Chapter Fourteen
She stood under the hot water for a long time, reveling in the scent of the floral soaps and shampoos that apparently came in ridiculously expensive, paid-in-cash hotel rooms, and thought of Cole. How he’d brought her here, so urgently, just to get her off the street. The way his jaw had worked back and forth when he’d talked about his ex-whatever-she-was, and the hurt in his eyes when he’d admitted he’d left Kenzie in the dark, just like his sister had done to him. How he’d truly thought he had to face this alone.
He didn’t. And maybe she was crazy to volunteer to help, but she needed this put to bed as much as he did. She couldn’t live looking over her shoulder, wondering when the next attack was coming. If they had a shot at breaking free of this mess, she would take it.
She forgave him for holding his secrets, because she believed he hadn’t known another way until now. She was with him, and an unsteadiness filled her now, just as it had when she’d made that declaration. She was being pulled in two different directions—toward danger, and uncertainty, and a smart, sweet man who was willing to give up everything to protect her. And toward her home.
She didn’t belong here, with all the lights, and noise, and people. She belonged in Ambrose, with her family, and her restaurant—what was left of it. She hadn’t anticipated feeling this way for Cole. The last time she’d felt anything remotely this serious she’d had her heart stomped on. She’d almost given up everything she cared about and walked straight into the unknown guided only by a husband—half in love with her, half in love with himself—and enough hormones to single-handedly win a war.
She needed to keep her feet on the ground—she was an adult now, not the lovesick teenager who’d fallen for Levi—but the truth was she was in deeper than she’d thought. Seeing Cole’s ex, thinking they were still together, had wounded her. Learning they weren’t had been a relief. She hadn’t meant to hurt Cole when she’d told him no one had to know what they’d done. She’d only said that because . . .
She’d thought it would make it easier to leave.
But she couldn’t leave without taking care of this, and every second that passed brought on a growing sense of urgency. Every emotion was magnified. Every part of her felt over-sensitive. Her pulse beat too fast. Her skin felt too tender.
The things she felt for Cole had been magnified, and were getting stronger.
She didn’t want to leave. Right now she wished time would slow, and give her a chance to live. To be with him before they had to face their fates.
She’d never been so desperate to hang onto the things she had right now.
Shutting off the shower, she reached for one of the plush towels and wrapped it around herself. Her hair was dark brown, but wet it looked nearly black, making her purple streak, her mark of loyalty, stand out that much more.
His voice in the other room drew her attention. She cracked the door, listening through the dark bedroom to the living area.
“. . . let you know I found your sister. She’s okay. Just a little shaken-up. I’ll have her call you later.”
A stretch of silence, and then Cole said good-bye.
He’d called Garrett. She could only imagine how pissed her brother would be when they talked later. If he’d called saying someone was following him and then lost the connection, she’d probably blow a gasket.
But despite this, the thought of Garrett and Cole talking softened her a little.
Movement from behind drew her attention higher on the mirror. Cole had come into the bedroom, and when he caught her gaze reflected in the glass through the crack in the door, he stopped short.
“Sorry. I thought . . .” His gaze lingered. Gone was the boyish charm from the previous night when he’d said she was beautiful. This stare was heavy and heated, sliding over her nearly naked body like a physical touch.
In an instant, she felt grounded, her head quiet, her pulse fast but steady. He couldn’t possibly be aware of how much he affected her, and how much she needed it.
As if suddenly realizing he’d found himself in the wrong place, he cleared his throat and averted his eyes.
“Sorry,” he said. But he didn’t walk away.
Soon he was looking at her again.
She loosened the towel, and then lowered it one inch at a time, revealing her chest and her stomach before letting the towel fall to the floor. Forcing her hands to stay down at her sides took a colossal effort. He may have only seen a sliver of her—her front in the mirror, her back through the door—but she’d never felt more exposed.
No one had rejected her since Levi; she’d been with other men, but no one she’d let close enough to hurt her. But Cole could end this right now. He could turn her down, leave her vulnerable. He could walk away and break her, and even if she got up again, she’d never be the same.
