Chapter 19 Reappropriated Undergarments
REAPPROPRIATED UNDERGARMENTS
Something you’d change about the world if you could?
Bridget: I’d make it easier for women to advance in management. I’d make flexible work hours and limited travel the norm for anyone who needs them.
Cole: Same. What? I have a daughter.
brIDGET
After a shower, I was finally sand-free, warm, and dry again.
As I reached for the hairdryer, I heard a knock at my hotel room door.
Ugh. With my brain fried from that earth-shattering kiss on the beach, I’d forgotten to hang the sign on the door to wave off housekeeping.
Snugging the hotel’s fluffy robe around myself, I padded to the door and opened it, no, gracias already forming on my lips.
I wished I could remember the nicer phrase Cole used that made waitresses and tour guides swoon.
But it wasn’t housekeeping at the door. It was him.
He wore a T-shirt and jeans, the shirt tight across his chest and his jeans loose on his hips. His hair was wet, dark, and glossy and starting to curl into waves I wanted to trace with my fingertips.
Jesus, was this a thing I did now—touch his hair?
I didn’t know what we did because I hadn’t had time to process our kiss.
Not the one in the rain or the second one when he’d walked me to my door, pressed me against it, and proceeded to destroy my last surviving brain cell before he walked away, whistling.
All I could do was scurry into my shower and relieve the ache between my thighs with the showerhead.
Thank the Almighty for the fabulous water pressure in this hotel.
“I…no,” were the only two words I could pull out of my brain.
“What do you know?” He rested his forearm on the doorframe and leaned toward me. The scent of hotel soap and something herbal—lavender, maybe?—wafted toward me, and I wanted to roll in it like a dog.
“What? Nothing.” I couldn’t talk to him yet. Not while my wits were still offline. Certainly not in my bathrobe. I tugged the tie tighter around my waist.
“I can see the gears whirling in that impressive brain of yours. Thinking will go better with food. Come with me.”
“I’m not dressed,” I protested.
“You have on enough clothes to walk across the hall to my room.” He held out his hand.
“Your room?”
“I got room service. I’ll help you process this.”
“What if I’d process better on my own?” With more clothes on.
“I’ve got fresh pineapple.”
“Damn you, that’s my kryptonite.”
“I know. I’ve watched you eat your weight in it on this trip. Come on. We’ll eat. And talk. And then…”
“And then?” I searched his face, but his habitual smirk was missing.
“You tell me.”
His hand was still extended, palm up. I slipped my key card into my pocket, then set my hand onto his.
He curled his fingers around mine. Like at the beach, I noticed the roughness of his calluses.
For half a second, I wondered about them.
Then I remembered the climbing gym he’d mentioned in one of our interviews with Finley.
That must be where those impressive shoulders came from too.
He led me across the hall and a few doors down to his room.
He hadn’t lied. In the cozy sitting area in his room, a feast of snacks was laid out on the coffee table: flaky empanadas, crispy plantain chips, salsa, an assortment of cheeses and cured meats, and chunks of ripe tomatoes.
Plus, there were the promised slices of pineapple, along with watermelon and papaya. My stomach rumbled.
“Damn you and your charcuterie skills,” I said, sinking onto the loveseat.
He shrugged. “All I did was take it off the small plates and put it onto a big plate.”
“Every younger Millennial I know can effortlessly arrange a beautiful board. They must have taught that in school after I left.” I reached for a ball of the squeaky fresh cheese I’d devoured on the retreat.
“What, like it’s hard?” He winked. His thick thigh pressed against mine.
“No. You are not allowed to quote Legally Blonde. You were, like, two when it came out.”
“I’m pretty sure I was a preteen. I remember my friends’ parents getting a copy in the mail.”
“Oh, god.” I closed my eyes. “I remember DVDs by mail. I couldn’t afford it, though. My first job paid crap. I had to track every penny I earned.” I filled a small plate with an empanada, a stack of pineapple, and more cheese. “I was definitely too poor for room service.”
“Look how far you’ve come.” He slipped a sliver of papaya into his mouth. “Staying in a five-star resort and eating room-service snacks organized by a charcuterie master. A devastatingly handsome one, I might add.”
“You’re so full of yourself.” I couldn’t help grinning.
“Admit it, you like that about me.”
“I don’t,” I lied. The truth would only make him more insufferable. “How did you get a better room than me?”
He frowned. “My room is the same as yours.”
“You have a better view.” I pointed at the window. “I thought I had a great view of a bunch of palm trees, but you could see the beach if it wasn’t pouring.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Move in here, then.”
I nearly choked on a piece of pineapple and had to cough. When I recovered, I rasped, “What?”
“I’ll switch with you,” he said.
“Oh, no, my room is fine.” I turned away to hide my blush, hoping he’d think my cheeks were red from coughing, but that was a mistake. My gaze landed on the king-size bed. It was neatly made, but for a moment, I imagined the sheets tangled around my ankles and his weight pressing into me.
He set down his empty plate and wiped his hands on a napkin. “Have you called home today?”
Grateful for the change of subject, I relaxed into the sofa. “Yeah, it’s Black Friday, and my sisters all go shopping together super early. I’d just finished talking to them when I went out to the beach.” I eyed the last slice of pineapple but set my plate on the table. “What about you?”
He refilled our glasses of water from the bottle. “I’ll call Caitlyn this afternoon. I’m trying not to piss off her mother since she and her husband had to cancel their trip to Napa when I changed my plans.”
Guilt bubbled in my stomach. “I’m so sorry. Really, you could’ve gone home.”
