This was a disaster.
In disgust, Serena threw yet another cocktail dress on the “no thank you” pile. She’d had some luck at this consignment store in the past, but now, when there was something specific she actually, honestly needed to find today, she was striking out entirely. Exhaling hard, she pinched the bridge of her nose. At this rate, she was going to be trying to impress all the fancy Upton people in a recycled bridesmaid dress. She hadn’t had any illusions of being able to pass herself off as high society, but she’d thought, maybe, with the right dress...
Maybe with gorgeous, cultured, professorial Cole at her side...Maybe she could’ve at least made a decentish impression.
Turning from the mirror, she slipped her next-to-last option off its hanger, holding the fabric up before sighing and undoing the zipper.
A different kind of nervousness buzzed beneath her skin as she stepped into the dress. Going to this benefit was about helping Max, and that was her first and last priority. But there were a couple of other ones sandwiched in between them.
And all of them were named Cole. Cole who could be bristly and recalcitrant at the slightest hint of an offense to his pride, who could turn on the charm like a switch when there was something he wanted. Cole who was a widower, and who had dropped his shields yet again.
He’d let her see straight through to the bleeding heart of him, and it had only left her wanting more. For the second time, he’d let her wrap him up in her arms, and what she wouldn’t give to keep him there forever. To maybe show him a little of the love he’d been living without for all these years.
Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she dismissed that line of thought with prejudice. The man was clearly still grieving, and there were more secrets lurking behind his closed doors. She could almost taste them in the memory of his kiss and in the rasp of his breath beside her ear as he folded her in against his chest.
He’d said he wasn’t ready. And she could respect that.
Resolved, she got the dress pulled over her arms. It was a softly draped, black, sleeveless number, with just a hint of shimmer in the fabric. It hit a little higher on her thigh than she usually preferred, but the fit felt good. Contorting herself, she reached behind her back to get the zipper. She made it almost all the way to the top before her flexibility ran out. Oh well. Close enough.
Steeling herself, she turned to face the mirror again, and— Oh. That worked, actually. Classy and yet sexy, and maybe it was a tiny bit on the snug side, but she could work with that. She dug around beneath her arm for the tag, holding her breath.
Of course it had to be the most expensive dress of the lot. For secondhand, it was outright ridiculous—just the idea of what it must have cost full price made a sweat break out on the back of her neck.
But then she glanced at herself again. She looked good. Not the stuffy teacher or the matronly aunt her mother always accused her of behaving like. She looked like a single woman in her twenties should for a date. A fancy date with a beautiful, haunted, impossible, unavailable man...
Who didn’t think this was a date at all.
Groaning with frustration, she went to get undressed again—maybe the last, cheaper dress would be at least sort of acceptable. Before she could so much as grasp the zipper, though, her phone sounded off from within her purse. She frowned, dropping her arms. That was Penny’s ringtone.
She still hadn’t managed to get a hold of her sister since the last time her mother had raised her concerns. This wasn’t exactly the greatest timing, but no way she could put off answering now. Ignoring the people in the other changing booths, she dug through her bag until she found her phone, picking up the call and bringing the speaker to her ear. “Penny?”
“Hey.”
Serena paused. Her sister sounded...off. A low warning tone sounded in her mind. “Hey. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” A sniffle leaked across the line. “Just got a bit of a cold.”
Oh. The automatically wary part of her stood down, at least a little. Nudging her pile of discarded dresses aside, she sat down gingerly on the edge of the bench tucked into a corner of the stall. For a moment, awkward silence hung between them, but Serena pushed through it. “What’s up?”
And it was ridiculous, exchanging basic pleasantries and small talk while Serena was hogging an entire dressing room, still decked out in a slip of black organza she could barely afford. But she sat through it all the same, trying the best she could to keep her voice down. But as they droned on and on without really saying a thing, it got harder to keep the real question she wanted to ask unspoken: What the heck was this about?
Why now?
Serena had spent so much of her life waiting for the other shoe to fall when it came to her sister. Penny would go years with everything under control only to spin out without warning, leaving Serena and her mom to pick up the pieces. What should just be nice chances to catch up were always haunted by the lingering specter of another episode that would send everyone scrambling, and the anticipation of it all had Serena jittery and unsettled.
Finally, it burst out of her. “Look, not that I’m not glad to hear from you, but what’s going on?”
