Call it hate fucking, or call it desire mixed with rage. Heck, call it whatever you want. But never, not once in my life, have I felt so desired or wanted by anyone. The way Cole fought for his restraint so he could see to my needs first, well, that seriously told me how much he wanted me, hungered for me. Most guys barely spare me a glance, are always overlooking me, but last night, I had all of Cole’s attention, and I liked it, a lot. Too much, probably.
As a ridiculous thrill goes through me, I reach across the bed—and when I find it empty, I knife up, a chill going up my spine as every insecurity I’ve ever had comes crashing over me.
Why would he just up and leave in the middle of the night? Had he gotten what he wanted and walked away? Cripes just seconds ago I was living in bliss, now I’m second-guessing everything. And that’s crazy, because this is Cole, and even though he’d just given me the best sex of my life, I can’t forget that this is still just sex. Heck, he had a stack of condoms in his drawer. He’s good at this sex stuff, has a harem of women falling all over him, probably because he’s a master at pleasure and is working with some top-notch equipment.
So even though he’d put my needs first, it doesn’t really mean anything. And truthfully, I don’t want more. This is just about scratching an itch, and if he wants to sneak out under the cover of darkness, leaving me in his bed alone, then I shouldn’t have a problem with that.
Then why do I?
Goddammit, Nina, get it together. It’ll be a cold day in hell before you fall for this guy.
I think about calling Jess to come pick me up before I get myself into trouble here, but a noise in the adjoining bathroom gains my attention. I slip from the bed, grab the shirt Cole had been wearing earlier and tug it on. I breathe in his scent as I tiptoe across the floor. The sound comes again, and this time I recognize it. Cole is sick.
My heart races, panic welling up inside me.
“Cole,” I say as I try the door and find it open, guilt niggling at me for thinking the worst of him. But he’d teased and tormented me for so many years, it was a logical jump.
“Don’t come in. I’m sick,” he says on a groan.
I don’t normally like anyone around me when I’m sick either, but he has a concussion and needs my help. I slowly open the door, and when I see him on the floor, completely bereft and alone, my throat tightens. He’s dressed only in his boxers, and has a thin sheen of sweat on his body as he rests his head on the toilet bowl, looking spent and completely worn out. How long had he been in here?
“You should have woken me,” I say, and scramble to his side.
“Why? I’m not your responsibility,” he says, shooting my earlier words back at me. I wince slightly, realizing how cold they must have sounded to Cole after he’d just finished telling me he was sorry he wasn’t there for me after my fall.
Well dammit, he has no one else and I plan to be here for him whether he likes it or not.
I grab a cloth from the closet, run it under the cold water, and sit cross-legged beside him. I put my hand on his forehead to check for fever. His skin is clammy, his eyes sunken into the sockets, and it physically hurts me to see him like this.
“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he says, like he’d just read my mind.
“Too bad.”
“I want you to leave, Nina,” he says, putting more force in his voice, but he’s so weak it comes out strained. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, but now I’m taking care of you. So shut up and get over yourself already.”
“That mouth of yours,” he murmurs, and despite the situation, we both grin at the reminder of what we’d done only hours earlier. I pat his forehead with the cool cloth and he moans. “Fuck, that feels good. But you need to get some rest.”
“I’m fine, now just relax and let me take care of you.” I dab his head some more, then run the cloth over his neck and shoulders. “This is my fault, anyway. So I deserve to be awake with you.”
Eyes glassy and dazed seek out mine. “How is it your fault?”
Really? Like he doesn’t know. “I seduced you and I probably shouldn’t have. You need rest and relaxation, not me ‘throwing myself’ at you.” I do air quotes around the words we’d used in our sexy banter.
One corner of his mouth turns up, and he squints at me in the dim light. “And here I thought I was the one who’d seduced you.”
“Nope, I was the one who said we should hate fuck.”
He groans. “Yeah, but I’d been thinking about fucking you since…well, since you showed up at my door and asked me for help.”
