CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Lori
Determined to make things right with Cole, I slip into the backseat of the car to find him on the phone. “Tell her I’ll call her from the plane when I have time and privacy.” He listens a moment, “Right,” he says, leaning forward to tap the driver’s seat. “I’ll text you.” He settles back in his seat, and disconnects his call, looking over at me. “That was Ashley calling from Paris again,” he says, his stare cool but not cold. “Our new client is freaking out and wants to talk to me.”
“Do you know any more details about why the police are questioning her?” I ask, relieved at how easily we slide right back into work.
“Not yet,” he says, “but once I talk to her, I’m going to call the lead on the case, and back him off until tomorrow.”
“Are you for sure taking the case?” I ask, thinking of his vow to only represent the innocent. “Do you know her well enough to assume her innocence?”
“Not even close,” he says, “but at this point, she’s not being charged, and based on my history with her father, I feel an obligation to at least ensure whatever happens is fair and honest. Once we get to Los Angeles, we’ll analyze her story, the facts, and law enforcement’s motives, and choose our position going forward.”
His cell phone rings and he glances at the number, “Reese,” he tells me before answering.
I listen to them talk about the trip, and the party right up to the point that we pull up in front of a high-rise off Central Park. “I need to go,” he says to Reese. “I’ll check in tomorrow.” He disconnects but doesn’t look at me. “I’ll be a few minutes.”
He opens his door and leaves with no invitation for me to follow, and just like that I’m left inside the car, on the outside of his world. Proof that no matter how much he’s included me in a work conversation, he’s now excluding me personally. He’s sending me a message. He’s pursued me. He’s made it clear he wants me. I’ve pushed him away, and finally, he’s going to let me win. He’s done. We’re done. Funny how you don’t know how much you want something until it’s dangling in sight but out of reach. Only he’s not out of reach yet, I remind myself, but he will be if I don’t do something now. I got in the car with a purpose, to mend our broken pieces, and now I need to get out to finish that mission.
I open the door and exit, heading inside the building, where I step onto shiny gray tiled floors with dangling lights overhead and I glance around at the clusters of leather seats here and there that I barely register. I’m looking for Cole and I don’t see him or much of anyone else for that matter. I really need to get to Cole, and for unexplainable reasons, time feels important. My attention turns to the security station between me and the elevator banks, and I hurry in that direction, trying not to run, but adrenaline is driving me hard and fast. “Excuse me,” I say to the tall, lanky man manning the post. “Can you please call Cole Brooks and tell him that Lori wants to come up?”
“Of course, miss.”
He picks up his phone and punches in a few numbers, listens, and then shakes his head. “No answer.”
“He just went up,” I say. “I was in his car waiting on him, but I need to go up and give him something he forgot. Can you try again or call his cell phone? Or I can call his cell phone and hand the call to you?”
He looks like he might argue, but he picks up the phone again, punches in those few numbers and then thankfully, he says, “Yes, Mr. Brooks. There’s a woman here that would like to come up. A Ms.—” He pauses. “Yes. Of course.” He hangs up. “The twenty-third floor, number 2311.”
“Thank you,” I say, nerves erupting in my belly as I turn away and head past him to the bank of elevators, four on either side of me, and punch the call button about six times.
The doors to one of cars opens and I rush inside. I hit floor twenty-three and if I could pace in the small space, I’d pace. I try to think of what I’m going to say when I get to Cole’s door, but my mind just isn’t producing anything. It appears I’m just going to go with whatever comes out of my mouth, which isn’t the normal way I like to operate, but I’ll make it work. The car ticks by floor after floor until finally I arrive at twenty-three. I’m at the doors waiting for them to open, when they finally part to allow my exit, and the minute I’m able, I step off, picking my direction, and my God, no wonder he didn’t answer the first call from security; he’s way at the end of the never-ending hallway.
It goes on and on, but finally, I’m at the door, and there is a doorbell that I push. Cole opens the door almost immediately—looking every bit the sexy businessman barbarian, with his jacket and tie now gone. How could I not want this man? He backs up in silent invitation and allows me to enter. I step forward, onto a dark gray, almost black floor, into a foyer with a dangling light, the spicy, alluring, wonderful scent of Cole everywhere, consuming me the way he consumes me. He shuts the door behind me and I whirl around to face him.
“Lance means nothing to me,” I say, getting right to the point.
“You want to do this right here?” he challenges, his eyes sharp, hard.
“Yes, actually, I do. Because you’re not hearing me. Lance means nothing to me,” I repeat. “When I left him, I felt no regrets. In fact, and it is a fact, I felt more regret turning down your offer of coffee than I did when I left him. I hated the morning I left your hotel room alone. I hated making you stay in the car like you just made me stay in the car.”