If it weren’t for the quiet breaths humming across the line, Serena would’ve worried she’d dropped the call. Even as it was, the seconds kept ticking past, to the point where she had to bite her tongue to keep herself from asking again. And maybe she was an asshole for pushing instead of letting her sister come to whatever was behind the call in her own time. Penny had always told her she was pushy, but if there was anything Serena had learned over the years of handling her sister, it was that she had to push. She had to get ahead of the situation before it crashed over them all and Penny wasn’t the only one about to drown.
But then, just when she was about to try a different tack—
“Are—” The single word came out on something dangerously close to a sob.
Serena sat up straight, her muscles tensing.
“Are you happy, Rena?”
Oh hell. Adrenaline flooded Serena’s system in a rush. This had a hospital visit and an emergency trip out to New York written all over it.
But maybe it wasn’t that bad yet. Penny didn’t reach out when she was at her lowest. Maybe Serena could still talk her down.
She considered her words carefully. It was actually a more fraught question than even her sister’s mental health might make it seem. “Mostly, I guess.” There were always things that could be better, and maybe she was a little overly obsessed with a guy she couldn’t have. But on the whole, things were fine. They were good.
But her own state of mind wasn’t really the point. It never was.
Serena swallowed, her throat tightening. “Are you?”
“I don’t know.”
Oh, hell, that little hiccup at the end. Penny was crying.
In an instant, Serena was on her feet. “Oh, sweetie. Penny. Talk to me.”
“No.” Another shiver of a sniffle. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“Of course you should. You’re my sister—”
Penny gave a sad echo of a laugh. “I haven’t been much of a sister to you, though, have I?”
Gripping the phone more tightly, Serena closed her eyes. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m fine. I’m just tired.”
“Have you talked to your doctor? Do you need me to make you an appointment?” She still had his contact info in her phone, she was sure.
“I’m seeing him tomorrow.”
“Okay.” That was good. Really good. But sometimes it wasn’t enough. “Maybe you need a break?” She hesitated. “You know you can always come home, right? Even just for a few days, or longer if you need it, or—”
“Why are you always so nice to me?”
The question didn’t even compute. “You’re my sister.”
“Yeah. I guess I am.” A beat passed before she said, “Listen, I’m going to let you go.”
“Are you sure?” The unsettled feeling in Serena’s gut hadn’t abated at all. Something was seriously wrong here.
“Yeah. You’re probably busy anyway, and I...I just needed to hear a friendly voice.”
Serena really, really didn’t want to let her go. “Penny, you know you’re more than my sister. You’re my friend, too.”
Growing up, she’d been Serena’s best friend. Serena would do anything for her. So many times, she had.
“I know. Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime.”
There was another, longer pause as Serena scrambled for the right thing to say.
But then Penny spoke. “Hey, Rena?”
“Yeah?”
“Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Sure.”
“No, really,” Penny insisted. “Do something nice for yourself, even. You never do that.”
Serena’s brow crinkled. “Penny...”
“I’ll talk to you again soon.”
With that, she was gone.
For a minute, all Serena could do was stand there. Alarm bells shrieked in the back of her mind. If this wasn’t a red alert situation, it was definitely a yellow one. She tossed her phone in her purse, ready to take off this silly, ridiculous dress so she could focus on her sister and whatever had motivated that call.
She paused, zipper undone, the fabric ready to fall off her arms. Turning, she took one last look at herself in the mirror, then at the price tag.
It wasn’t that ridiculous of a dress. And no matter how unsettling that call had been, the way it had ended...
Maybe Penny was right. Maybe Serena did need to do something for herself.
Moving fast, she stepped out of the dress and got back into her boring teacher clothes. She could do something for herself and worry about her sister. Both at the same time, even.
Draping the dress over her arm, she swept the curtain for the changing room aside and headed for the register.
With her other hand, she opened her contacts in her phone and placed a call.
“Mom?” she said as soon as it picked up. “We have got to talk about Penny.”
Cole forced himself to slow down. To take a long, deep breath before turning around. With his eyes shut tight and his heart thundering, he shuffled in a tight half-circle until he was facing it.
How many times had he considered taking the damn thing down? Tearing it off the back of the door with his own bare hands—or worse, putting his fist right through the glass?
Tonight, though, he needed it. Exhaling, he nodded to himself and opened his eyes.
And it was just like it always was. The mirror tucked away in his closet was nothing more than a plain, flat, silvered surface. Innocuous and innocent and he hated it. He hated what was always there, staring back at him from behind the glass.
Himself.
