He's So Fine (16 page)

“Ah, come on,” Tanner said to his back. “You’re the level-headed one. You know why we didn’t tell you.”

“Because you’re assholes?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I know that’s how it looks, but— Christ, will you stop walking?”

No. No, he wouldn’t. And when he heard their footsteps signaling they were following him, he spun around.

And nearly fell over.

Note to self: Getting too old for a bottle of Jameson
.

“We need to talk,” Sam said.

“That time came and went.” Cole held their gazes hard, and he knew his message was received when they both took on a frustrated expression.

And worried.

And guilty.

Not giving a shit, Cole turned—more carefully this time—and hightailed it out of there.

He had no idea where he was going, of course. None. Used to be when he was a train wreck, he’d go to Sam and Tanner.

Not tonight.

The cold night coupled with the alcohol had his chest tightening painfully. Or maybe that was because the numbness had worn off. He wanted oblivion. He wanted warmth.

He wanted…to be wanted.

And suddenly he knew exactly where he was going.

O
livia was locked in a dream, one she hadn’t had in a very long time. She was sitting on the set of
Not Again, Hailey!
, her hair being brushed by a grumpy hairdresser, listening to the director and producer argue over her clothing.

“She’s getting fat,” the producer whispered, except that the people in China could’ve heard him. “Someone needs to cut her off from the craft services.”

“Shh!” the director hissed. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that; we’ll get sued. Jesus. Just dress her in layers or something, and I’ll work the lighting and angles.”

I’m not fat!
Olivia tried to yell this, but her mouth wouldn’t open. She looked down at herself. She was what, turning sixteen? She’d just gotten boobs and okay, so her belly wasn’t concave any longer and she’d developed hips. It was hard for her to deal with it; she didn’t need it spelled out.

It’d been bad enough when she’d gotten her period that last summer. Everyone on the entire set had been privy to the information, all of them panicked because now that she wasn’t a petite little girl anymore, the show would change.

How was she to possibly have avoided puberty?

The director knocked on the producer’s forehead. “Hello? You in there?”

“Hey,” Olivia said, and…sat up.

She’d been dreaming.

She knew why, too. It was because she needed to face Cole and be honest. She looked at the clock on her nightstand. One a.m.

The knock came again, and she realized that someone was really at her door. She slipped out of bed, bent low to grab the baseball bat she kept under her mattress, and padded to the door. One look out the peephole had her sucking in a breath and undoing the chain, dead bolt, and lock to pull open the door.

Cole was arms up, hands flat on the doorjamb above him. He didn’t speak, didn’t move except to lift his head and look at her.

His eyes were hollow, his mouth grim.

“Are you…okay?” she asked.

He gave one slow shake of his head, put a hand low on her belly, and nudged her backward so that he could take a step inside.

Then he shut and relocked the door.

Guess he was staying.

He turned back to her and took in her appearance, the corners of his mouth tipping up very slightly. Maybe it was her hair, which probably resembled a squirrel’s tail. But it could’ve just as easily been the baseball bat or her Superman PJs—a blue tank top with a red-and-yellow
S
on the chest and red boxers. She’d seen them at Target and knew she had to have them.

“Supergirl,” he said, but there was something off in his voice.

She cupped his rough jaw, frowning at the expression on his face.

Or the utter lack thereof. He was blank, like he was feeling too much to let it out. Her heart cracked for him, this man she hadn’t meant to care for but did.

So very much. “What’s wrong, Cole?”

Reaching out, he took the bat from her and tossed it aside. Then he put his hands on her hips and backed her up again, until she bumped into the couch.

And then fell onto it.

“Feeling frisky?” she asked breathlessly.

He dropped to his knees, spread her legs, and pulled her flush to him.

Well, he was feeling something. “Cole—”

He shook his head, his body tension-filled, hard as rock.

Everywhere.

He was also warm, almost too hot. And then there was the scent of alcohol. “Are you…drunk?” she asked.

“Not as much as I’d like to be.”

“But—”

Planting his hands on either side of her hips, caging her in, he leaned close and covered her mouth with his.

The kiss was different than his other kisses. No warm-up, no soft coaxing, no preamble, nothing but tongue and teeth and desperation.

And it felt more real than any kiss she’d ever had. But something was wrong. “What is it, Cole? What’s happened?”

Again he shook his head, his eyes stark. Hollow. He pulled something from his pocket and slapped it down on the coffee table.

A condom.

She stared at it and then met his gaze.

He closed his eyes. “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t need you. But I do.”

He was strong of body and mind. He was self-sufficient, independent, and a stubborn male to boot. He didn’t do the need thing; she knew this. And even if he did, he had family. He had incredibly close friends that might as well be his brothers. In other words, he had options.

And he’d come to her.

“It’s just in case,” he said about the condom. “It’s your call.”

“Yes,” she said, and enveloped him in her arms.

Cole waited a beat as if giving her time to kick his ass out. When she didn’t, he slid his hands beneath her tank top and lifted it up and over her head.