Slowly, his gaze lowered, drinking her in. He stepped closer.
“Kenzie?”
There were a dozen questions in that single word, and her heart ached for all of them. He’d been hurt. He’d been left. He didn’t trust what she was trying to tell him—that this was okay. That she wanted him to look. That she wouldn’t hurt him.
That she wouldn’t disappear again.
Her answer to it all was a small smile.
He returned it, though looked no less skeptical than before. One step at a time, he moved toward the door, finally pushing it open. The hinge squeaked a little, but he didn’t seem to notice. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her breath coming in fast, shallow gasps. How he couldn’t sense the urgency was beyond her. She could hardly hold still.
This was what she needed. This. She prayed he needed it, too.
The cool bedroom air on her damp body brought waves of tightness over her skin. Water dripped from her hair, gathered over one shoulder. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples already hard. She was shaking, though not from the cold. Just from the way he looked at her.
No one had ever looked at her like that before.
The white-framed mirror provided a strange separation, as if she were on display and he was looking at her through glass. It was nerve-racking, and thrilling, and erotic. A heavy ache began to pulse between her thighs, desire searing through the floor of her belly. She felt self-conscious, aware of every twist and turn of her flesh, every curve and swell. He took in all of it, lingering on her breasts and her ass and the backs of her thighs. Staring in wonder at every perfect imperfection that made her her.
She was not built like a model, but she’d never wanted to be. This was the body she’d been given, and she embraced it. Never would she be with a man who didn’t appreciate that, but when she’d seen Candi, formed differently than her in so many ways, she’d faltered. Now she could see that those insecurities were trivial. Cole hungered for her. He took her power, and as the lust darkened his eyes, he returned it, transformed. She wasn’t carefree, flirty Kenzie now. She couldn’t dance through this like she had in the past. She was a siren, brimming with need, drawing him closer with only the subtle shift of her hips, wanting him more with each second he delayed.
Feather-soft, his fingertips found the base of her neck and lowered, tracing the length of her spine between her shoulder blades. It was only the barest touch, but it was enough to shock her system, and she gasped and gripped the marble edge of the countertop. Her shoulders pulled back, making a valley for his hand, a path down the length of her back to the top of her pelvis, where he stopped, and continued his journey around her hip.
His other hand joined in, skimming her waist, rising over her ribs beneath her breasts. Heat followed his touch, sinking into her muscles. Widening her grip on the counter, she gave him more room, allowing his exploration to continue around the outsides of her breasts, and soon she was whimpering, and trembling with the effort it took to hold still.
“Talk to me,” he said. “When you’re quiet, I think too much.”
Her breath came out in a huff.
“I can’t.” She laughed, but it was shallow and short-lived.
Her nipples were taut, and as his thumb brushed over one she felt a sudden electric shock bolt straight through her core to her center. She gave a weak cry, arms bracing, legs beginning to wobble.
“Like that,” he whispered, leaning closer. “Talk to me like that.”
The pressure of him against her back was a relief, and she arched into him, feeling the thin fabric of his shirt and its buttons. The pressure of his belt and his cock, hard and straining against his dress pants.
His hands cupped her breasts, holding her tight for just a moment before drawing outward. His thumbs grazed the hard peaks, and she melted into that touch with a low moan. Finding her mouth, his fingers dragged over her lips, encouraging her to open, to bite him, to suck him inside and hollow her cheeks.
His other arm lowered, latching around her waist and jerking her body flush against his. Then he stilled, resting his forehead against her shoulder, his staggered breath hot on her skin. It was the first time he’d taken his eyes off of hers, and she felt a sudden, overwhelming need for him to look again.
Wildly, she thrust her hips back into his. His gaze shot up, finding hers in the mirror. His eyes were dark, his stare potent. While he watched her, his mouth lowered to the curve of her neck, and she tilted her head to give him better access.