A giggle I have absolutely no control over rips from my lungs. I have no idea why I’m laughing. It’s an odd reaction in the face of his admission, but I can’t seem to help myself. Maybe it’s knowing how much he wanted me, maybe it’s relief that he hadn’t run out under the cover of darkness. Either way, it’s inappropriate; so is the closeness I feel with him as we sit here in the dark on the bathroom floor.
Careful, Nina, you’re here for hockey lessons and a little sex. Nothing more.
He grins. “That’s funny?”
“No, I just get giddy when I’m tired.”
“I remember. I used to hear you and Jess laughing late at night when I stayed over. I always wondered what you guys were laughing at.”
“Probably you.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“And how much of an ass you were,” I add for good measure.
“You can leave anytime now,” he says, but he’s smirking at me, and he’s resting one hand on mine, his thumb caressing my wrist. Does he even know he’s doing that?
It’s hard to believe the chemistry between us, the way we instantly wanted each other after not seeing each other for the last few years. Then again, I’d be telling a big-ass lie if I said I’d never noticed him before. God, how many times did he walk around our house half naked? I hated it.
Oh, how I hated it.
“Stop talking and just relax,” I say.
He puts his hand to his stomach, and his fingers curl as his entire body tenses.
“Shit, Nina, I’m going to be sick again. You need to leave.”
Like hell I’m leaving him like this. I hold the cloth to his head as he leans over the toilet and heaves.
When he stops, I flush the toilet, rinse the cloth again and press it to his forehead.
“Thanks,” he whispers weakly.
“Don’t talk, just rest.”
“I’m just—”
“Shh…” I whisper, and brush his hair back with the cloth. I check his pulse, finding it beating double time. “You need to go to the doctor tomorrow,” I say.
“I actually have a checkup at noon.”
“Good, I’ll take you.”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to protest, then heaves again. When he finishes, I urge his head away from the toilet and reposition myself beside him against the wall, so he can rest on my shoulder. We stay like that for a bit, then he heaves once more. I wait a long while, and once I’m sure he’s cleared his stomach, I slowly stand.
Tired green eye full of something I’d never seen before, something that very much resembles vulnerability, blink up at me.
“Where are you going?” he asks, a strange edge of panic in his voice as it breaks.
“To get you a glass of water, I’ll be right back.” Guilt eats at me as I dash downstairs to the kitchen. Cole should have been resting, not having crazy monkey sex with me. I grab a glass, and take the water jug off the counter and fill it. I put it back into the fridge and hurry back to him.
His smile is weak as I enter, but the way he’s so happy to see me gives me a weird title thrill.
“Rinse your mouth with this.”
He takes the glass and does as I say, then lets his head roll back and moans.
“Headache?”
“It’s subsiding.”
“Stomach?”
“Much better,” he whispers into the darkness.
I run the cloth under cold water again and dab his body with it.
“That feels so good, Nina.”
I slide back in beside him and we rest against the wall. I take his hand and hold it, wanting him to know he’s not alone. I brush my finger over his hard calluses, note the strength in his hand. He’s a big tough guy, probably the toughest guy I know, yet the way he touched me last night… So sexy and gentle.
We’re quiet for a long time, then I break it and whisper, “Want to hear something messed up?”
He nudges me with his shoulder, and I’m relieved to see him coming around. “Always.”
“When I was a little girl, I liked getting sick. Jess had the flu once, and I was determined to go to her place to catch it.”
He chuckles, and rests his head back on my shoulder. “Yeah, that’s messed up.”
“It was the only time Mom was nurturing. She would stay home from work, put cool cloths to my forehead, make me my favorite kind of soup, and even snuggle me on the sofa. Tomorrow, I’ll make your favorite soup,” I say, but he goes completely quiet.
“Will you snuggle me on the sofa, too?”
There is a new strain in his voice, and I fear he’s going to be sick again. I angle my head to see him, and his eyes are squeezed shut, like he’s working hard not to fall apart. Gone is the Cocky Cole Cannon the world goes crazy for. In his place is another version of him, one who, on a few occasions when he didn’t think I was watching, I glimpsed in my youth.
I have no idea what’s going on, so I simply link my fingers through his and give him a moment. Silence falls heavy, the only audible sounds in the bathroom our breathing, and I try to quiet mine even more, not wanting to disturb him as he takes a few deep breaths. Unease and apprehension weave their way through my blood, and I want to ask if he’s okay, but his lips open and his gaze meets mine.