And then it was gone.

Next his thumbs hooked into the sides of the red satin boxers and tugged. He looked down at what he’d revealed and growled.

“There,” he said roughly. “Finally. You. Just you.”

For a minute she thought he was going to skip all the preliminaries and sink right into her body. But then he kissed his way down her throat to a breast. He took his time, drawing out a response that had her arching up into him.

With a groan, he kissed his way to her other breast, his big body trembling with the effort to hold back.

“It’s okay,” she said, threading her fingers in his hair. “Whatever it is, I’m here, right here. And I want you.”

At that, he closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers. “So fucking sweet,” he murmured.

She wasn’t. Sweet. Not even close.

But then again, he didn’t know the real her. If he did, he wouldn’t be here. Not wanting to go there, not wanting to imagine being without him, she tugged up his shirt. “Off.”

He rose to his feet and began to strip, kicking off his shoes, tearing off his shirt and then his cargoes, his eyes on her the whole time.

She reached out and grabbed the condom, but with a shake of his head, he dropped back to his knees, manacled her wrists at her sides with his hands, and bent his head to kiss an inner thigh.

And then the other.

And then…in between.

She bit her lip hard as she rocked up into him, and when his tongue flicked over her, she cried out.

He slid his hands beneath her. “Watch,” he said, and lifted her to his mouth.

She watched. She watched his broad shoulders wedge her legs open, watched the muscles in his sleek back flex and ripple with every movement, watched his eyes drift shut in pleasure as he moaned at the taste of her.

And then she couldn’t watch because he sucked her into his mouth and her eyes rolled back in her head as she came.

Hard.

And then, because he didn’t let her go, again.

When she was boneless, he took the condom from her limp fingers. Her breath was still coming out in erratic gasps when he used his hips to nudge her legs farther apart and thrust inside her.

They both stilled with wondrous pleasure, and then she dug her nails into his back as he rocked her through two more orgasms before he reset his grip on her hips and let himself go, his head falling back as he hit his own release.

Eventually, their sensuous movements slowed and their heart rates reduced from stroke level to something resembling normal. She felt the touch of his mouth brushing against her damp temple.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice a barely there rasp.

She nodded; it was all she had. After another year or so, she tried to speak. “I’m starting to think that’s how it’s going to feel every time.”

“And how does it feel?”

Like the best thing to ever happen to her. Like something she wanted to have happen again, and again. “Like I was just hit by a Mack truck.”

He lifted his face from where he’d planted it in her throat and searched her expression. “I hurt you?”

“Yes,” she said, and pulled him back to her. “In the very best possible way.”

He relaxed and nuzzled at her for a moment, then rolled off her and onto his back on the couch, bringing her with him. He gathered her in and she draped herself across his magnificent abs, linking her leg through his.

“So,” she said on a satisfied sigh. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He didn’t answer, and she lifted her head to search his gaze.

He blew out a sigh and covered his eyes with his arm. “Had a rough night, that’s all.”

And he’d come here, to her…“Weren’t you with Sam and Tanner?”

His pause was so brief she was sure she imagined it before he possessively cupped her butt with two hands, squeezing, rocking his hips to hers.

He was hard again, making her moan. “Okay,” she said shakily. “You don’t want to talk.”

H
alf an hour later, Cole found himself flat on the floor. Olivia was at his side, sprawled out like she didn’t have a bone left in her body, her chest rising and falling as fast as his.

“Holy cow,” she gasped.

That about covered it, Cole thought.

“You’re pretty lethal when you’re avoiding talking,” she said.

He discovered he had just enough left in the tank to haul her in against him. “You should know.”

She set her hands on his chest and then rested her head on them, gazing up into his face. “Sometimes talking’s overrated.”

He let out a long exhale. He didn’t want her to feel that way. “They knew,” he said. “Sam and Tanner. They knew all along.”

She stroked the hair from his forehead and ran a finger along his jawline. “Knew what?”

“That Gil and Susan were…”

When he didn’t finish, she blinked and then stilled. “Your best friend and your girlfriend were…?”

“In love.”

“Oh, Cole.” She stroked her hand down to his chest, directly over his heart, as if she could hold it safe for him. “I’m so sorry.”

Sitting here with her like this, buck-ass naked both physically and mentally, wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. Sliding out from beneath her, he rose and pulled on his jeans. Leaving them unbuttoned, he turned to her kitchen, hoping to see a bottle of anything out on the counter.

Olivia came up behind him, stroked a hand over his back, and then moved past him to her stove.

In nothing but his shirt.

Barefoot, hair a gorgeous cloud of silk, her beautiful body looking better in his shirt than he ever had, she started water to boil and set out two mugs.

“I’m not feeling tea right now, Olivia.”

She dropped a tea bag into each mug, and then some honey. And lemon. “Trust me.”

He wasn’t much for trust at the moment, either.

Trust. Such a deceptively simple word.

