Resisting Her (10 page)

Cole was right behind her when she turned,
holding her captive against the counter with his large form. She
never felt frightened of him, more like intrigued. But she was
always aware of where he was in relation to her, and how large and
masculine he was physically. And at this exact moment, dressed in
nice clothes that he had taken the time to pick for her, she felt
womanly, soft and pretty next to his raw masculinity.

“Cole?” She looked up, meeting his dark
eyes.

“Damn, Savannah, when I saw you talking to
Levi…” he trailed off, resting a heavy hand on her hip. The weight
of his warm hand surprised her, and her lungs refused to cooperate.
“I didn’t like it,” he admitted, staring at her point blank.

Her stomach dropped. Savannah wouldn’t do
anything to upset him. Couldn’t. He was everything she had right
now. “I’m, I’m sorry,” she stammered.

“No.” Cole stepped in closer, until his
thighs were pressed against hers, and their faces were just inches
apart. They had touched many times, but not like this — not when
Cole was angry and rough, his gaze filled with intensity. Warning
bells went off in Savannah’s head. She gripped the counter behind
her. “You should be able to talk to whoever you want without me
getting all possessive.”

“Oh.” Savannah was at a complete loss, having
never experienced this type of relationship with a man before. He
seemed angry, but more so at himself than her. She wasn’t sure what
to do, so she remained completely still. His hand tightened on her
hip, clutching her close to him. And his other hand cupped her
cheek as he leaned in closer. For a second Savannah thought he
might kiss her and her heart jumped into her throat. She held her
breath, waiting, but he only stroked her jaw lovingly with his
thumb. “You look nice,” he whispered, before dropping his hands and
moving away.

The loss of his body near hers was almost
painful. Somehow in the past few weeks Savannah had begun to crave
his physical contact, and when he wasn’t near, it left an ache that
settled over her skin and inside her chest. But before she had time
to dwell on any of that, Cole led her to the door and ushered her
outside.

They rode to the restaurant with the music
playing low. Cole turned the radio on scan and told her to stop at
whichever station she liked. She frowned at the heavy metal,
twang-y country and hip hop music, but when she heard the soulful
voice of a woman, she leaned forward in her seat and asked Cole to
leave it. It was someone named Lana Del Rey, he said. They listened
to her sing about blue jeans, big dreams and love that lasted a
million years. Savannah listened to the words, saying a silent
prayer that love like that was real and would find her in this
crazy world.

They arrived at the restaurant — a bistro
type place that served the best wood-fired pizzas, Cole said.

When they stepped inside, Savannah noticed
the restaurant was small, but upscale, decorated in reds, browns
and creams. It was dimly lit and had a cozy, rustic feel.

The entrance was filled with people waiting
for tables. Savannah wasn’t used to being in crowds of strangers,
but the feel of Cole’s fingertips against her lower back soothed
her. She crossed the room toward a long dark bar, lit with tiny
lamps every few feet.

“Is this okay?” He motioned for her to have a
seat on the stool he’d pulled out for her. “I usually come by
myself and sit up here. You don’t have to wait, plus you can watch
the action in the kitchen.” He motioned to the large wood-burning
oven that looked more like a fireplace. She took the stool and
could immediately see why Cole liked to sit there. Watching the
cooks work, stretching pizza dough, and adding sauce and toppings
like they were in some sort of race was fun. Plus, it was neat to
see the ingredients they used. Her mouth was watering for one of
those pizzas after just a few seconds.

“They have salads and pasta too.” Cole handed
her a menu while a server delivered two ice waters. “Get whatever
you want.”

“I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” she
said.

He frowned. “I thought you could sort of
practice being out —you know, ordering for yourself, things like
that.”

Oh.
So this wasn’t just an enjoyable
evening out — he was giving her a lesson. Teaching her how to be a
normal person. She ducked her chin, suddenly ashamed that she
thought she could just blend in with him, enjoy their time
together. She was being scrutinized instead, and needed to earn his
approval.

She opened her menu and began studying.
Everything sounded delicious, but she knew she wanted to try one of
those pizzas.

“Hi, have you guys been here before?” A
bubbly server appeared in front of them.

