by Megan Bryce
Cole said, “Dallas,” and reached for his water. “Fucking Dallas.”
Maggie watched him drink, still holding on to his hand. “You mean fucking Simon.”
“Fucking all of them. There’s not a one of them that I like. Not a one of them that doesn’t make my stomach turn.”
“He was on something.”
Cole said, “Yeah. But I’m tired of hearing you defend him.”
“Then I won’t. Because there’s a difference between defending someone and accepting someone. That’s who he is, what he is. I try to stay away from him, I don’t take it personally.”
“Hard not to take personally when his hand is rubbing my thigh.”
Maggie nodded. “I agree.”
A roaring filled Cole’s ears and he said, “Was he touching you?”
“He tried. I moved his hand off my leg.”
Cole let go of her hand before he crushed it and he watched her stand. Watched her motion for the waiter to hurry it up.
She said to Cole, “Let’s go.”
Cole wasn’t sure he could stand, wasn’t sure he could walk out of the restaurant without hunting Simon Blackwood down and breaking every bone in his hand. Both hands.
Maggie came to him and put her hand over his closed fist. She leaned down to say in his ear, “Come on, Cole. Let’s go home. Get out of this city and leave all these people to themselves.”
She pulled him up, out of his chair, taking the card from the waiter when he came rushing over. She led Cole out, fitting her fingers through his, and all Cole thought about as they exited the restaurant, made their way to the parking garage, was not crushing her hand. All he thought about was keeping in control so he wouldn’t hurt her on accident.
He let go of her hand when they got to the truck. He gripped the tailgate, squeezing and closing his eyes. His blood pounded in his ears, his heart raced.
Maggie ran her hand through his hair and murmured his name.
He looked up at her, so close, and he bit out, “Be afraid of me, Maggie.”
She watched him for a long minute, watched his eyes, the blue hardly discernible from the black.
She looked down the line of parked cars, busy with people and cars closer to the elevators, empty out here.
She pressed herself against him and whispered, “Never.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing her lips against his, backing up until they were hidden from view behind the cab. “I’ll never be afraid of you.”
His fingers dug into her waist and she couldn’t tell if he was trying to push her away or pull her close.
He ground out, “I don’t want to lose control.”
Oh, she wanted him to lose control. Wanted him again like that. He’d been fighting himself since Simon had first sat down, keeping himself under control. She could understand why, she could even applaud it. But she wanted him like he used to be. Free, unafraid.
She said, “Please, Cole.”
He ground out, “Don’t beg.”
She put her lips on his ear and whispered, “Please.”
“We’re in a parking garage. Anyone could come at any minute.” But his fingers now were pulling her closer, into him.
She said, “Then you’d better be quick.”
He lifted her against the truck, spreading her legs, her skirt ripping.
He said hoarsely, “Is this what you want?”
She kissed him, her mouth hungry, her teeth nipping at his lip, and he slid a finger into her skimpy panties, jerking and ripping the thin straps.
He leaned against her, trapping her with his weight, and she wrapped her legs around him, her skirt sliding the rest of the way up her legs. He reached below her to unzip his pants.
He entered her in one thrust, never stopping, pounding her against the hard metal. She bit his neck, hard enough to draw blood, then licked the droplet away, tasting the tang of the blood on her tongue.
The truck rocked with them and Cole gripped her thighs hard, tried to keep her still.
He growled, “Maggie,” and she licked his ear.
“Don’t stop. Never stop. Please. Please.”
It threw him right over and he slammed his mouth on hers, saying her name over and over against her lips until he stopped, spent, leaning heavily against her.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing. She began to notice bits of the truck biting into her back, her skirt cutting into her legs, noises outside the garage. Noises inside the garage.
Cole leaned back, letting her slide down. When her feet were on the ground again, he smoothed her skirt down, zipped his pants up.
He rested his forehead on her shoulder and said, “Maggie.”
Maggie ran a hand over his hair, her heart still beating wildly. She took a deep breath and when he looked up at her, she smiled. “Thank you. I needed that.”
He looked into her eyes and said, “You always did like to watch me fight.”
“I always did. Although that wasn’t much of a fight.”
The cockiness came back into his stance, his shoulders straightened. He opened the door for her and she slid in, her ripped skirt giving her little protection against the seat. She shimmied her useless panties down and stuffed them in her purse.
When he got in his side, he said, “That was highly illegal.”
She dug her sunglasses out, sliding them on, hiding her eyes from him. “You owe me a skirt.”
“I owe you more than that.”
He lightly touched her thigh and Maggie turned to look at him. She fingered the bite mark on his neck.
He leaned in close, bringing a finger up to slide her sunglasses down her nose. He stared into her eyes and she knew that he could see what she didn’t want him to.
Could see that she wanted him more now that he’d had her against the car than she’d wanted him before. And she’d wanted him before more than she could stand.