His teeth dragged along the side of her throat, igniting every nerve in her body. She rocked against him again, trying to show him what she wanted. Trying to tell him what words couldn’t. The sounds she made were breathy and strained. Groans and half-crazed pleas. He sucked the skin below her ear, and licked beneath her jaw, any semblance of innocence, of the sweet man he’d been before, buried beneath his own need.
“Cole.” Her head dropped forward as the arm bracing her against him lowered. His fingers skimmed the top of her dark curls, giving her a breath, just one breath, before dipping one finger between her thighs.
Pleasure shot through her, a burst of heat that centered every bit of her focus to the place he touched. She bucked against him, crazy, even as he was steady and controlled.
“Open,” he said quietly, and she did, enough so that his whole hand could cup her wet, swollen skin.
She twisted and cried out. With one hand she reached overhead, fisting his hair. His glasses went crooked. He gave a hiss as she gripped harder, and then rocked his hips against her.
Without words, she could only nod, and he did it again, his hardness against her ass, his hand pressing against her pussy. By the time his finger slid inside, she could already feel the pressure spiraling deep into her pelvis. The heel of his hand brushed her clit, but it wasn’t enough. She ground against it, telling him more, and needing more, and when he asked, “Like that?” she shuddered in his arms.
Another finger inside her, twisting, rubbing. The friction of his palm. A pinch on her nipple, and his wet kisses on her neck. Perspiration dampened her skin. He rocked against her in time with his hand, and it was almost enough.
She wanted more.
She always wanted more with him.
But just as she was grasping for the words to say this, his hand moved faster, and they slipped out of reach. With a stunted cry she fell over the edge, a thousand sparks detonating across her body, flexing every muscle down her limbs. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. There was only heat and electricity. His fingers, fast and rougher than before. The wet sound they made, and his harsh, labored breath.
“I feel it,” he said roughly. “I can feel you coming.”
She felt light. Her knees gave way, and her hand on the counter slipped. He caught her before she fell, turning her quickly in his arms, and then lifting her like he had the night before when he’d carried her to the couch.
Through her daze, she felt his lips on hers, the rasp of his tongue against her teeth. He kissed her with everything he had, and she felt it all the way down to her quaking bones.
Kneeling on the bed, he laid her down, coming over her, the weight of his body exactly right. The pressure of him there, between her legs, drawing all her attention. Even now it was too good. Even after he’d reduced her to a mindless puddle. He kissed her cheeks, and her forehead, and the tip of her nose, but when she reached for his belt, he moved just out of reach.
“I want you,” she said.
He paused, closing his eyes for just a moment, a pained expression flashing across his face.
“I need you,” she said. The tightness was coming back. The want for him, there, inside her. It evaporated the heat that had filled her body only moments ago, leaving behind smoke and desire.
He kissed her neck, and her collarbone, and her shoulder. She forgot herself as he took her breasts in his hands and squeezed, watching his face as he licked and sucked each peak into his mouth. He used his teeth just enough to make her arch and groan, and when he nuzzled against her chest, the rough stubble on his chin brought her nerves to a raw edge.
He was driving her crazy.
Lower he moved, kissing her belly, her hipbones, his shoulders rising with each breath. The comforter was cool beneath her back, his covered body warm on her front. She rose on her elbows to watch him, overcome by his diligent attention. He had too many clothes on. How did he have all his clothes on when she was completely naked?
“Can I kiss you here?” He trailed one finger over her, pushing just inside so that her answer turned to a pleading cry.
What he wanted was personal, and intimate, and something she rarely allowed. With Cole, she wanted that closeness. To unravel in his hands.
“Yes,” she breathed.
He pulled back, just enough to kiss the top of her knee, then the inside of her calf. His glasses brushed against her knee, then rested a little crooked on his face. Her legs trembled as she rose onto her elbows.
“You’ll tell me what you like?”
“I think you already know.”
He kissed his way up her inner thigh, closer to where she needed him. Her quick, shallow gasps were the only sounds in the room.
“Tell me,” he said. “I want it to be right.”
Right.