“I’m sorry you had to get sick for attention, Nina. That’s…not right.”
My throat tightens at the somber way he’s looking at me. “It’s okay. I know Mom and Dad loved Cason and me, they were just busy with their careers. If I ever had kids, I’d want to be more involved on a daily basis, not just when they were sick. Not that I plan to have kids. I don’t, but still…”
There’s a strange hardness in Cole’s eyes as she stares at me, and I clamp my mouth shut, wishing I hadn’t just said that. Cole doesn’t need to know those kinds of details about me. Why is it I don’t seem to have any filters around him?
“Did they take care of you after your injury?” he asks, his voice a little rough.
“Jess mostly did. Maybe because I was older and they thought I could take care of myself.”
“I wish I could have been there,” he says quietly, and spreads the rag over his whole face, so I can’t see his expression.
I take deep breaths, fight against the way my heart is slamming in my chest. “When you were little, did your dad take care of you and your sister like this when you were sick?” I ask for lack of anything else.
“Yeah, something like that,” he answers.
I don’t miss the strain in his voice, and can’t help but think all this talk about my mom has him thinking of his own, and how she walked out on them when they were young? From what I know about his dad, he was very doting. Cason said he was at every single hockey practice and game, which makes me wonder why his dad isn’t helping him now when he really needs it. Cole might have a million fans, but in situations like this, he’s truly alone, and that guts me.
Deciding to change the subject, I say, “Next time we have sex, we need to take it easy.”
He slowly slides the cloth from his face, and his lips quirk at the corners. “There’s going to be a next time?”
“I think we have a lot of childhood hate issues to work though, don’t you?” I say.
“Yeah, tons.”
I nod and snuggle against him. “Good, then it’s settled. While you’re recuperating and I’m getting hockey lessons, we’ll keep doing this. But next time we need to set a slower pace.”
“Not sure that’s possible,” he murmurs softly, quietly, exhaustion clearly overtaking him
We go silent again, just sit in the dimly lit room for the next ten minutes, both comfortable enough with each other that we don’t need to fill the space with words. Odd, really. How did we get here so fast when it was just the other day I was telling Jess how much I hated him?
Every few minutes, I turn to check on him and when his body cools, I push to my feet and hold my hand out.
“Let’s get you back to bed. Get a few more hours’ rest before morning.”
He stares at my hand. “If you try to lift me, we’re both going to end up on our asses.”
“I’m stronger than I look, you know.”
“I know you are,” he says quietly, sadly, and I suddenly get the sense that’s he’s no longer talking about my physical strength.
He pushes to his feet, and I slide my arm around him to help him to the sink so he can brush his teeth and rinse his mouth. Once done, I guide him to the bed and my mind goes back to our childhood. Cole was at the house a lot, but I guess I never realized how much he’d been observing, knowing I had to do the bulk of the cooking and cleaning, while Cason took care of other chores, like the lawn and garbage. I didn’t even realize he could hear Jess and me in my bedroom. I never really thought the self-centered hockey player had paid that much attention to me. I always thought he was too much into himself to notice, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe he’s a little more complex than I ever realized.
I help him to the bed and he slides in. As I fix the blankets around his body, he tugs my hand. “If you keep taking care of me like this, I might start faking sick, too.”
I laugh. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”
“No, Nina. You’re actually all kinds of sweet.”
“You’re just saying that so I’ll take you to the doctor’s and make you your favorite soup tomorrow.”
He snuggles in. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says, and falls asleep just like that. I stare at him for a few minutes, and his hands slips from mine as his soft snoring sounds fill the room. I consider leaving, and going back to my room next to his, but decide against it. If he wakes up sick again, I’d hate for him to think I’d abandoned him.
I slide in beside him, careful not to wake him, and snuggle close, offering him my body heat.
The next thing I know, the light slanting in through the curtain pulls me awake.
I blink, rub the sleep from my eyes…and turn to find Cole watching me. He looks wide awake and his hair is wet from a shower. The fresh scent of soap reaches my nose.