He said, “Looks like one is not going to do it. How long do you think it’s going to take us to make that four-hour drive?”
“I don’t know. We’ve got that bench seat to try out.”
He smiled like a man who’d just gotten everything he’d ever asked for and she wanted to scoot across the seat, sit in that unfortunately named middle seat with his fingers playing with the bottom of her skirt.
She wanted it, wanted it enough to make herself push him away, make herself remember who she was.
She was not the kind of woman who sat in the bitch seat. Even if her mother wasn’t going to hear about it.
As soon as the city had dropped away, as soon as the land turned from buildings to dry land, as soon as Cole had found a bush big enough to hide the truck behind, he’d pulled over and pushed Maggie over the seats to the back.
She’d gone happily, hungrily, because he’d been right. One was just not going to do it.
She lay on top of him, her skirt around her waist, one leg trapped under his and one leg levered against the front seat. She was afraid she’d pulled a hamstring.
Cole groaned, “Bench seats are overrated. I’ve got a seat belt trying to surgically remove my kidney.”
“We could have done this when we were eighteen.”
He nodded. “It’s a young man’s game.”
She untangled her legs, giving him room to sit up, and wiggled her skirt back down enough to cover the important bits.
He pulled her into his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and sighing. He hooked a finger into the top of her blouse and looked inside. “Did you get a new bra?”
“I had to. I’ve gained five pounds thanks to you.”
He murmured, “And they are five pounds well worn.”
He cupped her, rubbing his thumb against her nipple, making it pucker and looking entirely too satisfied with himself. “I think we should aim for another five pounds.”
“It wouldn’t go where you want it to.”
“Where would it go?” He pulled her across his lap so she was straddling him and cup
ped her bottom. “Here? I’ll order pizza for dinner.”
Her skirt was hiked back up and she didn’t know why she kept pulling it down. “We just barely had lunch and you’re thinking of dinner?”
“I’m hungry again. Uncontrollable rage does that.”
“You controlled it.”
“Barely. And I think it was more like funneled into a different direction.”
She leaned into his chest, whispering, “Is it bad that I’m thinking of inviting Simon out occasionally to get you into that mood again?”
“Don’t say his name. And yes, that’s bad.”
She smiled and stayed pressed against him. She said, “I keep thinking of you when we were kids. You couldn’t have kept control like that.”
“Think I’ve learned a thing or two in the last twelve years?”
“Yes.”
He played with the edge of her skirt. “Think I’ve learned a thing or two here?”
“Mm. I’ll give you a definite maybe on that.”
He smiled at her, she smiled back. He said, “If we’re traveling down memory lane here, I want your favorite memory?”
“I already told you.”
“No. That’s your best memory of us. It’s a sad state of affairs when me lying unconscious in your arms is the best we can do but I’ll let that pass. Now I want your favorite.”
“I feel like we’re splitting hairs here.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’re the one who was so careful to make the distinction.”
She fiddled with a button on his shirt. “My favorite memory is the last good time. You crawled in through my window, didn’t say a word.”
He choked out, “I’m sensing a pattern. You like it when I’m not saying anything.”
“You open your mouth and ruin it. Just like you did that time.”
He leaned his head back against the seat. “Yeah.”
She said, “We both knew how much it would cost you to help the Beaumonts, what your father would do. And you’d still done it, because I asked you to. And then when you came to me after, wild and crazy. No words because we hadn’t needed any.”
He whispered, “That’s your favorite memory?”
It was. It had turned out to be all wrong, all untrue. But for one hour she’d known what it felt like to have someone so strong. Someone who would never falter, no matter the consequences.
And then he’d crawled out of her bed and opened his mouth, and all the lies she’d been telling herself had been shredded with the truth.
She was glad it had only been for one hour. Could live with herself because it had only been for one hour.
Maggie put her head on his shoulder. “To be fair, it’s not my favorite any more.”
“Oh, God. What have you replaced it with? Tell me it’s not the knee.”
She said softly, “This one’s pretty good.”
He was silent a long, long time. He pulled her into him a little tighter and reached for her left hand.
His ring sparkled in the bright Texas sun and he said, “This one is pretty good.”
Megan BryceSome Like It Ruthless
Thirteen
Late Thursday afternoon, Paul handed Cole a pair of keys and said, “All done, boss.”
Cole grinned and tossed a key over on to Maggie’s desk. She picked it up and said, “What’s this?”
“I bought a house. If you’re going to come out here, you need somewhere to sleep.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. She finally said, “What about the trailer?”
He shook his head. “You need a real bed.”
“It is true that we don’t fit. I don’t know how you lasted on a queen.”
“I slept diagonally. That doesn’t work when there’s two of us.”
“So you bought a house?”
He stood, waving her out the door. “I guess I could have just bought a bed, put it under the stars. You like tents?”
She laughed. “I like plumbing.”
