“Disappointed?”
I shook my head. “How long will it take to make up the forgery?”
He leaned against the bar and took a long sip of his whiskey. “I’m not going to make a forgery.”
“But you said—”
“I said that I’d help. I didn’t say how.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but shut it again almost immediately. I wanted a solution that didn’t require a forgery, after all. And considering the kinds of deals and schemes Cole manipulated and skirted every second of every day, I was confident that he could come up with a plan that both made sense and kept my father—and the property owner—alive.
“All right,” I said. “I trust you.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “That’s good to know.”
I drew in a breath, then got up off the couch. I moved to him, hoping that he would put his arms around me and draw me close. He didn’t, though, and I was left standing there, a little lost, a little aroused, as the air between us hummed hot and heavy.
“I really do trust you, you know,” I said softly. “Whatever it is that you think we need to talk about, I promise you, we don’t.”
“Kat.” He pressed his hands to my face, then held me gently as he peered into my eyes. I swallowed, unnerved by his intense inspection, but my gaze didn’t waver, and what I saw in his face gave me hope.
He bent forward then and captured my mouth with his. I could taste the whiskey on his breath, and I felt suddenly lightheaded. But I wasn’t sure if it was the liquor or the man.
Unlike our kiss the night of the gala, this one was soft and sweet and a little sad, and I was already shaking my head in anticipation of his words as he pulled away.
“I can’t be the man you need.”
“You’re wrong. You can’t be anything else.”
He reached into a pocket in the sweatpants, then pulled out a smooth green stone. It was oval-shaped and flat, with a thumb-sized indention on one side. He held it in his hand as I’d seen him do numerous times before, turning it over and over as he stroked and toyed with it.
“I know it confuses you,” he said. “But I care about you, Katrina. And you can scream and rage and hate me all you want, but this isn’t going any further. I can’t stand the thought of hurting you, and you deserve someone a whole lot less fucked up than I am.”
“Hurting me?” I repeated. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You say that you want me—that you care about me. And you know damn well that I care about you, too. But you’re pushing me away? That’s what hurts, Cole. Not this.” I turned so that my back faced him, then tugged down the sleeve of my T-shirt to reveal the still-red scrapes on my shoulder.
“Jesus,” he said, his voice like a low, pained curse.
“You didn’t hurt me,” I said, emphasizing each word. “How can I make you see that? It’s just scrapes. It’s just flesh. It’s nothing compared to what there could be between us.”
I wanted to throw up my hands and scream in frustration and bewilderment. Frustration that I couldn’t get through his irritatingly thick skull. Bewilderment that I cared so much. I’d never cared so much. Not about anything, really, and certainly not about a man.
Things were changing, though. Or rather I was changing. I cared about my house. I cared about finding a better job. I cared about my friends and my father. About getting settled. About those roots I’d told Daddy I was planting.
And I cared about this man. I cared so desperately that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to slap him or kiss him or cry on his shoulder.
Slowly, he reached for me, then gently stroked my shoulder, careful to avoid the worst of the scrapes. I felt my pulse increase in tempo, and I drew in a long, stuttering breath. His hands were like magic upon me, sending swirls of enchantment all through me. Awakening me. Warming me.
“You see?” I said, looking at him over my shoulder. “I’m way more resilient than you think.”
He said nothing, and I took that as a good sign. I turned so that I was facing him more directly, wanting to read the expression that he was working so damn hard to keep closed off.
“You didn’t hurt me, Cole. You didn’t even scare me. I’ll tell you what you did do, though. You made me wet. You turned me on.” I edged closer so that I caught the clean, fresh scent of his soap. “Do you have any idea how much I wanted you in your office? How much I still want you?”
I looked into his eyes, hoping to see a desire that matched my own. Instead, I saw only steely determination.
Dear god, I wanted to break that control. It was like I was on a mission. As if I merely had to break this man for all the mismatched pieces of my own life to fall into place with Cole right there at the center.
I took another step toward him, so close now that I felt the flutter of his breath on my hair. So intimate I could see the pulse of his chest in time with his heartbeat, and each tiny pore on his bare skin.
Slowly, I pressed my palm against his abdomen, my fingers pointing down. His already tight muscles twitched under my hand, and I bit back a smile, knowing that, if nothing else, my touch had affected him.
I tilted my head up and found his eyes again. This time, I saw the heat that I craved, and that gave me courage to continue.
Slowly—so very slowly—I eased my hand down until my fingers slipped beneath the loose tie that kept those sweatpants from falling off his hips. I didn’t stop, I didn’t think, I just continued on, keeping my eyes on him, judging my impact on this man by the fire in his eyes and the tightness of his jaw.