“How long have you been awake?” I ask.
“Maybe you should be asking how long I’ve been watching you sleep?”
“Creeper much?”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I’m sure.” I look him over. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” I steal a glance at the clock to see that it’s nearing eight. “Why are you up so early though?” I prop up on my elbows and look him over.
“I was sleeping well, until I woke and heard you snoring.” He puts his hand to his forehead. “All that loud noise was bringing on another headache.”
“I do not snore,” I say, and lift my pillow, threatening to hit him, but I won’t. He was too sick last night, and I don’t want to do anything to bring the nausea back.
“I thought someone started my Mustang and was backing it out of the driveway,” he says, continuing to goad me. Clearly, now that he’s well, Cocky Cole is back, ready to duel.
“Fine, you can make your own breakfast and drive yourself to your appointment.” I roll over, and put the pillow over my head. “I guess you haven’t changed at all,” I mumble to myself.
“Ah, come on, Pretty BallerNina,” he says.
“Cole…” I warn, a tightness in my gut. “I thought we were past the name-calling.”
He takes the pillow from me and pulls my hair from my neck. The second he presses a soft kiss to my flesh, a shudder races through me.
“But you are pretty, Nina.”
He thinks I’m pretty.
OMG, get over yourself, Nina. You’re not twelve.
“I was never a ballerina,” I counter.
“I know, you were just as graceful as one, though.”
“I hated you calling me that.”
“I know.”
“Asshole.”
He grins at me “How about tonight, when we’re back in this bed, you can tell me all the names you secretly called me. Work out some of those hate issues.”
I slide onto my back and he smiles down at me. “I like the idea of that,” I say, wanting to do it right now.
As if reading my mind, a sexy, crooked grin that bring back some of the more pleasant memories from last night spreads across his handsome face. But then I remember the consequences—Cole over the toilet, sick.
“We need to get you ready for your appointment.”
He looks me over. “But there are so many other things I want to do right now.”
Yeah, me too.
“We’re not doing anything until you see your doctor.”
“Hey, you’re the one who said we’d be doing it again.”
“I didn’t mean right now. You need a good breakfast, and rest.”
“But these are the only things I want to put in my mouth right now, and I promise to pace myself.” He pulls my blankets down and places the softest kiss on my nipple. A groan catches in my throat.
His chuckle curls around me. “Like that, do you?”
“Of course I like that.” I sink into my pillow as he licks and nips at my nipple until it’s rock hard. His hand finds my other breast and gently massages it. He pushes against me, and his arousal brushes my outer thigh. I slide my hand down and capture his long length, and his deep groan fills me with satisfaction.
I know better than to be doing this, and by rights I should put a stop to it right now. And I will, in just a minute.
He draws my nipple deeper into his mouth and runs his tongue around it.
“Cole,” I groan as my entire body lights up. “We need to stop,” I say, and move beneath him, my words contradicting my actions.
“I know,” he says around my nipple, and the vibration of his voice goes straight to my sex. When he finally breaks the contact, he grins and says, “It’s just that I never got to spend enough time with these last night.”
“Boob man, are you?”
“Only when it comes to you, Nina,” he says, and when I meet his gaze, I expect to see humor—but what I see instead surprises the hell right out of me.
How is it with one look he can make me feel so special? Believe me, I’ve seen the big-breasted women he goes out with. Mine certainly pale in comparison. Like I said, I have the body of a twelve-year-old boy.
“But mine are…”
“Are what?” he presses
“I’m just…small.”
He makes a sound, a snort of sorts. “Jesus, girl. Do you have any idea how perfect these are?” He cups my breasts, brushes his thumbs over my puckered nubs. “The way they fit my hands and mouth…Christ.” His lids fall slowly as he gives a slow shake of his head.
I stare at him. Is he messing with me or is he serious? I’m going with the former, considering he’s The Playmaker. I’ve seen the way he acts around the bunnies. A guy like him knows all the right things to do and say to get the results he wants—a woman in his bed.
Doesn’t matter. I’m in this for me, too. Some more excellent sex until hockey season is over and I have my plot.
