CHAPTER 41
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brad DeLuca’s voice boomed through the cell phone’s speaker, Cole wincing and pulling it away from his ear. Cole hadn’t had a clear call since he set foot in Quincy, yet DeLuca’s voice was crystal. A crystal hammer.
“What?” Cole sat up in bed and looked for a clock, his eyes landing on a small silver timepiece, quite possibly the only thing in this damn house that didn’t have a rooster on it. “It’s eight in the morning,” he mumbled.
“I’m well aware of that. And my wife has come three times so far this morning, so get your ass out of bed and be productive.”
“I’m on California time,” Cole mumbled, his eyes closing. Anything to break the view. If he saw one more rooster, he would go insane.
“I was very clear in my instructions to you. You were to go to Quincy and behave. Not run around grabbing the first single woman you find. And then you made her your costar?” The man growled out the last word, and Cole sat up.
“How do you know that? Deadline? Who reported it?” He kicked at the covers to get his legs free. It was probably Perez. That prick had informants coming out of his freshly bleached ass.
“It hasn’t hit any press. But it will. And Nadia’s attorneys will crucify you with it. You can’t put your new girlfriend in the movie that we’re—”
“She’s not my new girlfriend,” he interrupted.
“Sorry. Your new fuck—”
“No,” Cole stopped him. “She’s nothing. I didn’t cast her because I’m fucking her or dating her. I cast her because she is Ida Pinkerton. She’s perfect for the movie; she was born for this role. And she’s cheap. It’s a good decision all around.”
“Perfect for the movie or your cock?”
Cole closed his eyes. “The movie. I listened to you. I’m behaving and focusing on the movie. I haven’t even thought about Nadia since I got here. Everything has been about the movie.”
“Then why, with all of that said, did you kiss her?” DeLuca’s voice was softer, a cushion ready for a confession, soothing undertones hiding the blades he held beneath.
“What?” Cole stood. “Who told you that?”
“That scout told me. We hired him.” Of course they did. Nice to know he had a babysitter.
“The kiss was nothing.” The lie fell easily, so authentic that he believed it himself.
There was enough silence, before DeLuca’s response, that Cole almost doubted his performance. Then the man sighed. “Okay. Good. Keep it that way.”
“Can I go back to bed now?”
The man chuckled. “Sure, pretty boy. At least when you’re sleeping I don’t have to worry about you. But check your email when you wake up. I sent over the response we filed against Nadia. It’s brutal; I’m just going to warn you. We aren’t a cupcake firm… we rip the throats out of our opponents and eat them for breakfast.”
“I don’t want to punish her, I just—”
“We’re only being aggressive about The Fortune Bottle. The response rolls over on the other items, though I think you’re being a fucking saint about it.”
“No, that’s good.” Cole closed his eyes. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Welcome to Team DeLuca.”
Cole smiled. “Talk to you later.”
The call ended, and he dropped the phone against the pillow. The man was the right fit, even if he was a freaking bulldozer. And he was right, Cole shouldn’t have kissed Summer. But he didn’t need DeLuca to tell him that. He’d jacked off three times since yesterday. Couldn’t get the taste of her out of his mouth, no matter how many times he brushed his teeth. Couldn’t get the feel of her waist, the cotton of her dress, off his hands. Last night he had wrapped a T-shirt around his cock and jerked off around it, his mind on the hug of the red fabric to her breasts, the float of the hem when she spun around. If he’d have run his hands up her thighs, it would have lifted up and shown him what she wore beneath.
He closed his eyes. He had to get her out of his mind. He had to stay away from her. At least until filming started and their union was forced. He rolled over on the sheets and vowed to avoid Summer Jenkins at all costs.
Tap.
He lifted a hand and dragged a pillow closer, hugged it to his chest.
Tap.
His eyes opened at the thin, metallic sound.
Tap.
He sat up and looked toward the window, his eyes squinting against the morning sun. The sound repeated, and he confirmed the source, his feet finding the floor and stepping to the window. He pulled aside the curtain and held up a hand against the glare. Another pebble hit the glass, and he fumbled with the latch.