She reached for his jaw, cradling his face in her hand. In the dim light from the bathroom his gaze was hidden behind his glasses, impossible to read, and she had a sudden, thrilling realization that she had Clark Kent between her thighs.
“It’s right,” she managed.
He nodded once.
Anxiety blossomed in her chest, all of this catching up with her at once. She was never nervous with men. It had always just been physical. Fun. Easy. Never this important. Her hand lowered from his face as his fingers skimmed beneath her thighs, alighting her skin with goose bumps.
“You are everything I want,” he said.
Her heart thudded against her chest. She didn’t know how to respond. She wasn’t even entirely sure she remembered how to breathe.
He kissed her gently, mouth closed, on the rise of her hip, and then lower, spreading her legs, to look, and touch, and explore. At first, his mouth was soft, but as the tension built again his pace quickened. His kisses became heavier. His fingers opened her for long strokes of his tongue, and then flicked over her clit with just enough pressure to have her back bowing off the mattress.
“Yes?” he asked.
“That,” she said. “Don’t stop.”
He held her against him as she thrashed, gripping the covers to anchor herself. He licked her and kissed her, and she watched, unable to look away from the movement of his head and the way he closed his eyes. He groaned, and she could feel it, and it set off fireworks everywhere he touched.
“Your hand,” she said. “Touch me.”
He did. His fingers skimmed her wet, sensitive skin, then pushed inside. Curling. Dragging her closer to the fire.
“Talk to me,” he muttered, but her words didn’t make any sense. She could only gasp, and moan, and cry out as the first wave slammed into her. Heat flexed its fist, again, again, sending shocks of pleasure racing up her spine and through her legs. Her feet arched, heels digging into the bed. Colors raged behind her tightly closed lids. It went on and on, until finally she begged him to stop.
“Too much,” she panted.
He pulled back, kissing her thigh, and she collapsed, liquid and pliable.
“Good?” he asked.
She tried to answer, but all that came out was a satisfied hum.
He spread her legs wide, and dipped down again. Her eyes shot open. She was already too sensitive, and when he licked her, long strokes with the back of his tongue, every nerve went haywire. She tried to push him away, heels dragging down his back, but then locked him closer with her calves. It wasn’t enough. She needed more. She needed him.
“Cole,” she begged.
Two fingers filled her, and then he was fucking her with his hand, rough, hard strokes that matched each drag of his tongue across her clit. Faster he licked, turning his head and then kissing her there. Kissing her the way he’d kissed her mouth. Lovingly. Desperately. His teeth grazing her lips. His tongue plunging and swirling, lashing at her cunt. She became pure sensation, aware of nothing but the chase. She was close. Close. And then there.
She arched back, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. It was more than intense. Every part of her seemed to break apart into a million pieces. She couldn’t hold herself together. Her heart felt like it might explode.
Her cry broke into a sob.
And then it hit her.
Every sharp edge she’d sanded down.
Every fear she’d tucked away.
Levi, and her grandparents, and Ben Singer breaking into her house and tying her up. The explosion in the diner, and the gripping fear that she might burn with it. The woman following her from the Aria.
Cole, pulling her from the diner.
Cole, holding her while she slept.
Cole, searching for her. Finding her. Protecting her.
“Kenzie?” He crawled up beside her. Her breath came in hard pulls. She covered her face again, finding it wet with tears. A knot of emotion had tied in her chest, thick and hot.
“Talk to me.” His voice was tight with worry. He pulled her close, and after a moment of stiffness she melted into him. His fingers stroked up and down her back. She listened to his heart, thumping hard against his ribs, and felt her own finally settle.
He kissed the top of her head and waited, patient as ever. She both wanted and didn’t want to say the words out loud. It would make them real, and even more terrifying.
She wondered if this was what he felt every time he went quiet.
“You make me feel everything,” she said.
He held her tighter, and all the pieces that had scattered drew slowly back in place.
“It’s the same for me,” he said.
Harder, her heart beat.
