“Come here, Mr. Dekker.” She pulled his hand from her hip and used it to tug him into her bedroom. Yay for Mom’s insistence that she and all her sisters always made their beds and tidied their rooms in the morning. She really would have hated to interrupt things to make the room presentable, or frantically turn off all the lights. There was a time and a place for sex in the shadows—preferably enhanced with glow-in-the-dark stickers—but this time, she wanted enough light that she could see the delightful package she was more than ready to unwrap.
He followed as ordered until they stepped into her room, whereupon he stopped and turned in a slow, staring circle. “Whoa.”
She followed his gaze, taking in her room through his eyes, feeling ridiculously pleased as his eyes lingered on the gauzy fabric hanging around the bed, the twinkle lights that lit the room from their hiding places and behind the fabric, the strings of tiny gold bells suspended from the ceiling. “You like it?”
“I feel like I stepped into the Lawrence of Arabia movie.”
“That’s what I was going for.”
He did a double take from her to the room. “You did this yourself?”
“Mmm hmmm. I didn’t . . . Kyrie owns this building, so I didn’t want to do anything super permanent. But I wanted to make this mine. I have a thing for desert spaces, so I thought, you know, why not go for it?”
“It’s amazing.” He tipped his head, transferring his focus from the room to her. “And not what I would have expected from you.”
“Are you saying I’m not amazing?”
The little quirk at the corner of his mouth . . . it was going to push her into the rapture zone all by itself. “Stop fishing for compliments. I would never have thought of you as a desert person.”
“And why is that?” She grabbed a corner of the closest fabric, held it in front of her lower face like a half veil, and did her best imitation of a belly dance—for about three seconds, until she wiggled her eyebrows and started him snickering.
“Not me, huh?”
He shook his head and pulled her closer. “You’re no desert, Jenna.” His fingers trailed down the side of her face. “You’re the oasis. The life in the middle of the barrenness. The water that bubbles up in the most unexpected places.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You lawyers really do have a way with words.”
“You know what else?”
“What?”
He leaned down, pressed his lips to the hollow between her breasts, and said, “We do our best work with our mouths when we aren’t even talking.”
And with that, she was officially past the point of restraint.
His shirt went first. She yanked and pushed and let it fall to the floor while she propelled him toward the bed. Not that he resisted. His only hesitation, she was pretty sure, was caused by his own efforts to get her out of her blouse.
“Wait,” she said, and stripped away the offending top. She reached behind for her bra but he moved in.
“Let me.”
She started to turn but he obviously had another path in mind. He pulled her into a slow, lips-only kiss while his hands slid slowly along the sides of her bra, his fingers slipping below the band and tracing the path to the back. His kiss never faltered as he flicked the hooks. When she would have shaken the bra off he stopped her with a steady hand on her shoulder before letting his fingers retrace their earlier path, this time skin on skin, sliding slowly forward until each palm cupped a breast. Only then did he break the kiss, and only to nose the straps from her shoulders. Each hand in turn slid slowly down before returning to tease each tingling breast. She was dimly aware of the moment when the bra hit the floor, but it barely registered. Nothing mattered anymore except getting naked and getting Cole against her.
With that one thought blazing in her mind, she pushed her skirt and panties low with one efficient motion, stepped out of them, and kicked them aside. Cool night air against her skin was a sharp contrast with the heat being generated wherever he came in contact with her, which was still far too sparse for her wishes.
“I see a problem here, Mr. Dekker.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m naked and you’re not.”
“Oh, Jenna. Don’t you know what they say? There are no problems. Only opportunities.”
A moment later she was on her back on the bed, her head whirling as she tried to figure out how it had happened. A moment after that she decided she didn’t give a rat’s ass about the details and focused solely on the amazing sensation of Cole kissing the inside of her knee. Who knew that there were so many nerve endings there?
Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that she had let him take the lead. Somewhere in an even dimmer corner, she registered surprise that she had stepped back so easily, that it didn’t bother her.
The rest of her being was too busy to care, what with needing every bit of effort to remember how to breathe as his lips moved higher. And higher.
And then brushed the spot where breathing stopped and thinking stopped and the ability to do anything but whimper was yanked away from her. Even more so when his lips trailed lower again, leaving her squirming and aching for what had almost happened.
Well, hell. Two could play at that game.
She pushed on his chest—oh, right, he was finally on the bed beside her—and rolled to her side.
“That wasn’t fair,” she said, but given that she was working at the zipper on his pants as she said it, she was pretty sure he knew she wasn’t angry.
