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His cell phone rings and since his pants are on the floor near his feet, he grabs them, pulling out his phone. I think of all the nights I’ve worked at the restaurant, fearing a call that my mother was sick, and even with her return to work, at a hospital of all places, I dread a call. Even now, I dread my phone ringing instead of his. Cole glances at his display and sets his cell on the table.
“Do you need to take your call?” I ask.
“It’s an asshole,” he says. “And I don’t work for assholes.” The doorbell rings and he sets down his glass. “That will be dinner and not soon enough for me.”
He heads toward the door, his stride long and confident, everything about this man is power and grace, and yet, he doesn’t overwhelm me like someone else I once knew and knew too well. Cole doesn’t constantly seem to be pulling my strings, but then, as one of my law professors said: “everyone is on their best behavior while trying to be naked and well fucked.”
Cole’s words come back to me. “I might need to insist on your last name.” Because he doesn’t want to face me in court, but there is no issue there. I’m not a lawyer, whereas he’s in possession of a winning record, the rewards of hard work falling into place, while mine have years to be foreseen.
My gaze catches on my skirt and the realization that the awkward goodbye is coming hits me. I need to be dressed. I need to be ready. Actually, I need to leave before I do something stupid with this man. Like stay the night. Like give him my last name. Like get involved in what won’t hurt him, but could my career. I can’t risk becoming distracted by a man who has his career while I have a long way until I have mine. I stand up and dart for my skirt.
Chapter ten
Lori
I’ve barely had time to straighten after picking up my skirt, and somehow Cole is already walking back into the room. “Don’t even think about putting that on unless you just want me to take it off of you.”
“We don’t have a condom,” I remind him.
He sets the bag in his hand on the table and steps in front of me. “We have lasagna and my tongue, sweetheart,” he says, removing my skirt from my hand and kissing me. “And I have yet to prove my skills in that area.”
“I can’t believe you just said that to me.”
“Because you’re a virgin and so am I?”
“You’re funny,” I say.
“Not usually and not now. I’m quite serious, and adding to that, I can say with definitive certainty that my meal will taste better with you in that robe, naked beneath it.” His lips curve ever so slightly as he adds, “and so will yours. I’ll show you.”
My God. Somehow this man and his piercing blue eyes have turned lasagna into the promise of an orgasm. He snags my hands and moves us toward the couch. I don’t argue. How can I? I’m wet and my nipples ache. I’ve never wanted lasagna so badly in my life, and according to my nose, there is deliciousness in that bag that will extend beyond the food.
We sit down, and he glances over at me, smiles and kisses my cheek. It’s cute and sweet and sexy and just so many things I don’t expect, especially after he just promised to show me skills involving his tongue. The man must keep a jury seduced, confused, and seduced all over again, and in spades.
“You okay with wine?” he asks. “I have water in the fridge under the bar.”
“Wine is fine,” I say and reach for my glass.
He opens the bag. “I have them bring my food in take-out containers,” he says, setting two foil-wrapped bowls on the table, along with a bag of bread. “Otherwise their obsession with picking up the trays becomes incessant.”
Which tells me he’s a private person, focused on his work when he’s here. Or whichever woman is with him, and maybe I’m a fool, but that doesn’t feel like Cole to me. Despite his “I fuck when I want to fuck” comment, I really don’t believe he’s a manwhore any more than I’m easy because I came here tonight.
He offers me a fork. “Try the lasagna.”
“Thank you,” I say, accepting it. “For dinner.”
“Thank you,” he surprises me by saying.
“For what?”
“I needed to slow down. I needed tonight, too.”
He needed tonight, too.
His words seem to hang in the air between us, a confession of sorts, when I don’t think he’s a man of confessions or apologies. I don’t know why he’s allowed me this intimacy, but then, he is intelligent and instinctive. He has to know I’ve allowed him much tonight that I allow no one else. He motions to the food. “Try it,” he says softly, and it’s almost as if he’s not talking about the food, though I don’t know what else he could be talking about.
I nod and take a bite, and an explosion of delicious spices, cheese and tomato sauce awakens my taste buds. “It’s wonderful,” I say. “Amazing, actually.”
“It’s something to look forward to when I’m here,” he says, taking a bite himself.