The throat in the reflection bobbed, while the one inside his body ached. With as much clinical efficiency as he could muster, he took in the hundred details he’d turned to the blasted thing for in the first place. Every piece was in order, from the tailored lines of the jacket to the break in his trousers—his new, slimmer knee brace barely showing beneath the wool. His shoes were polished to a high black shine, and he’d done his tie in an elegant full Windsor. He’d pass muster at the most refined of society events.
Right until he got to his eyes. Even after he’d shaved and subdued his hair, it was his eyes that gave him away.
His lungs got tight, and just like that, he couldn’t do it anymore. He swung the door shut so hard it slammed, dismissing the mirror and the sight of his own bleak countenance as one. Sagging, he dropped his head.
Less than an hour until the benefit began, and what had he been thinking? Buying the tickets in the first place and then allowing Serena to convince him to accompany her. He hadn’t done anything like this since...since...
Fuck. Dizziness swept over him, making him sway in place.
The last time he’d worn a suit had been at Helen’s funeral. Dark-eyed men in dark clothes had lowered her down, the sky bleeding rain through a sheet of steel-gray clouds, and he’d stood out in it for hours. There’d been no one left to tell him not to.
He stood there in his own downpour now, drowning on dry land. His stuffy, shut-up bedroom closed in around him, and he could stay in it forever, couldn’t he? Never answer the door again or descend those stairs. Never look upon a face that broke like the sun on the horizon, echoing out in shimmering waves of brilliant gold.
Except he couldn’t. Serena—she wouldn’t stand for it. She’d come up here and she’d knock until her knuckles were sore, and it didn’t matter how long he resisted. Eventually he’d let her in.
Grasping his crutches, he straightened his shoulders and raised his gaze. Inevitability tugged at him.
He wanted to let her in. That might be what scared him most of all.
And then there wasn’t time to belabor it anymore. Like clockwork, a quiet rapping sounded out from the direction of his door.
The world around him lurched back into focus. Instead of a reflection in a mirror, he was staring at a blank expanse of wall, and he might not be able to fool anyone into believing he was a gentleman—not if they had the balls to look him in the eye. But there was space. Empty room in his life, room that Serena had carved out of a morass of stagnation and grief, and it was just like that wall. Blank. Ready for him to write upon it what he would.
It was faster going than it would’ve been a scant few weeks ago, but it still seemed to take an age for him to reach his door. Jostling his crutch, he flung the door open.
Bloody fucking hell. The idea of locking himself away in his room had tempted him for all of a minute, but in the span of a breath, it flew out of his brain entirely.
Serena was a vision. He’d found the coy flirtatiousness of her everyday attire alluring enough, but tonight she’d clearly gone out of her way to ruin him. Rich black fabric clung to her every curve, bare expanses of milky thigh exposed, and her breasts...
God, but he’d touched those. In the flurry of the moment, kissing her like a man possessed, he’d had that lushness pressed against his chest, his hand drawn toward those curves. The very tops of them rose above the neckline of her dress, the soft cleft between them a siren’s song luring him in. He licked his lips, wanting his mouth on tender flesh.
What would she sound like underneath him? He could almost taste the sweetness of her. She’d be so hot around him, taking him into her body the way she’d welcomed him into every other aspect of her life, and he’d be so good to her. So thorough, taking the time to learn every inch, every spot that made her whimper or sigh.
Except—
Snapping his jaw shut, he forced his gaze toward her eyes. He was blatantly staring, ogling her in the worst, most objectifying way, and she’d be well within her rights to slap him for it. But no. Those soft green irises surrounded pupils gone wide with a need to match his own, and she wasn’t looking at his eyes.
A rush of hot, male pride swam through him, filling his veins. This was dangerous territory he was wading into here. His promises, his anger, they’d been his companions all these years. They’d kept him safe. But all at once they threatened to slip away.
He cleared his throat, and her gaze darted up, her cheeks flushing with the same guilt he himself had felt. Flustered, she dug her teeth into the pout of her crimson lip, and damn it all. That wasn’t helping things.
“Sorry.” She waved her hand in front of herself. “You just. You look really nice.”
His stomach twisted by a fraction. The woman had only really known him since he’d hurt his leg. She’d seen him in sweats and shorts and T-shirts. Of course the contrast was striking.
He channeled his annoyance at that into a quirked brow and a smirk. “You’re surprised?”
“No. Of course not.” The color to her cheeks only deepened. “Just. Impressed.”