“I have,” Cole said, “but Savannah
hasn’t.”

“Oh, well welcome. Do you guys want to hear
the specials, or do you already know what you want?” she asked,
looking between them.

“Savannah?” Cole waited for her to
answer.

“Um, I think I know what I want, but yes, I’d
like to hear the specials.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Cole’s mouth,
seemingly pleased with Savannah’s response. The waitress pulled out
a notecard and read the specials. “Okay, our chef’s pizza tonight
is fig and artichoke. The appetizer is a four-cheese grilled
flatbread served with marinara sauce. What can I get for you?”

Savannah hesitated for a second. “Get
whatever you want,” Cole whispered, placing his hand on her
knee.

His touch reassured her, even if it was a
little distracting the way his large hand fit around her thigh.
“I’d like the vegetarian pizza with sausage, and a sweet tea,
please.”

The waitress looked up from her pad. “You
want meat on a vegetarian pizza?”

“Yes. And I’d like an order of that
four-cheese bread too.”

Cole chuckled under his breath. “That sounds
good. Make it two orders. Oh, and an Amstel please.”

After checking Cole’s ID, the waitress
scurried away. Cole removed his hand from her leg and draped it
casually across the back of her seat.

“Did I do okay?” she asked, resisting the
urge to nuzzle into his side.

“You did perfect.”

Savannah glowed at his compliment, fiddling
with her napkin as she placed it across her lap.

Their drinks arrived and as she sipped her
tea, Cole turned to study her, his brow furrowed like he was
thinking hard about something. “How are you feeling about staying
with me?” He took a swig from his beer.

She thought of how to answer. Several words
flitted through her mind. Safe. Relieved. But she said the first
one that came to her lips. “Happy.”

Cole continued watching her with a puzzled
expression, but she couldn’t tell if he was glad to hear that or
not. A little bit of both, it seemed. “How have things been going
with Dr. White? Do you feel like you’re making progress?”

She nodded. “Yes, it’s helping quite a bit.
We’re talking about things I haven’t talked to anyone about
before—things in my past. And we talk about my future, too.”

That word seemed to spark his curiosity.
“What do you want in your future, Savannah?”

She wanted what all women wanted: to belong,
to be loved, to find a partner in life. Her therapist coaxed her
into talking about her long buried feelings, and what she wanted.
Now that she’d accepted it, the thoughts occupied a large section
of her brain. And there was no separating those thoughts from
thoughts of Cole. He’d stuck by her, taken care of her every need,
and had never tried to take advantage. She knew better than to rely
on someone she didn’t know, but she’d been so helpless, so lost,
she hadn’t had a choice. And Cole had earned her trust and respect,
something she didn’t give out easily.

It was in this same conversation that Dr.
White surprised her by asking if Cole had expressed a romantic
interest in her, if he’d indicated he wanted something more than
friendship. She’d said no. There had been nothing inappropriate in
Cole’s behavior towards her, and nothing that indicated he wanted
more. But ever since that seed had been planted in her mind, she
wondered why Cole hadn’t. She studied her body in the mirror,
wondering if she was attractive enough for him, and why he hadn’t
noticed her. She’d daydreamed about how he looked without his
shirt. She was undeniably curious about his body, what it would be
like to touch him, to have him touch her. She’d never been so
interested in a man before, yet she couldn’t deny her growing
feelings for him.

Before Savannah could answer Cole’s question,
the waitress delivered their plates. The amount of food was way too
much for two people. They would certainly be taking home leftovers,
but Savannah enjoyed as much as she could until she was almost
uncomfortably full.

After dinner, Cole walked her outside,
tucking her inside his SUV. He leaned close and whispered. “You
still have to answer the question, Savannah.”

Her skin broke out in chill bumps and she
merely nodded. The entire ride home she wondered if maybe—just
maybe—he thought about the same things she did. The two of them
together. Really together, not just stepping around each other in
his condo. But neither of them spoke of the future for the rest of
the night.