She was throwing rocks at his window. What a cliché thing to do. He realized, in the split second before he opened the pane, that he was smiling, so he schooled his features into a scowl. Pulling the window open, he ducked out, his hands gripping the white sill, his eyes finding the one person he didn’t want to see, standing on the green expanse of lawn, in a green top and white shorts, a wrapped towel held against her shirt. “What?” he called down, his voice coming out irritated and scratchy. Good. Let her know that she’d woken him up. Let her know that she had no positive effect on his mood or demeanor.
“I brought you something.” She held up the towel, and he glared down at it. He couldn’t think of anything he’d want in a towel. Though… maybe it contained breakfast. He was hungry. He’d gone through the kitchen cabinets last night and hadn’t found anything. Another example of how much he needed Justin.
“Is it breakfast?” he called out.
“Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to holler down at me?” she yelled back. A distinct non-answer. He debated, then pulled back, shutting the window, watching Summer as her head dropped, and she headed to the back porch. He reached down for his T-shirt from last night, then thought better of it, moving out the door and down the hall, toward the stairs. If she wanted to barge into a man’s house at eight in the morning, she could suffer the consequences for it.
When he unlocked the kitchen door, he got the full impact of Summer in the morning. Her hair wild and long, curling around the top of her shoulders. The top straps of her bright green tank top had a scalloped edge, the neckline dipping behind the mound of towels in her arm. Her eyes shone playfully at him, her pink lips curved into a playful smile. It was such an unexpected and beautiful combination, so different from the injured girl who had run home yesterday after their kiss. He held open the door and tried to understand what was happening. Her eyes dropped down his bare chest and to the low hang of his boxer briefs, and she blushed, turning her head, her next words directed away from him. “I could have waited for you to get dressed.”
“I don’t think so,” he chuckled, leaning against the doorway. “You were awfully persistent with those rocks.”
She didn’t respond, but the sun’s shine on her flushed cheeks was beautiful.
“You have something for me?” he pushed, trying to see the toweled gift she cupped against her chest.
“Can you put on some pants?” she snapped, looking back at him, her eyebrows raised accusingly. “It’s rude to waltz around with your junk out.”
“Fine.” Cole swung the door shut, the edge not quite sticking, his view of Summer a thin sliver as he grabbed for his jeans, tossed on the kitchen floor last night. He stepped into them and tried to remember why, of all places, the kitchen had been where his pants had come off. Oh. Right. This had been ground zero for the first jack-off session, his eyes on Summer’s house, picturing her returning, catching him with his cock out, eyes closed, her soft gasp and then… he snapped the memory shut, twisting the fly of his jeans shut and returning to the door, swinging it open. God. Another minute of that and he’d have been hard again. “Come on in,” he called.
Her eyes skipped over his body briefly and she stepped inside, apparently approving of his new level of dress. Funny, a fan had never yelled at him to put on clothes. Though Summer wasn’t a fan. She’d made that abundantly clear.
She stopped in the middle of the kitchen and nodded to one of the bar stools. “Sit,” she ordered, the gleam in her eyes back.
He sat, hesitantly, more scared of friendly Summer than he’d been of the hostile version.
“I know last night was a little… rough. So I wanted to come over and give you a housewarming present.” She beamed, but didn’t set the towel down.
“A housewarming present,” he said slowly.
“Yes. To mend the fences. Between you and I,” she clarified, like he was a complete idiot.
“You want to kiss and make up,” he risked.
She glared at him, but he saw the laugh in her eyes. Oh… so many different pieces to this woman. “In a metaphorical sense. But what I said yesterday—”
“I got it,” he interrupted. “No kisses. You don’t like that.”
Her forehead scrunched in an odd fashion. “Right.”
“So what is it?” He gestured toward the wrapped bundle before he lost all patience and swept her onto the counter. The package, he meant. Before he swept the package on the counter.
“Oh, right!” She stepped forward and gently set down the towel on the counter, parting it in careful motions, as Cole leaned forward. When the head popped out, in one quick jerk, he jumped back with a curse, the stool flipping out from underneath him, his hands trying to grip the counter for balance, then he fell back, his ass hitting the tile floor hard, with a smack hard enough to make him yelp.
There was a quiet pause from behind the counter, then Summer’s head came cautiously over its edge, mirroring the actions of the tiny baby chick that wobbled out from the towel’s bed and looked down at Cole.