He’d grown up with parents who’d given their all to their kids and sisters who maybe had enjoyed torturing him, but were always the first to stand up for him.

He’d had good, solid relationships in his life, of all kinds. Family, friends, lovers. And he’d never had a problem with trust.

Ever.

But he was feeling a little shaky on the concept after Susan.

Still, he didn’t say a word as she poured the boiling water, didn’t know how to tell her that while she looked hot as hell with that orgasmic glow on her face, tea wasn’t what he wanted from her.

Then she removed the tea bags, turned away from him, and reached up high into a cupboard. His shirt rose on her thighs, giving him a heart-stopping quick peek of heaven before she faced him again.

With, God love her, a bottle of brandy.

She liberally laced the tea, stirred it with a primness that made him smile, and then brought him a mug.

Trust me
, she’d said. Demanded, really, in her quiet but steely voice.

It wasn’t the voice that had gotten to him, though. It had been her dark, warm eyes. Trust her? Damn if his heart hadn’t decided to do just that.

His fingers brushed hers as he took the mug, and he held her gaze as he drank deeply.

“There’s more to the story, isn’t there?” she asked.

Oh yeah. So much more.

“Did you just find out about them tonight, then? Susan and Gil?” she asked.

“No. I found out the day of Gil’s funeral.”

She stared at him, then shook her head as if she couldn’t imagine. “That must have been quite a blow. How did it come out?”

“Susan fell apart,” he said. “Just completely fell apart.” He remembered holding her trembling, crying, devastated form in his arms. “It didn’t make sense to me because she and Gil bickered,” he said. “All the time. It drove me nuts. I thought they hated each other. So when she lost it, I pushed her for why. And that’s when it came out. She loved him. And he apparently loved her.” He paused. “They’d hidden it out of respect for me. She told me that and a bunch more crap, like they hadn’t meant to, they were terrified of hurting me, blah blah. And then she dumped me.”

Her eyes softened. “And you what, kept it to yourself?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Not exactly the sort of thing you want to share. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Not even Sam and Tanner?”

“No,” he said. “Not even Sam and Tanner. But as it turns out, they knew.”

“So that’s what you meant.” She covered his hand with hers. “You just found out tonight that they’ve known all this time, same as you.”

“Yeah.” He stared down at her fingers on his. “I didn’t know how to process that bullshit, so I left.”

“Why is it bullshit?”

He jerked his head up to meet her guileless gaze. “Are you kidding me?”

“Cole.” She squeezed his fingers. “How were they supposed to tell you that the two people you cared about so much had had this happen to them?”

“To
them
?” He let out a mirthless laugh. “I’m pretty sure I was the one bent over a barrel.” He pulled his hand free and pushed his tea away, reaching for the bottle of brandy.

Olivia got it first and added a second shot to his mug, which she handed to him.

“I’d rather have it straight up,” he said.

“The honey and lemon will help you when you hit the hangover at full bore.”

“If I stay drunk, I’ll never hit the hangover.”

“Cole.” She stepped into him and then went up on tiptoe, brushing her body to his as she slid her arms around his neck. “Being angry at what happened to you, at what happened between Gil and Susan, that’s understandable. Required even, in the grief process.”

“Good to know,” he said. “Thanks for your approval.”

She slid her fingers into his hair. “I’ve seen Sam and Tanner,” she said. “I’ve seen them with you. There’s no doubt in my mind how much you mean to them and the lengths they’d go to for you.”

“Then why didn’t they tell me?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m betting they had your best interests at heart.” She paused, cupped his jaw, and looked directly into his eyes. “But what happened between Gil and Susan wasn’t Sam’s or Tanner’s doing. You know that.”

“They knew and didn’t tell me. That’s a betrayal as sure as Gil and Susan’s.”

She stilled and then slowly dropped back to the balls of her feet, her hands falling to her sides. “We’re going to have to agree to disagree here,” she said slowly.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” he asked.

Her smile didn’t quite make it to her eyes as she turned away. “Because we have two very different definitions of betrayal.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t think now’s a good time to get into it,” she said.

“Because?”

“You’re pissed off.”

“Damn right,” he said. “I expected more out of the people who claimed to love me.”

“You expect a hell of a lot,” she said, which immediately put him on the defensive because Christ, he was so over hearing about him and his unrealistic expectations. “What’s so wrong about expecting honesty?” he demanded.

She didn’t say anything to this. Of course she didn’t. God forbid she tell him a damn thing. “You don’t have the relationships in your life that I do, with Sam and Tanner and my family.” He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, but anger leapt into her eyes before he could take the words back.

“You’re right,” she said stiffly. “But this isn’t about me.” She moved to a chest of drawers and hopped into a pair of jeans. And then pulled on a sweatshirt. And then, before he could formulate a thought or catch her, she stormed out of her own place.

That was the second time now. He looked around, at the bed they’d decimated after the couch, at the clothes all over the floor. “What the fuck just happened?”

Her apartment had no answer.