“You drew a line in the sand back at your apartment that was pretty damn wide and defined. As in, we fucked. Now we work together. The end.”
“No. No, that is not what I want. I didn’t want you to take me to my apartment or go inside my apartment for what should be obvious reasons.” I hold out my hands. “I didn’t want you at my place. You live here, and I live—you saw where I live.”
“I don’t care where you live.”
“I do,” I say. “I don’t want you to see that part of my life. I really, really didn’t want you to see it when I left that hotel room, but at least now, I have a path forward. But I will not ever be the woman you see as a money grabber or charity case. I won’t. That’s not what I want to be to you. That’s not what I want from you.”
I blink, and he’s dragged me to him, his hand is under my hair, on my neck, and his legs pressed to mine. “What do you want from me?” he demands.
“I want you to kiss me,” I say, desperate for his mouth on my mouth.
“What do you want from me, Lori?”
“I want it to be okay to still want you tomorrow. I want—”
“More,” he says. “That’s the only acceptable answer for me right now. I want you too much for any other option to work for me. It’s all or nothing. Now, finish that sentence. What do you want from me?”
“More,” I whisper. “I do. I want more, so much more.”
His mouth closes down on mine, a crash of passion and demand that is everything I need, and I do need. I didn’t want to, but I do, and I don’t fight it. I tug at his shirt and he tugs at mine. It’s a matter of seconds and I’m shirtless, braless, and pressed against the wall, and I’ve brilliantly managed to get his shirt off. Or maybe he just took it off. I don’t care. He’s closer to naked, and so am I. His fingers tangle in my hair, rough, erotic, and I think of that spanking; of me laying naked across his lap, right at the same moment that he’s tugging at my nipple, and I moan into his mouth.
He responds with a low guttural sound, impatiently working the snap and zipper on my jeans. “Why didn’t I do this while you were still in the damn dress?” he growls, nipping my lip as if punishing me for changing clothes, and then kissing away the pain, until I’m left panting when he’s going down on a knee. His mouth settles on my belly with a lick of his tongue following, where he lingers just long enough to drive me insane. I want his hand, his mouth. I want him inside me.
His hands finally move, sliding under the denim of my jeans, and impatience in his touch again as he drags them down, wraps his arms around my hips and lifts me, freeing my feet. The minute I’m back on the ground, his hands grip my ankles and he licks my clit, sending a wave of sensation through my body, before he’s back on his feet, and I really don’t know how it happens, but his pants are shoved down, and he’s rolling on a condom. Smart, I decide, since I can’t remember how long it takes to be safe on the pill. I didn’t care. I was in a sex-free zone I’m no longer in. Cole cups my backside with one hand, and his fingers of his other hand tighten in my hair. “I don’t share, sweetheart. All or nothing, means it’s all me. That’s where we’re at or there is nothing beyond this fuck.”
“I don’t want anyone else, Cole. I just want you. And I—”
His mouth crashes down on mine, his tongue pressing past my teeth, stroking me until I’m mindless. We are all over each other, touching and kissing, and I barely register the moment he lifts me.
“Damn it, woman, you are going to be the death of me,” he groans, and then somehow, he’s inside me. Oh God. Yes. He’s inside me, stretching me, filling me—hard and thick and—his arms wrap my waist and he steps back, away from the wall, my legs instinctively wrapping his waist. And then he’s pulling me down on top of him, and driving into me again, all in one fierce move, and I should fear I’ll fall, but I don’t. I never feel fear with Cole. I never feel regret unless I walk away. His fingers spread between my shoulder blades, his powerful body, thrusting, pumping, his hot gaze raking over my breasts, and I’m lost. The only time I’m lost and still found is with Cole. The only person who has ever made me feel like I won’t fall is Cole.
I hold onto him, I push against him, I let go, and just feel this man, and need this man. I don’t want this to end and yet, I don’t just need him. I need the way his gaze rakes hotly over my breasts. I need what every rough thrust, every touch promises. It comes at me with a hard pump of his hips, and a stroke of his cock that drives me over the edge. I cry out and stiffen, tumbling over the edge, release quaking my entire body, my sex clenching. Cole lets out a low, rough, groan that is so damn sexy, I feel that sound in every part of my body, and I watch the hard edges of his face distort and shift, ease with fierce masculine beauty, until his body begins to relax.
He pulls me close and just holds me for long seconds, still standing, holding my weight and his. Slowly, he lowers me, burying his face in my neck, as I do his chest. And now we’re in those moments after the passion when words matter. When what we say next will either keep us together or push us apart.