Something in him softened. This was a terrible idea. Just terrible. But with the hand he’d freed to open the door, he reached up. Ever so gently, he stroked a single fingertip down the line of her cheek. Color spread in its wake, and deep inside, a tension within him coiled higher and tighter. “You look beautiful.”
Glancing down, she twisted her hands around the strap of her purse. “Thank you.”
She didn’t step away, and he didn’t remove his hand. But she didn’t edge in closer, either, and he didn’t dare. It felt like they could have stayed like that for days and days, caught in the push-pull and the hum of static between their bodies. Promise bloomed, ripe and impossible in the air around them, and he was caught, hovering over an abyss he didn’t begin to know how to cross.
But then he looked into her eyes again, and desire still shone in those depths, but there was something else, too.
They were ringed in red.
Brows furrowing, he slipped his thumb higher, stroking just beneath her lashes. “Are you all right?”
It broke the spell. One corner of her mouth twisted down, her whole expression flinching. “Fine.” She drew in a breath. “Just...some stuff with my sister.”
“Is she all right?”
“I’m not sure.” A shadow darkened her gaze. “I hope so. My mother’s looking into it.” Before she could explain any further, a car’s horn blared outside, interrupting her, and something like relief swept over her face. Catching his palm in hers, she gave it a squeeze before she let it drop away. “That’ll be our cab.”
“Of course.” The one they’d decided to take in case she wanted to have a second glass of wine tonight.
Allowing himself to be distracted from her aborted attempt at an explanation, he followed her out into the hallway, stooping to lock his door. At the top of the stairs, she held out a hand for one of his crutches, and he passed it to her without argument. Taking the first step down, he gripped the railing with all his might to keep his balance.
But it was a losing battle. Forget his knee. She’d already thrown him and his life so far off-kilter, he didn’t think he’d ever recover.
He wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
Serena’d worried for a minute as she’d been getting dressed that things with her sister would distract her from making the most of the evening. She shouldn’t have doubted herself.
Or more realistically, she shouldn’t have doubted Cole.
Their taxi had dropped them off outside the restaurant where the benefit was being held right on time. As she’d clattered around on her heels to the other side of the car to let Cole out, her breath had already been up, her pulse racing. She’d been in confined spaces with him before, but sitting side by side in the backseat like that, his bad leg splayed out to keep it straight, their ankles brushing with every swerving motion of the cab...
Worse, with him looking like that—polished and dapper, and she’d thought he was attractive before. When he actually tried, it nearly took her breath away. Closed in together, he’d smelled of the richness of his aftershave, like warm male and spicy woods, and even now, sticking close by his side as they wandered their way through a reception hall, all she wanted to do was lean into him, let her nose guide her to the point of his jaw and the hollow of his throat so she could bury herself in that scent. In him.
She clenched her fingers tighter around her clutch to keep from reaching out.
So of course, he chose precisely that moment to lean in.
“On your ten o’clock,” he said, the smooth roll of his voice just adding to the numb delirium taking over her senses.
She tried to be all stealthy as she took a glance in that direction, but sneakiness wasn’t exactly her forte. Nothing in particular caught her attention anyway. “Hmm?”
“Blond man in a navy pinstripe suit.”
She peeked over there again, and wow. Cole’s eyes were sharp. “Oh.”
She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d missed him the first time, honestly. The man had half a head on just about everyone else there, and his shoulders were strong and broad, his jaw sharp.
“People keep going over to him. Must be important.”
He had that right. “Dean of admissions.”
One Grayson Trousseau. Notoriously reclusive, always staying squirreled away in his office. She’d tried a half-dozen times on her little visits to find an excuse or an opportunity to bump into him, but to no avail.
“Excellent.” Without another word, Cole started off toward the man.
Serena’s hand flew out before she could stop it, catching on the fabric of his jacket, and God. He was pouring off heat. She managed not to react to that as he pulled up short, glancing back at her with one brow raised.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“We’re going to go introduce ourselves.” He said it as if it were obvious, and it was, wasn’t it? The entire point of attending tonight had been the chance to get some face time with the people who would determine Max’s fate.
But...“Can we just do that?”
“Of course.”
He didn’t wait for any additional comment. She found herself pulled along in his wake, and she could say that much about accompanying a man on crutches. People did tend to move to allow them through. As they neared their target, they passed a waiter with a tray of flutes, and she didn’t hesitate. Slipping her wrist through the strap on her bag, she reached out and grabbed two—if Cole didn’t want his, she’d drink it herself. She took one fortifying sip, then hurried to keep up, only falling back into step with him as he was inserting himself right into a conversation.