He shifts beside me, and a flash of red on his nightstand catches my attention. I look past his broad shoulder, pitted and scarred from years of hockey, and what I see has my heart jumping into my throat.
My jaw drops open and heat crawls into my face as I sit up, moving a little away from Cole as I press my back against the headboard.
“What?” Cole asks.
My gaze goes from the nightstand to Cole back to the nightstand again. I shake my head and my hair tickles my breasts as it falls forward and brushes over my flesh.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, never more mortified in my life. I grab the sheet and cover myself, but the point is moot. Cole has been inside my body. And from what I see on his nightstand, he’s also been in my…head.
He turns to see what I’m looking at, and then looks back at me. “Oh, yeah,” he says, his expression neutral, like he reads romance books all the time.
“Oh yeah? That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” I question, my voice rising, getting far too close to hysteria. “You have every single book I’ve ever written on your nightstand, and all you have to say is, ‘oh yeah’?”
He angles his head and looks me over, his eyes—which I wouldn’t mind gouging out at the moment—full of confusion. “Why are you so upset?”
“Because…because…” I stumble as my mind races at what feels like a personal invasion. Did he buy them so he could make fun of me? I know how everyone laughs and makes fun of the romance industry. So help me God, if he says one derogatory word, or throws a sex scene in my face, I’m leaving and never coming back. Hockey series be damned. I don’t need to eat that badly.
“You already said everything is fiction,” he begins. “Sex isn’t that good, and no guy is that good, right?”
I glare at him as past hurts come back to haunt me. “You shouldn’t have bought them.”
“Why not?”
“They’re not for…” Oh, God, none of this is coming out right.
“Guys?”
“Right, they’re not for guys. Especially guys like you.”
He sits up straighter, clearly offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Desperate to escape before he does or says something that will cut deeply, I tug the sheet and stand, looking around the room for my clothes, and realizing we discarded my shirt on the kitchen floor when Cole pushed me to my knees.
Oh, my God. I search my mind, trying to remember if I ever wrote something like that in a book. Was he fucking with me? Having fun and wanting to recreate a scene, so he could mock me later? I could never go through that humiliation again.
I hurry to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. No way do I want him barging in. I need a moment to pull myself together and figure if writing a hockey series is worth it. I turn on the shower and climb in. Steam fills the room as I grab Cole’s soap and rinse my body, washing away all traces of him on my skin.
I stay under the spray for a long time, hoping Cole is gone from the bedroom when I emerge. When the water turns cool, I wrap a big fluffy towel around me, and gingerly open the door.
When I do, I find Cole sitting on the bed, a coffee cup in his hand.
I lift my chin an inch, even though I don’t feel an ounce of confidence. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed.”
I make my way to the door, but he holds the coffee cup out to me. “I thought you could use this.”
I eye the coffee, and the need for caffeine overrules common sense, and I graciously accept it from him. He watches me as I blow on it, then take a much-needed sip.
“Thanks.”
“Want to talk?”
“No, we need to get ready or you’re going to miss your appointment.”
“You’re still taking me?”
“I’m not going to just abandon you, Cole.”
He takes my elbow and leads me to the bed. “Sit,” he says.
I lower myself and glance at his nightstand. The books are gone, and I’m grateful that he was considerate enough to remove them.
“I put them in the library.” I nod, wishing he’d tossed them out. “I’m not sure I understand what the big deal is.”
“It just is.” With tears pricking my eyes, I turn from him. “I write under a pseudonym for a reason,” I say. I pinch my eyes shut, hardly able to believe Cole went trough the trouble of finding out my pen name, so he could purchase my books. It had to be so he could tease me, mock me.
“I know you don’t like me much, let alone trust me, but I didn’t buy them for any other reason than to support you, and for what it’s worth, I think you’re an excellent writer. I used to read your skating blog, too.”
“You…did?”
“Yeah. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I never even thought to put them away last night. To be honest, I never thought we’d end up in my room.” I nod. He cups my chin and lifts it. “I’m smart enough to understand what you write isn’t who you are, or what you do privately. Crime and horror writers don’t go around killing people.”