“Weren’t you the one who said that all’s fair in love and—”
Good. She loved rendering a man mute. Especially when it took nothing more than one well-placed slide of her palm. It gave her hope that by the time she was through with him, he would be left as mindless and limp as she hoped to hell she’d be.
“These pants have got to go.” But instead of tugging them down, she pushed them open, letting her hand settle deep in the vee that ensued. Her fingers crept low. She used her kiss to push him onto his back, fingers playing him like a piano.
Scales had never been this much fun.
She toyed and played as she let her mouth trail across his jaw, down the length of his neck, across his shoulders. She kissed her way down his chest and over to the far side of his ribs—not because she thought it was an undiscovered erogenous zone, but because it gave her the chance to brush her hair and cheek and breasts against him. All the while she kept practicing her scales, muscle memory moving her fingers in a pattern that she knew he couldn’t predict. His fast gasps brought a smile to her lips and another one deeper inside.
She was doing this to him. She was the one making him arch against her touch. She—battered, used, discarded Jenna—was driving this amazing man into a frenzy of need.
She was so glad she hadn’t died in that stupid accident.
“Cole?”
She interpreted his strained garble as an answer.
“I need to move for a minute.”
Immediately his eyes popped open, tinged with worry. “Are you okay?”
It took her a moment to understand his concern. “I am so beyond okay that it’s probably illegal in twelve states. But if I don’t get to that drawer,”—she tilted her head in the direction of her bedside table—“in the next, oh, four seconds, I can’t promise—”
He rolled up and away before she could grasp his intent. When he rolled back with the box in his hand, something shifted inside her.
“I love a man who knows what a woman wants before she even says it.”
“Does that mean I can count on your vote in November, ma’am?”
She bit back the giggles that his words had prompted and fixed him with her very best dubious stare. “Well, I don’t know. I might need to do a bit more research.”
“Research, huh?” He rolled off the bed, shucked his remaining clothes, and rejoined her. “There you go. Is that the information you need?”
She forced herself to maintain a critical glance as she surveyed the goods—which were, indeed, more than worth her vote.
“Why, yes, that’s very helpful. But I, uh, need to be sure you can—um—deliver on your promises.”
She was inordinately proud of herself for completing the sentence. It hadn’t been easy, what with the way he was licking her belly button.
He sighed against her stomach. “You undecided voters. You need so much convincing.”
“Hey, I only get one chance to vote. I want to make sure I choose the bes—ooohhhh”
Dear Lord. He hadn’t been lying about making his best oral arguments without words.
“Cole—”
It came out more like a gasp than a word. He laughed against her, low and long, his lips brushing against all kinds of happy, and she arched up, more than ready to stop playing.
Except, once again, he moved away a second too soon.
She would have protested if she had any voice. Instead, she moved. Pushing him onto his back. Remembering, with her last bit of sense, to check that everything was fully covered before she straddled him, kissing that corner of his mouth while all the aching parts slid against him, seeking, sparking, celebrating.
“Remember what I said downstairs?” she whispered.
“Memory’s shot.”
Excellent.
“I think I said something about this.” She arched and moved and took him inside her, just enough to send the first shock waves rolling through her without making her lose the last bits of her control. “And then I said I would do this.” She slowly moved down a fraction of an inch, tensing around him as she pulled back again, moving like she had all the patience in the world when in actuality every part of her was screaming to move, push, hard, now.
“Jenna—”
“I still don’t know,” she said.
“What?”
The agony in his voice. The barely constrained need, the rawness, like she was torturing him beyond the point of all mercy or reason.
“My vote.” She moved a little lower, bracing herself on his shoulders, hearing that same edge in her own voice and knowing that at any second she wouldn’t be able to play, wouldn’t be able to speak, wouldn’t be able to do anything but push and gasp and shudder and grip. “I . . . don’t . . . know . . .”
He grabbed her hips. “Yes,” he growled, just before he tipped her, just before he rolled on top of her, just before he pushed into her once, twice, hard and needy and sending her flying out of reason, out of sense, out of everything except him, gasping out her name and falling into her.
***
Cole hadn’t intended to spend the night at Jenna’s. Even after it became clear that it was going to be a night to remember, he had never considered that it might become a sleepover. Stay for a couple of hours, have himself a damned fine time, then be on his way.
Except Jenna had had other ideas. Ideas that meant he was in her pseudo-tent a lot longer than he would have expected.
Ideas that meant that when they were both finally sated to the point of exhaustion, he had passed out. Totally and completely. He doubted that a fire alarm screaming in his ear would have roused him. Once he was out, he was gone until the bleating of Jenna’s alarm jerked him to wakefulness.