For a while there was only quiet—like the diner before the morning rush, or a summer night outside her grandpa’s house. She shifted in Cole’s arms to nuzzle against his neck. He smelled like soap, something masculine and clean, and she was reminded of the first night they’d met, when they’d kneeled together on the floor of Flapjacks.
Her hand came to his chest, feeling his heartbeat, and his fingers traced around her wrist, the pink scars that stood out against her tan forearms.
“He was looking for Cassie,” she said. “Ben Singer. The guy who broke in.”
Cole stiffened, his hand growing still.
“He said he was with the police, and when I told him he’d need a warrant, he kicked the door down. We fought—I got him pretty good in the face. In the end, he tied me up and threw me in the bathtub.”
Cole pulled her a little closer.
“He broke my grandma’s clock,” she said. “One of those big grandfather clocks. I was so pissed.”
“Is that all he did?” Cole asked quietly.
A shiver worked through her as she remembered his heavy hand against the side of her face. He hadn’t even worn a mask—she kept thinking that was stupid. When it was over, she was going to report him to the cops.
She never did.
“That’s all.” Once he had her tied up she’d been so afraid he’d try something else. She would have died before she’d let that happen.
“He’s in jail now,” Cole said, his voice low. “His trial’s coming up soon. If you wanted to serve as a witness, it would help the prosecution.”
The thought of putting Ben Singer away for good brought on a sense of power, of rightness, she hadn’t felt since he’d barged into her life. She wouldn’t wake up at night swearing he was right outside her bedroom, or stare at the bathtub for minutes on end, just . . . remembering. She could move on.
But there were consequences against testifying against a man like him. He was deeply entrenched in the wrong kind of business, and even if she didn’t know all the details, she knew pissing him off wasn’t a smart move.
“Unless Cassie is, I’m not,” she said. “I can’t testify against him unless I say why he was in Ambrose, which tells everyone Cassie was hiding from where she is—or was, anyway. So as far as anyone’s concerned, it didn’t happen.”
He laid his cheek against the top of her head. “But it did happen.”
“It happened,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you because . . . I don’t know. Because I didn’t give her up, not even when he . . .” Her eyes pinched closed. She could feel the gun against her chest, moving up her neck to her temple. Make the right decision, Singer had said. Your life or hers.
“I didn’t give her up,” she said more forcefully. “And if it comes to it, I won’t give you up, either.”
They faced so many uncertainties. Lynch and the men who’d burned down the diner. The police, who might not help. At any point they could be discovered and punished for the things August Talent had set in motion.
But she would protect him, like he would protect her.
“Kenzie,” he said quietly. He might have wanted to say more, and though normally she would have paid cold hard cash to hear it, she couldn’t keep talking about this.
“I’m starving,” she said. “I bet this place has a great mini bar. I call the honey-roasted peanuts.” She sat up, slipping from his arms, which dropped into his lap. It took him until she’d found a robe in the closet and tied it around her waist to snap out of it.
He moved to the edge of the bed. “I forgot. I ordered food.”
“You did?” She’d never heard such glorious news in her life. Her stomach rumbled just at the mention of it.
“I didn’t know what you’d want.”
She made a face. If that meant he’d only gotten something for himself, she was going to have to punch him in the throat. Or at least stomp on his toes.
Making her way out into the living area, she found a metal cart, two shelves of which were covered with silver-hooded plates.
Apparently he’d gotten enough for both of them. And also the rest of the people on this floor. Again, she remembered the way he’d paid in cash for the room, and wondered how he was funding this retreat if not from the sale of one of his restaurants.
Cole came in beside her, close enough to touch. He didn’t, though, and she was glad. She’d laid her heart out back there, and if he tried to do something sweet now, who knew what she’d do.
“It might be cold,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. She loved the way he did that. She loved the way his hair was all messed up and he didn’t seem to notice.
She loved a little too much about him.
“I’ll forgive you,” she said. “You were distracted.”
“Yes,” he agreed, though he was still frowning a little, and that wasn’t helping her nerves.