Something inside me softens, the knot in my belly uncoiling at his sincerity. “Maybe I overreacted. It just took me by surprise, and I didn’t want you to tease me about it.”
He lets loose a long, slow breath and shakes his head. “Jesus, I was such a prick to you.”
I feel a laugh catch in my throat. “I wasn’t all that nice to you either, Cole. And that’s why we have to keep having sex. I have so much anger to work through. But this…” I glance at his empty nightstand. “It wasn’t all on you,” I admit.
“What do you mean?”
“There was this guy,” I begin, and swallow down the lump gathering in my throat. “He…humiliated me.”
His jaw tightens as he brushes my damp hair from my shoulder. “What did he do?” he asks between clenched teeth.
I don’t look at him. I can’t, and for God’s sake, why the hell am I telling him this?
“I was set up on a date, and he really paid attention to me, you know? Most guys don’t.”
He frowns and looks down, like he knows something I don’t.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing, keep going.”
“He was a bartender, but apparently his brother was a cop, so I guess he must have gotten him to do a search on me or something, and found out my pen name. He read my books, Cole, and he…” A hiccupping sob catches in my throat as my mind dredges up that painful memory. “I guess he thought it would be fun to recreate some of the scenes.”
He scrubs his chin, a new look of understanding in his eyes. “Shit, I get it now.”
“I didn’t even realize it at the time, but he made a big joke out of it when it was over. I was mortified. It actually made me ashamed of what I write and made me feel dirty. Actually, I felt like a whore.”
“This is on him, not you. What you write is romance and people falling in love. Sex come naturally from that, and you should be proud of yourself. I sure as fuck am proud of you.” Anger backlights his eyes and his fingers curl into fists. “Fucking pig. Where can I find him?”
A laugh crawls out of my throat. “You have a concussion, you’re not going after him.”
“Well, you were going to go after Burns when I told you he was the one responsible for my concussion. Actually, you wanted to meet him in a dark alleyway, and you’re all of one hundred pounds.” He grins and gives my chin a nudge. “What a pair we are.”
“Yeah, well, no need to go after him. I’m over it.”
“You sure about that?” I nod, and he says, “I’m an expert asshole, Nina, but I’d never do something like that to you. I hope you know that.”
I nod. He might have been a jerk growing up, but I guess deep down, I don’t think he’d do something so cruel. “I don’t share my pen name.” I narrow my eyes and look at him. “How did you figure it out?”
“Your bro. He’s proud as shit of you, girl.”
“Cason told you my name?” I shake my head. “I’m going to kill him.”
“Nah, he’s just super happy that you found something you love doing after your injury, that’s all.” He leans in and nudges me with his shoulder. “We both are.”
“God, I hope he hasn’t read any.”
“Me too,” he says, and makes a face like he’d just sucked a lemon.
“It’s not real,” I blurt out. “It’s not like I go out and do those things so I can write about them.”
“I know that, and I’d never ask you to do any of those things.”
My mind races to last night, and all the amazing thing he did with his hands and his tongue. My editor asked me to write hotter, and to be honest, there’s a part of every writer that draws on personal experiences. Too bad I’m lacking in the sex department, and I fear my more intimate scenes are all staring to sound the same. Insert object A into slot B and repeat.
“Then again…” I say.
“What?”
“While we’re working out our anger issues, maybe we can, you know, try some new things. You can teach me some new plays so I can add some spark to those scenes. Two birds with one stone and all.” My gaze droops to his lap. One very big stone, indeed.
Confusion comes over his face. “I thought you just said—”
I place my hand on his chest, and his muscles ripple beneath my palm as I stop his protest. “You’re not asking me to do things from my book behind my back. I’m a willing partner, fully aware of what’s going on.”
He thinks about it for a moment. “Do I get credit in the book? You know, like in the dedication?”
I whack his stomach and meet with a wall of muscle. The hit hurt me more than him. “Of course not. No one can know about us.”
His smile momentarily drops, but then it’s in place again so fast, I can’t help but think I’ve imagined it. “No, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about us.”
“So you’ll do it then? Teach me some hot new moves for the sex scenes?”
His grin turns wicked. “That’s what I was trying to do earlier when you stopped me.”