“Stop apologizing. I’m exactly where I want to be, and Zara couldn’t possibly hate me more than she already does. Now, are you going to eat that last piece of pineapple?”
“No, you can have it.”
“Don’t do that, Bridget.” His gaze burned into me. “You want it. Take it.”
I shivered and tugged the opening of my robe closer to my neck. “We’ll share it.” I reached across the table for the slice. When I bit into it, the sweet, tart flavor burst across my tongue, and juice dripped down my wrist. I held out the other half to him.
Grasping my arm, Cole licked the trail of juice from my wrist. “That was the only part I wanted.”
I gasped. “Jesus, Cole.” It was like he’d ignited a fire on my arm that raced up my shoulder and down my spine.
“Tell me if I do something you don’t like.” Still gripping my forearm, he directed my hand back toward my mouth. “Now, finish it.”
I took the bite into my mouth and chewed. “Bossy much?” I murmured.
“I don’t think you mind.” He tugged my hand back toward himself and sucked the juice from each of my fingers.
He was right. Between the delicious pineapple and the suction on my fingers, it was almost more than I could bear. Heat pulsed between my legs, and I tipped my head back and groaned. “We…aren’t we supposed to be talking?”
“It’s up to you,” he said. “We can talk, or I can use my mouth in what I’d argue are better ways.”
“I don’t want to argue.” My heart pounded. It was hard to get a full breath with him gripping my wrist like he owned it.
“Good. You’ve got pineapple juice on your face.” He leaned over and kissed me, sweeping his tongue over my lower lip and pressing me into the arm of the loveseat.
Why hadn’t I realized that kissing was a much better way for him to use his smart mouth?
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back, tasting salt and sweetness on his tongue.
He kissed me the way he did so many things in the office, like it was his sole focus, like he’d spent hours, days, weeks honing his skill.
Like he’d taken a masterclass in making out. My nerve endings were on fire.
When I was breathless, he kissed across my jaw to the sensitive spot under my ear. I buried my hands in his thick hair. It was like silk under my fingers.
“Yes,” he muttered between kisses. “Keep doing that.”
As I burrowed my fingers deeper into his hair and massaged his scalp, he dragged his lips down the side of my neck, then around to the base of my throat. He looked up, his eyebrows raised in a question.
I fisted my hands in his hair and nodded.
He kept going, pushing aside my robe with his chin.
His stubble was deliciously rough on my breast as he traced his tongue toward my nipple.
He circled it with the tip of his tongue, then the flat part, testing and teasing.
I was probably hurting him with my tight grip on his hair, but every part of my body tensed as he lapped my breast to a needy peak. “More,” I moaned.
He looked up. “More here?” At last, he set his lips over my nipple and sucked until pleasure flooded to my toes, and I groaned.
“Yes, that’s—”
“Or more here?” His fingertips pressed against the inside of my knee.
Everything narrowed down to those five points of pressure on my skin. I desperately wanted him to trace them up the inside of my thigh to where I ached for his touch. But then he’d feel how wet he’d made me, and he’d obnoxiously declare some sort of victory and plant a flag to claim my pussy.
Which sounded pretty fucking amazing right now.
I bit my kiss-swollen lip and nodded.
Torturously, he dragged his fingertips up the inside of my thigh. Goose bumps rose like the audience in an arena when the headliner walks out. My skin was cheering and chanting—Cole, Cole, Cole—as his fingers disappeared under the edge of my robe.
I held my breath as he found my slippery upper thigh. His nostrils flared, and he rasped his chin against my breast. “Tell me to stop.”
Slowly, I shook my head.
His finger brushed my pussy lips, and he froze.
A delighted smile curved his lips. “Oh, Bridget. If I’d known you were naked under your robe, I wouldn’t have bothered with snacks.
I’d have experienced fine dining right here.
” When he brushed me again, it was all I could do not to pin his hand between my legs to keep it where I needed it.
I summoned the breath to ask, “What’s stopping you?”
He teased me with another light thrum. “I’m reevaluating my options.”
“Your…options?” It was hard to speak when each unexpected skim of his fingertip sent a whole-body shudder through me.
“You see”—he grazed my bare skin, triggering a surge of wetness—“I had plans for your panties. I can tell from those tight skirts you wear that you’re a thong person.
” He traced the edge of my lip, getting excruciatingly close to the spot that would send me off.
“My evaluation of said thong was going to determine if I ripped it off or gently removed it, possibly with my teeth, and reappropriated it.”
“Re…reappropriated?” My brain had gone to static like my childhood home’s television after midnight.
“Seized, sweetheart. For future, personal use.”
My brain flickered. “You were going to steal my underwear?”
“Focus, Bridget,” he said sternly. “There are no underwear. Consequences will ensue.”
“Wh-what? You kidnapped me from my hotel room before I could get dressed.” The last word was a squeak as his finger invaded me, sliding easily into my wetness.
“Remember.” He kissed my breast. “You’re in control.”
“Then rub my clit.”
“You sure you’re ready for that?” He slid his finger out, then in, making a sucking sound, but I didn’t care. Between the abrasion of his stubble on my breast and his teasing finger, I was on the edge.
“I want it.” His finger moved faster. Pleasure spiraled through me. “Please, Cole.”
There was that satisfied smirk again. He dipped his head lower, scraping his chin over my nipple. “Since you asked so nicely…”
He bit my nipple. I yelped in outrage. Then I couldn’t speak because his touch landed where I needed it, pressing firmly, inexorably. Faster than I thought possible, I exploded.