She opened one of the hoods, finding a short stack of silver-dollar pancakes. They were topped with a dollop of whipped cream that had melted a little. Her eyes rounded.
“I’m sure they’re not as good as you could make,” he said. “If you want something else, I can call downstairs.”
She tore off an edge of one of the pancakes with her fingers and nibbled on the tip. He’d gotten her flapjacks. He’d pulled her from a parking garage and brought her to this hotel and given her three incredible orgasms and gotten her food that reminded her of home.
This was getting more complicated by the second.
She opened another hood, finding blueberry pancakes drizzled with blueberry compote. Another plate had banana pancakes with granola. Another had crepes. Another, chocolate pancakes with white icing.
“It’s just occurring to me that you might actually be sick of flapjacks after working at the diner so long,” he said, lines forming between his brows. “I probably should have asked.”
She turned to him, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and kissed him.
She didn’t stop kissing him until his arms came around her waist, his shoulders dropped, and he sighed against her mouth.
“What’d you get for yourself?” she asked, dropping back down to her heels.
“Honey-roasted peanuts?”
She laughed and pulled the cart toward one of the chairs, then pushed another to the opposite side. Then she sat, and focused her efforts on not cramming everything in her face like a wild, starving animal.
“You’re going to give me a complex if you don’t eat something,” she said, eyes nearly rolling back in her head as she took a bite of chocolate pancake. She was seriously going to have to replicate that when she rebuilt the restaurant.
“I was thinking about my sister,” he said.
She nodded. “What every woman wants to hear from her lover.”
At the word lover she felt her cheeks heat a little. Hopefully he didn’t notice. It was true, but it was also new, and she didn’t know how he was going to take it.
“Did you really tell her about us?” he asked.
She cocked a brow. “Maybe?”
He caught her gaze, and she relaxed when he smiled.
“She told me about Cole Enterprises.”
His eyes closed. An embarrassed groan escaped his lips.
It was hotter than he’d probably intended.
“She told me about college, too,” she said. “That’s amazing. I didn’t know you went to England for a master’s program.”
He picked up a fork, focusing on a pancake.
“International business.”
“Does that help the restaurant stuff?”
He shrugged. “A little. I never planned on owning a restaurant.”
No, of course he hadn’t. He’d only taken over because Cassie had left so unexpectedly.
“What did you want to do?”
“Small business development. Grassroots stuff.” He scoffed. “Apparently it didn’t really pay off. I was doing a terrible job with Raw until you came along.”
“Things are better now?”
His eyes brightened behind those thick plastic frames. “Thanks to you. I can’t wait for you to see it.”
But she wouldn’t see it. She could barely leave the hotel room without thinking she was followed. Soon enough, she’d be going home.
“Yeah,” she said. “I can’t wait.”
When she looked up, he was watching her.
“Tell me about Ambrose.”
“What about it?”
“Why do you love it so much?”
It was a simple question, born from curiosity. She didn’t get the sense he was making fun of her small town.
“Because it’s home,” she said.
“Why?”
She tapped her fork thoughtfully against the edge of the cart. “Because I feel right when I’m there.”
There, and here, with you.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “In the summer there’s a farmer’s market every Thursday. The whole town comes out to visit. The Amish come and bring pies. We close early because there’s always music and dancing.”
He sat back in his seat, grinning.
“You dance?”
“Of course I dance,” she said. “Everybody does. Margaret, who owns the Clothes Horse. Katie from the wine shop. Mrs. Rogers, although though she’s about a million years old. Even Cassie.”
He was smiling fully now, and for a second, she forgot what she was talking about.
“There’s a movie theater across from my apartment in town that shows black-and-white movies on Monday nights, and the Boy Scouts always sell Christmas trees at the VFW in the winter. And there’s a huge light display in town on the first of December. Everyone gets into it. Hot chocolate and sleigh rides. The works. You have to come. You’d love it.”
His smile dropped a little.
“Too soon?” she asked, forcing a laugh. Before he could answer, she rolled on. “Then there’s the diner. I have big plans for this renovation.”