They watched TV on the couch until Savannah
fell asleep. Cole carried her to bed, and just to see how far he’d
let things go, she changed in his room, rather than her own. In the
dimly lit room, she peeled off her jeans, then with her back to him
she removed her sweater and bra. She could feel his eyes on her
bare skin — her back, her bottom, clad in just the little white
cotton panties he’d gotten for her. She could hear his breathing
quicken and feel the electricity flowing between them. She wished
she was brave enough to turn to him, to ask him to touch her, to
kiss her, but of course she wasn’t. She pulled one of his T-shirts
over her head before turning to face him. His gaze was intense,
burning into hers. His eyes travelled down from her face to her
bare legs, the T-shirt hitting the tops of her thighs.

“Get covered up,” he said, his voice
rough.

Savannah’s first thought was that he was mad,
until she realized the roughness in his voice, his burning gaze
weren’t due to anger, but desire. She barely contained a whimper at
the realization, but did as he commanded and crawled into bed,
pulling the sheet over her legs.

Cole joined her in bed. She reached for him,
wanting to be closer, to tangle her legs with his, to hear him
sooth her with gentle words like he did most nights, but he rolled
away from her and whispered, “Not tonight, Savannah.”

His words erected a wall between them, and
though they shared a bed, she wondered if they’d ever share
more.

Saturday morning Marissa stormed past Cole
without waiting for an invitation to enter the apartment. He’d been
dodging her calls and avoiding her requests to come over for weeks
— which was unusual. Typically where his sister was concerned, Cole
did pretty much whatever she wanted.

“Where are they?” she asked sternly, brushing
past him.

“Where are what?”

“The dead bodies.” She bypassed the kitchen,
stepping down into the living room and looking around.

“The what?” Cole trailed after her, nervously
glancing at the doorway to Savannah’s room, where he was pretty
sure she was hiding out.

“Or the prostitutes. Whatever it is you’re
hiding from me. God, I really should have encouraged you to date
more. I worry about you, you know.”

He chuckled. “Well, as you can see, there are
no dead bodies — no prostitutes. Everything’s fine, Rissa.” It was
the nickname he given her when he was three and couldn’t pronounce
Marissa. And to her dismay, it had stuck for over twenty years.

A noise from the guest room grabbed her
attention. “What was that?”

Cole shifted uncomfortably and swore under
his breath as Marissa started toward the room. He had no idea how
to explain Savannah.

“Cole, did my timer go off?” Savannah emerged
from the bedroom, wiping her hands on the apron fastened around her
waist and headed for the kitchen. “Oh. Hi.” She stopped suddenly,
facing Marissa.

Marissa frowned, looking between Cole and
Savannah and finally turned to him. “Who is this?”

“This is…ah…” Cole stammered.

Savannah stepped forward, offering Marissa
her hand. “I’m Savannah. Cole’s new cook.”

“Cook?” Marissa’s face was full of doubt.

“Yes.” Savannah’s gaze remained impassive.
She didn’t seem nearly as rattled as Cole felt. But he supposed it
was at least in part true. Savannah was his cook… sort of. “I take
it you’re his sister?” Savannah asked, wringing her hands in the
apron.

Marissa nodded, watching Savannah
curiously.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. If you’ll
excuse me I just need to take these scones from the oven.”

“You made scones?”

“Yes.”

“From scratch?” Marissa’s eyebrows
lifted.

“Of course.”

“I don’t suppose I’ve ever had a homemade
scone,” Marissa commented under her breath.

“Would you like one?”

“No, I wouldn’t like one. I’d freakin’
love
one!”

Cole chuckled, watching the two women in the
kitchen, Savannah removing the baking sheet from the oven while
Marissa looked over her shoulder in astonishment at the lumpy
scones. She was a sucker for baked goods just as much as he
was.

Savannah served coffee and warm raspberry
scones before scurrying off for her bedroom again. She might have
shown courage in meeting Marissa, but Cole knew she wouldn’t be
comfortable engaging in small talk or answering questions about
herself. Getting her to open up was a slow process.

Marissa’s grin was as wide and suspicious as
a damn Cheshire cat’s. “So she’s your cook, huh?” She made a point
of craning her neck to look down the hall and towards the bedroom
where Savannah had disappeared. “
Live-in
cook?”