She had rolled over, greeted him with a kiss that gave him half a mind to stick around even longer, then rolled out of bed with a comment about shower, breakfast, class. By the time she emerged from the shower, steamy and toweled and pink, he was dressed and ready to roll. Good thing, too. If he hadn’t been fully clothed, the sight of her wrapped in a scrap of fabric would have made it almost impossible for him to leave.
But leave he did. Hands in his pockets, whistling back at the birds providing the soundtrack for his morning, he rounded the corner of the mall and headed for his car.
Only to come to a halt as a familiar minivan pulled up beside him.
“Good morning,” Ram said through his open window. He gave Cole a telling head-to-toe evaluation. “Or should I say, good night?”
Could he claim that he fell asleep in the office?
Even as he opened his mouth, he knew he’d hesitated a fraction of a second too long to fool the person who knew him better than anyone in the world with the possible exception of his mother. Any lingering hopes were crushed by Ram’s snort.
“I guess champagne and balloons weren’t enough of a celebration.”
Cole closed his eyes and assessed his options while Ram hopped out of the van. It wasn’t easy. His brain was still muddled from the lack of sleep, lack of coffee, and total flood of morning-after bliss.
“Don’t say anything to anyone, okay? Nobody needs that.”
“I don’t know. You’re looking mighty relaxed this morning, so I’m guessing you needed it pretty bad.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know. Lips are sealed and all that shit. But let me tell you, you’re not fooling anybody. Everyone has seen the way you two look at each other.” He looked up to the sky, as if checking the weather . “Maybe now we’ll be able to focus. You know. Now that we don’t have to wade through a cloud of hormones to get to the computers.”
“Mature, Ram. Real mature. What are you doing here at this hour, anyway?”
“Some of us still have to work today.”
“Not for me, you don’t.”
“Oh, the ego. The man wins a primary and the world revolves around him.” Ram’s knuckles rapped against Cole’s forehead. “Hello, genius. Day job, remember?”
“Yeah, genius, but your office is on the other side of town.”
“I know that. I also know that Brews and Blues has excellent coffee and breakfast sandwiches. And that it’s only a block out of the way of my usual commute. And Lucy still can’t handle the smell of coffee in the morning, so here I am, husband of the year, suffering for the sake of my wife.”
“Oh.” It was about all Cole could manage. In fact, his brain was having a hard time keeping up with just that explanation, which was probably why Ram burst into laughter so loud that it bounced off the building and echoed back around them.
“Man, you are definitely doing the zombie thing today. I’d offer to buy you a coffee, but I’m afraid if we walk in there and Jenna’s working, you’ll either fall over or end up arrested for public indecency. Not the best image for the next mayor, I’m thinking.”
“Prospective next mayor.” The correction was automatic. Good. Nice to know his reflexes were working again. “And she’s not working this morning. She had an early class.”
“Hope she has a little more brainpower this morning that you do. Otherwise she could be kissing those tuition dollars good-bye.” Ram jerked his head toward the shop. “Since the coast is clear, want to join me?”
He shouldn’t. He should head home, hit the shower, and hook up a caffeine IV. But Ram was right. Nothing that Cole could make at home would equal the stuff at Brews and Blues. And home was ten minutes away, while there was a cup of wakefulness right there in the shop, just waiting to be poured for him. And since Jenna wasn’t going to be there . . . .
“Sure, but only on two conditions.”
Ram rolled his eyes. “Fine. I won’t ask for details.”
“You’re a pig. You know that? My conditions are, one, I buy, and two, we don’t talk about the election. I barely remembered that Lucy is pregnant. I need to spend a few minutes being a normal person again.”
“Deal.”
They ambled toward the shop in easy silence. When they were finally within inhaling distance, Cole couldn’t keep from filling his lungs with the scent of promise.
“And Lucy can’t stomach that right now?” he asked.
Ram sighed. “It’s killing her. Coffee, meat cooking, the dog when he’s wet. The other night she almost tossed her cookies after we had all that rain. She said all she could smell was worms.”
Cole’s stomach cramped in sympathy. “How long is that gonna last?”
“Don’t know. She’s never had it this bad before. I’m hoping that means it’s a boy this time. Love my girls, but it would be nice to have someone else to blame when the toilet seat gets left up.”
Lucky for Cole, they had reached the shop and he didn’t have to come up with a reply. He was fresh out of wit and wisdom today.
