that made her feel so…safe. Life could never be this easy. This was a trick. Pure proof she’d be better off gone. This was all too confusing and she had too much to do to allow herself to be confused.
10
“SETH!” JANIE jumped up from her desk. She’d been daydreaming about the kiss, reliving the thrill of his sudden assault on her mouth, the glory and wonder of it, and now here he stood in her doorway as if she’d conjured him out of her fantasy.
He’d come bearing gifts, too—a paper-wrapped bouquet of blood-red roses and a ragged-leaved, three-foot banana plant in a plastic pot bearing a clearance tag.
“I need more photos…have more questions,” he mumbled, clearly cooking up an excuse. He lifted the plant. “I thought this would be good for the burned spot.” He moved the wastebasket and put the pot in its place.
“How nice of you.”
“And I thought you could use new
flow—” He stopped when he noticed the fresh batch of white roses on the table. Cole had sent them. She figured it was a thank-you for getting Deborah to call him. “All stocked up, I see.”
“They’re from a client, Seth, not a man. Well, a man, but it’s a business thank-you. They don’t mean anything like—” She felt herself flush.
“Maybe take these home then.” He thrust them at her, embarrassed, too, his shaking hands making the paper crackle and the leaves flutter. She remembered the “hokey” gesture with his ex-girlfriend. Maybe he was hokey at heart. She liked that.
“You can never have too many roses,” she said, inhaling the fresh scent. “Mmm. I’ll put them in water.”
She hurried off for a vase from her office closet, then to the table to arrange the flowers, where she fumbled and trembled under his close attention.
“So, how are you?” he said, speaking low.
“I’m fine. You?” she said in the same tone.
“We’re okay about what happened, right?” he asked, as if they’d shared wild sex, not two brief kisses.
“Sure. It was just…spontaneous.”
“As in combustion? Then yeah.”
“Yeah,” she whispered and watched his pupils explode with desire. His throat worked over a swallow.
She ducked her gaze to the roses. “So beautiful.”
“Yeah.” But he was looking at her, not the flowers.
The heady scent of Seth’s leather-coconut-spice combined with the roses to make her feel dizzy. “You have questions?” she reminded them both.
“I do.” About what was going on between them, she could see on his face. He looked as though he’d awakened from hypnosis with everyone laughing at something he’d done while under the spell.
That made her want him desperately. Having a guy as restrained as Seth practically shaking with desire was incredibly thrilling. Oh, it was heaven.
And absolutely pointless. Because she knew how it would turn out—she’d get hooked and he’d leave.
“You need more photos? How about at my desk?” She moved, relieved to break the magnetic pull, and went to her chair.
