“I’m here right now.” A woman I didn’t know, one who had hidden inside of me for a long time, stood up, emboldened by the look in his eyes, by his words. I reached up and undid the top button of my shirt, then the second, his eyes closing for a minute before he reached forward.
“Stop.” His hands closed on mine, and they were so warm, so strong. I looked up into his face, which was tight with regret. “Not here. I did a half-ass job with you last time. I’m not making that mistake again.”
I digested the words, then slowly nodded. “It was pretty half-ass.”
He laughed. “Easy, Country. You’re dealing with a movie star. We’re known to have fragile egos.”
I pulled my hands free and reached for my buttons, but he brushed my hands aside, his fingers doing the job, the simple act of a man buttoning up my shirt causing something in me to weaken. “Why are you suddenly being nice to me?” I didn’t look at him when I asked the question. I couldn’t.
His hands lifted from my top button and cupped my face, turning it up, forcing the connection of our eyes. “I broke something over a man’s head when I caught him fucking my wife.” He shrugged. “Maybe you and I are more similar than I thought.”
“Not likely.”
He pulled forward with his hands and brought my mouth to his in a kiss completely different than the others—a quiet and soft kiss, one that tasted me and then let go, my eyes still closed when his hands left my face. “Don’t push me away, Summer,” he said. “Right now, you need a friend.”
“A friend.” I opened my eyes, and he was right there, those famous green eyes on mine. I laughed to take away any relationship reference he might infer. “You?”
“Yeah.”
“I have to like someone for them to be my friend.” I stepped back and hit the chair, stumbled. Of course I did. I couldn’t have one well-executed semi-witty comeback.
“Do you have to like someone to fuck them? Tonight?” My attention turned from the execution of my dramatic exit and back to him. He sat, hunched forward, against the side of the table, his hands now gripping its edge, his eyes tight to mine.
“Tonight?” I stalled, and I could literally feel the stick of my panties to me.
“Yes.” If eye contact had a leash, his would have been wrapped tightly around my heart.
I had a plethora of options in my response:
Oh… sorry. The Bachelor’s on tonight.
I have to run lines due to your incessant script changes.
Yes, I do have to like someone to fuck them, so no, tonight is not good.
I said none of those. When it came to him, I could only nod. Just off the cliff that I was going to eventually trip down anyway. “I’ll see you tonight, Mr. Masten.”
His mouth twitched, and his shoulders loosened a little. “Good.”
I had absolutely nothing intelligent to say to that. I swallowed, reached for my bottle of water, and headed for the door.
When I opened it, Casey stood there, her arms folded, nails rapping. “Let’s go, Summer. Right now. We need a game plan.”
I let out a deep sigh and let her take me. Through the kitchen and into the office. I let her walk me through containment and recovery process, one that would involve little on my part other than to behave. I nodded politely, tried to listen but all I could think about was my face on that cover, the words in those pages, what they’d say and how they’d paint me.
And, for the first time since he landed on this spit of country soil, I appreciated Cole’s magnetic sexuality, the obsession my skin seemed to have for his touch. Because the only thing I could focus on—the only light at the end of my tunnel, through Casey’s lectures and pen taps and gripes of dismay—was the fact that in just hours, I’d be at his house. I’d have his hands and his mouth on me. And I knew, in that moment, I wouldn’t be thinking about Scott, or The Rehearsal Dinner From Hell, or the article at all.
He would be my distraction. He would be, for this one night, my salvation.
CHAPTER 94
This was the second time in four weeks that I was shaving for this man. Like, really shaving, in places that a good girl didn’t allow to see the light of day.
My giant epiphany from earlier, the one where Sex With Cole Masten would heal all of my problems? That thought process had lost steam, sputtered out and was hovering on the brink of death. I shouldn’t go over there. I should bail. Sit on my couch with my mother, eat banana pudding, and watch sweet little Jacob give his last rose to that skank who jerked him off on their Mystery Date even though ex-nun Anita was obviously so much better for him. Yep, I could definitely bail. I mean, what would be the consequences? He’d think poorly of me? That box was already checked. And now that I sat my butt down and thought about it, why was I primping for a night with a man I didn’t like? And who didn’t really like me?
Oh, right. Because he was Cole Masten. Because he’d poured gasoline on the fire of my arousal with his last performance, and there wasn’t another man alive who would be able to recreate that. Because, even though I liked to pretend I hadn’t seen it, pieces of the real Cole had peeked at me. Moments with Cocky. Moments with me. Moments where I saw a man better than the myth. And I wanted, before he hopped on his big jet and returned to California, before he moved on with his life and forgot all about Summer Jenkins, another taste of that man. Even if it ruined me for life. It had to be incredible to be my damnation. Otherwise it would just be another lay, easily forgettable, easily moved on from. Funny how that worked. Sex with him was my drug, and the better the high, the more I would crave it when it was gone. That night, I was succumbing to my addiction, and would take the hit despite the consequences.