He gave a slow, wary nod. “Renovation.”
“That’s right,” she said, pushing away the memory of her diner burned down to a black skeleton. “It’s going to fix a lot of the financial issues we’ve had lately.”
He nodded in a knowing way, making her wonder if he’d encountered the same with his own restaurant experience.
“Well?”
She grinned. “Okay. Picture this. We change the theme from fifties to movies. We coordinate with the theater to offer discount tickets on the nights we do themed dinners. Like when they play the Avengers movies we could do Captain America pancakes with red and blue berries and whipped cream, and Iron Man omelets, and Hulk ham and eggs. I know it’s a little cheesy, but—”
“People like cheesy,” he said, leaning forward. “You could do Jedi jambalaya and Rebel Alliance ravioli when they do more Star Wars movies.”
“Yes!” She slapped her fork against a plate and then cringed at the resounding clang. “And then for the classic movies we could do themes, too, like Cuban sandwiches for Guys and Dolls.”
“Something for kids?”
“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes. “Ice cream sundaes for when they show Frozen. Spaghetti and meatballs for Lady and the Tramp. Ratatouille for Ratatouille. I know the owner of the theater; I went to high school with his granddaughter. I think he’d totally be on board. What do you think?”
It mattered what he thought, she realized. It shouldn’t have, maybe, but it did.
“It’s great,” he said. “Perfect for a small community. There are logistics issues, of course. Rebranding is a big deal, but I could help. With the financial planning, too.” He looked at her again, in that way that made it hard to focus. “If that’s what you wanted.”
“Are you kidding? That would be awesome.” She threw her hands up, praising the god of hot business-degree holders. “Thank you.”
“Of course. I owe you, remember?”
That took a little of the wind out of her sails.
“Just pay for my new restaurant with all that cash you’ve got lying around and we’ll call it even.”
She’d meant it as a joke.
It went over a like a ton of bricks.
He sighed, tucking his top lip between his teeth.
“I don’t normally have this much cash,” he said. “It’s sort of a long story.”
“Ooh.” She took another bite. “Did you win big at blackjack?”
He shook his head.
She lowered her voice. “Are you a stripper? Because let’s be honest, I’d bring a lot of dollar bills to that show.”
“In exchange for my dad to set up the meeting, I need to pay off the family of a guy he’s locked up with.” Cole flattened his hands on his thighs. “It ensures his protection.”
She sat back. Set her fork down. She wasn’t so hungry all of a sudden.
“You haven’t done it yet.”
“Not yet,” Cole said. “I’d just gotten it from the petty cash fund when Garrett called to say you were missing. I’ll take it to the family when the meeting’s set.”
“You sure you can trust your dad? I mean, no offense, but he’s in jail for a reason.”
He turned toward her, taking her hands in his. “He’ll never set the meeting if I can’t give him something in return. That’s the way he works. If he thinks I’m not good for it, he’ll turn on me. That’s what he does to everyone.”
She stared at him, her stomach tight, awed by the pieces he’d put in place even while they made her more afraid. “You’ve been making a lot of deals to try to keep me safe.”
His head fell forward. His grip on her hands loosened, but she didn’t let go. She squeezed until he looked up again.
“You make deals to keep people safe every day. That’s why you won’t testify against Ben Singer, isn’t it? Why you haven’t called insurance to tell them I was there the day the diner burned.”
“That’s different.” But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t. She had the power to make sure Ben Singer stayed in jail for a long, long time. And telling the insurance company that Cole had been at Flapjacks the morning it burned and the night before would provide proof she didn’t set the fire herself.
“I’m falling for you,” he said.
She stopped short.
He looked to the side, wincing. When he turned back, there was a steel resolve in his eyes. “I lost Marsi. I have no idea where Elaina is. I won’t risk anything when it comes to you.”
“Cole.”
“I know you have a home, Kenzie. And that’s fine. You can go, and I won’t stop you. But while you’re here, with me, I’m going to do everything I can to make you safe.”