But as soon as he followed Ram into the shop, he knew he’d made a severe tactical error.
It might have been the way the regulars in the shop burst into applause at his entry.
It might have been the way that the barista behind the counter—the one he could never remember by a name other than Not Jenna—rang the giant cowbell that hung over the till.
But he really knew he was screwed when he spotted a familiar head peeking up from behind the bakery case. She glanced at him for a second before her gaze darted to Ram.
He could tell the exact second she realized that Ram knew all. Her eyes widened and her head wobbled, as if she were losing her balance. Not easy to do when squatting, he was sure.
A moment later she stood. He caught a glimpse of a muffin that looked to have been squeezed in half.
“Oops,” Ram said.
The applause had died down, thank Heaven. Cole waved in the general direction of the regulars, muttered something about being grateful for their support, even managed a joke about being caffeine-deprived. Not bad for someone who was two steps from death by embarrassment.
With the crowd dealt with, he squared his shoulders and approached the counter.
“Good morning!” the barista chirped. “Mega congratulations and everything. What can I get for you gentlemen today?”
Ram placed his order in a booming voice. Was he trying to draw attention to them? Not that it mattered much, because Cole found he needed all his energy to avoid staring at Jenna.
Because looking at her was now filled with unexpected dangers. Every inch of her sparked another memory, a new desire. Her hair, caught in some loose knot or twist or whatever, with straggling bits framing her face as if to proclaim to the world that she had been so thoroughly mussed in the night that there was no taming her. Her cheeks, rosy with mild whisker burn. Her lips, which he could swear looked fuller and redder now than when he first walked in.
And then there was the little scratch on her neck. Not from a hickey gone wrong, but from that moment when he had pulled some of the gauze across her and wrapped it around her, making a joke about doing a veil dance, only to discover there had been a pin left behind.
Mood breaker? Only for as long as it had taken him to kiss it better.
A nudge in the ribs—thank you, Ram’s elbow—brought him back to the moment. The barista was staring at him, no doubt waiting for his order. Ram was looking at him as if he were debating dumping ice water over Cole’s head.
Jenna, meanwhile, watched with a half smile on her lips, then reached up to deliberately stroke the scratch.
He should never have hooked up with a woman who didn’t play fair.
“Americano, please. Large. Sausage sandwich. And, uh, one of those quiche tarts. Thanks.”
The barista nodded and turned to grab cups. Jenna murmured something to her, earning a nod. Ram tapped his foot—always a sign of nervousness.
Jenna sighed and came around the counter.
“Good morning, Ram.”
Simple words. But Cole knew Ram noticed that there was no, “Good morning, Cole.” It was the polite public equivalent of saying, nope, no need to greet Cole a second time today.
He had a horrible feeling he was blushing. His mother would be so proud.
“Morning, Jenna.” Ram’s gaze ping-ponged between them. Cole knew his old friend was debating between coming out and saying something or slinking away to leave them alone. Time to man up.
“Jenna, do you know how long Ram and I have known each other? Since second grade,” he said, not even pretending to wait for an answer. “We’ve shared a lot in that time. We know pretty much everything there is to know about each other.”
“More important,” Ram added with a fast glance over his shoulder, “when know when to shut up about what we know about each other.”
“I figured as much.” Jenna gave her head a little shake, sending those wayward strands of hair swirling. “But it’s reassuring to hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Thanks, Ram. How’s Lucy today?”
Ram launched into long and detailed description of the joys of Pregnancy Number Three, expanding on totally idiotic details, purely to fill the time, Cole knew. Some of the tension eased out of him. He knew Ram understood the value of discretion. But damn, it was good to see that Jenna shared his belief in his friend.
His moment of peace and gratitude came to an abrupt halt as someone tapped his arm. He stepped back, assuming he was blocking the counter, only to come face to face with— Oh, shit.
Jenna’s father.
It was ridiculous. Cole knew that Jenna had no contact with Rob. He knew that Rob had ceased to be a father to Jenna decades earlier. But his first instinct was that Rob was preparing to either interrogate him or deck him for sleeping with Jenna.
His second instinct was to realize that Jenna, facing the other way, had not yet noticed Rob. Maybe, if he could guide the other man outside—
“Congratulations,” Rob boomed. “Heard you had a solid victory last night.”
The coffee shop went silent.
Jenna froze in mid-sentence. Cole saw the sudden hunch of her shoulders, the abrupt lift of her chin.
Damn it. The bastard was not going to mess with Jenna again.
“Mr. Elias, I’d like to talk to you. Can we step outside for a moment?”