“Yes, but we don’t begin to introduce quantum conceptualizations until far too late in STEM education, anyway.”
A half dozen pairs of eyes all turned toward Cole as one, Serena’s included. Had those even been words he’d just spoken?
One of the men recovered first, and Serena’s brows only rose higher when she recognized him as the chair of the science department. “Too true, Mr....”
“Stafford. Dr. Cole Stafford.” His smile was tight, but he extricated a hand to extend it toward the man. As he gripped his palm, he nodded to Serena. “And my companion is Serena Hartmann. An acclaimed teacher who’s worked with some of yours in the past. Her nephew, Max, has you top on his list for next year.”
“Oh, wonderful.”
Gazes turned to Serena, and she was regretting taking those champagne glasses now. Shifting them to one hand, she shook with everyone in the circle, nodding at all the names she’d been stalking so relentlessly on the school’s website and social media, her throat tightening up when she got to Mr. Trousseau himself. She was pretty sure some words managed to pass her lips, but she didn’t hear a one of them.
How had Cole done that? The charm he’d turned on in front of Mrs. Cunningham the previous week was out in spades, an easiness to him she never saw in their day to day.
And a coiled element, too. A strain.
Like it took work to be so polite, so witty. And it struck her. This was a mask. An appealing, unreasonably compelling mask. But the man beneath it was the one she’d met on that very first day. The one he showed her again and again as he revealed even more of his story. Making cookies together or tutoring her nephew. Drinking tea out of the mismatched mugs she’d made with her own two hands.
The conversation Cole had inserted them into resumed around them—something about increasing rigor in science and math education. Not exactly her strong suit, but apparently it was Cole’s. The man had told her he wasn’t a fan of teaching, but he certainly had a lot of smart, insightful things to say about it. Heads around the circle nodded, considering gazes going more and more admiring.
Until a pause in the discussion, when Grayson Trousseau turned to her, his blue eyes sharpening as they focused in on hers. “You said your nephew was applying to Upton for the fall?”
Serena’s heart got stuck in her throat, her tongue thick and heavy, her mouth dry. Blinking owlishly, she nodded. Cole gave that tight smile of his again, swooping in.
“Max Hartmann. Terribly bright boy.”
“Well, I’ll have to keep my eye out for him,” Mr. Trousseau said. “Sounds like the kind of applicant we’re looking for.”
Dizziness swept over her. All at once her tongue came unglued. “Thank you. He’s really got his heart set on it.”
The man nodded. “It’s been a pleasure to meet you.” With that, he made his excuses, extricating himself and heading for the bar.
The group as a whole drifted apart not long after. Still a little light-headed, Serena let Cole lead her over to a high top in the corner. Shifting his crutches, he pried the flutes from her hands and set them down, taking her purse from her, too.
Concern trickled into his voice. “Serena?”
She reached out, grabbing his hands in her own. They were so warm, the strength in his fingertips and palms squeezing back as she held on.
She lifted her gaze to his. “That was amazing.”
“It was?”
“You. You were—incredible. Do you realize what just happened? You got the dean of admissions—Grayson Trousseau. He knows Max’s name now.”
Then she spotted it—the smug, low-smoldering glow to his little half-grin. He knew exactly what he’d done. He knew what it meant to her.
“Why, I could—” She stopped herself before she could say it.
She could kiss him, was what she could do.
Shaky, she let go of his hands, feeling the loss of his warmth in the places deep beneath her skin, where her attraction to him simmered. And sometimes threatened to boil over.
Dropping her gaze, she reached for her flute, draining the last of it, but it did nothing for the desert of her throat.
A wariness had crept into Cole’s gaze, yet when she set her glass back down, all he did was nudge the other flute closer to her.
She shook her head. “It’s yours if you want it.”
“You look like you need it more.”
Maybe she did. She took a more measured sip from the spare glass before pushing it away. Steadier by a fraction, she looked up at him.
“Thank you,” she said, and it came out too intense by half.
The smile she got in reward was so real, though. So gorgeous and unself-conscious. So free.
“It’s the least I could do.”
It wasn’t—not by a long shot. But that he’d said it was and that he’d meant it...This man had helped not only her, but her family.
And what she was starting to feel for him wasn’t simple attraction. It wasn’t that at all.