Outside, he helped her into the truck. “It’s just a few miles down the road. And it’s not fancy. Just a little two bedroom that cost more than it should. Paul hired a cleaning crew and got the inside painted, at least.”
He rounded the front of the truck with a spring in his step and Maggie couldn’t help but smile at how excited he was.
He hopped into the truck and said, “But we’ll keep the trailer. You know, for the occasional afternoon delight.”
“You mean your naps.”
“One does seem to lead to the other.”
Ten minutes later, he pulled off the highway into a small, older subdivision and then onto a pitted driveway. The house was an old fifties bungalow, and no, it wasn’t fancy. The grass was dead, the paint was peeling. But the neighbors were far enough away and there was a nice-sized backyard.
Cole looked at it and said, “It needs some paint.”
“It’s cute. I think you could make it look real nice.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded, getting out of the truck. He followed her, walking to the front door, wiping at a smudge on the door, toeing the crumbling sidewalk.
He said, “Needs some work.”
He fitted his key in the door. He paused and said, “If you don’t like it, we can find something else.”
She grinned at him. “Show me your house, Cole.”
He twisted the key, pushing the door in. The smell of fresh paint wafted out, new carpet greeted them.
He waited for her to enter and she stepped through the front door, into the empty living room.
It was small, like all older houses, but not cramped, and the sun shone through clean windows. She said, “It’ll just fit two recliners,” and he laughed, taking her hand.
He pulled her into the kitchen. White cabinets, white appliances, pale yellow walls.
He said, “I always wanted a yellow kitchen.”
“It’s sunny. Too bad neither one of us can cook. And if we could, we wouldn’t have time to.”
“But we can sit at our kitchen table, sipping coffee, waiting for our breakfast sandwiches to come out of the microwave. Maybe some real bacon.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “You need a kitchen table, some chairs, and a microwave.”
He nodded. “Maybe you can help me pick them out.”
“Paul’s not going to do it?”
He shook his head. “I want to do it. With you.”
She took a deep breath and he said, “Don’t tell me you don’t like shopping.”
“I like shopping.”
“Good. I want a white kitchen table.”
She smiled at him, at the Cole Montgomery who wanted a white and yellow kitchen. “It’s a nice house, Cole. Cozy.”
“I wanted to show it to you before we head back to Dallas tomorrow.” He started walking her backwards to the hallway. “Try out the bed.”
“A king?”
“Mm-hm.”
She closed her eyes, imagining space around her as she slept. “Are we staying here tonight?”
“Could I get you back into the trailer?”
“Nope.”
“Didn’t think so. We’ll have to get some supplies for tonight.”
She hopped up, wrapping her jean-clad legs around his waist. “Do you have sheets for the bed?”
He carried her into the master that was just big enough to fit the bed. “They’re already on.”
“Then what else do we need?”
He grinned, dropping her onto the bed, and said, “Can’t think of one thing.”
The sun had set by the time they’d christened the new bed, the new house. Maggie had fallen asleep and he’d held her, watched the shadows creep across the walls, and thought about this cozy little house that might one day look like a home.
But they needed supplies and he reluctantly woke her. She smiled that sleepy smile she gave him when she was relaxed and happy.
He opened his mouth to say they needed to get to the store, at le
ast get some food for the morning, some plates to eat off. He should have had Paul stock up but he’d wanted to do it. If he’d had the time, he would have orchestrated the cleaning and painting and not leave it to someone else.
But what he said was, “I’d like to stay with you in Dallas.”
She stretched. “Okay.”
He thought about leaving it at that but he knew she didn’t understand. He said, “I want to move in with you.”
“You want to move into the ranch house?”
“With you.”
She sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. She sat there quietly, staring into the darkness. She finally turned to him and said, “Why?”
“Why not?”
“Why not! You want to move in with me and you say why not like it’s no big deal?”
He ran his hand down her back. “We’re sleeping together. Living together during the week. It’s not such a big leap to live together on the weekend.”
“I could move into your place.”
He nodded. “You could. But you live with me when we’re out here. I thought this would be more even.”
She lay back down, the sheet still pulled to her chin. “You’re trying to kill my father, aren’t you?”
“It honestly never entered my mind.”
Although he would admit, it just might finish the old codger off.
She said, “My room’s down the hall from Tanner and my sister.”
“I’m not saying there aren’t drawbacks. But it’ll only be on the weekends.”
Maggie thought for a long minute, then said, “I’m not telling Rosa.”
Cole made sure to keep his breathing even, to not pump his fist with his win. “That’ll come as a shock to her.”
“It’ll come as a shock to you when she greets you in the morning with the butcher’s knife.”
“Should I just plan on not eating anything she makes me?”
She snickered. “Probably. You sure you want to move in?”
He said, “Yes.”
She pulled away from him, getting out of the bed and trying to find her clothes in the dark.
She said softly, “I’m not the only one who gets what I want, am I?”