Rob didn’t reply. He was too busy staring at Jenna. For a moment Cole caught the yearning in the man’s eyes. He could read the loneliness and the wistfulness and—yes—something that looked very much like what Cole saw in Ram’s face when little Tia climbed into his lap and stuck her thumb in her mouth.
“Mr. Elias—”
Jenna turned. “You were told that you aren’t welcome here.”
Rob shrugged. “I hear you sell coffee. Are you in the business of turning away customers?”
“Leave.”
Cole saw the way the cold fury under Jenna’s soft word made Ram flinch. Cole himself had to fight to keep from taking her hand, turning her away from Rob. But he could put himself between them, and he did.
“This is the second time I’ve heard Jenna ask you not to come in here,” he said quietly.
“She’s not the owner.” Rob peered past him. “Her sister is the only one who can set the rules here. Not her.” For the first time, he really looked at Cole. Measuring. Assessing. “And definitely not you.”
Cole did a mental eye roll. Was this guy for real?
“No, I don’t make the policy here. I’m just a customer. Just like all these people”—he nodded toward the shop filled with folks who were either staring or pretending not to stare—“who want nothing more than to start their day with peace and quiet and good coffee. So how about we get you a cup to go?”
Rob didn’t seem to have heard a word Cole said. “Jenna.” He kept his voice even and low. “Five minutes.”
Jenna checked the shop, seeming to take the temperature of the crowd, Cole, her father. Then she turned to the barista.
“Dana, a plain coffee to go, please. And a glass of ice water.”
It was the addition of the water to the order that let Cole breathe easier. He knew damned well Jenna had asked for that only to ensure she had something to toss on Rob if he wouldn’t leave.
Still, he wished she wouldn’t put herself through this. Or that there was some way he could help her.
As if she could read his mind, she caught his eye and gave a tiny shake of her head. The gesture was small enough that he was pretty sure no one seated at the tables would have noticed.
From the way Rob’s eyes narrowed, though, Cole was pretty sure he’d caught it.
Sure enough, a moment later Rob had focused on him again. “We haven’t officially met. Rob Elias. And you’re Cole Dekker.”
Cole nodded. He wasn’t shaking hands with Rob. Forget what it could do to his bid for mayor—he didn’t want to have anything to do with this man, just on the basis of what he had done to Jenna.
“You come in here a lot?” Rob asked. Fishing. Definitely fishing.
“Cole’s headquarters are two doors down.” Ram stepped up beside Cole, the to-go cup in his hand. They turned in unison to form a wall between father and daughter. “Here’s your coffee, Mr. Elias. Have a nice day.”
Rob tried to look around them, but with Cole and Ram standing shoulder to shoulder, it was the equivalent of a fence in front of Jenna. He scowled.
“Jenna . . .”
Cole felt a hand on his shoulder. A second later, Jenna’s head popped into the space between his and Ram’s.
“Coffee’s on the house. You can go now.”
Rob scowled.
Cole cheered silently.
Rob turned and marched toward the door. As it slammed behind him, Cole saw Rob toss his untouched coffee into the trash can on the sidewalk.
Jenna’s soft sigh echoed in his ear. He twisted to face her.
“You okay?”
She nodded, her focus on the room, Ram, anyone but him. “Just ducky.”
Ram patted Jenna’s shoulder. “You sure about that?”
Her arms were crossed again. Protective. Huddling. But her mouth was set and her eyes were hard. “I have to be.”
It hit Cole, then, in a whole new way. She wasn’t talking about this moment. She was talking about her whole life. She’d never—okay, barely—had a father to stand up for her, to dote on her, to protect her the way Ram did his girls. Cole had no doubt that her mother and that crazy aunt of hers had stepped into the gap very nicely, but there were—what—five girls in that family? Every adult must have been stretched thin. Every kid must have grown up learning how to fend for herself, because if she didn’t, no one else could.
It was almost a shame he and Ram had stepped in. Jenna was probably itching to throw water all over the asshole. Cole would have loved to watch it.
Instead, he could only grab her favorite iced tea from the cooler, pop the top, and hand it to her. She took it automatically. After the first sip she stopped, frowned, then looked up at Cole. It was so easy to see her pulling the pieces from her memory. So easy to see how much it meant to her that he remembered what she’d asked for the last time Rob confronted her here.
For a moment, he caught a glimpse of wetness in her eyes.
“Thanks,” she whispered. “I, um, I’d better go. Class.”
“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Cole asked.
“Yeah.” She smiled from the tea to him. “I am now.”