Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
H is woodsy scent covered me from head to toe. And if that wasn’t enough, I wore his clothes, a soft tee too big for me and black sweats. At least they had a drawstring. Regardless of how tantalizing my senses found his smell, I was grateful to put on something clean and comfortable. It was like being hugged by a cloud.
And I needed a hug.
The flashlight bobbed up and down the hallway as I meandered through the house in search of Cole. When I didn’t find him in the living room, I intended to go to the kitchen, but the sketchbook discarded on the coffee table captured my eye. The candle on the table burned low, wax melting onto the wood. Drawn by the memory of waking up this morning, I walked into the room and sat on the floor, my fingers reaching for the art pad. I dropped the flashlight beside me and opened the book, thumbing through the pages. Various images of people, landscapes, quotes, and animals flipped by.
They were good. Really good. It was clear Cole’s fingers held talent, and my guess was that skill went beyond the page. It did feel intrusive going through what seemed to be private, like I was skimming through his diary but in art form.
And then I came to the page of me .
There was no mistaking it.
He’d captured me sleeping, my hand tucked under the side of my face, long lashes fanning my closed eyes. My expression was one I’d never seen before. Peaceful. A little sad perhaps.
Was this how I looked to him? Or just how I appeared when I slept?
And yet there was something beautiful and alluring about the drawing. Or maybe it was me. I couldn’t decide.
I ran a light finger over the curve of my hip, outlined by the blanket smudged with charcoal.
Was this how he saw me?
“What are you doing?”
The harsh snap of his voice startled me. I immediately dropped the book, and it snapped closed on the table. I angled my head toward Cole, looking guilty as sin, and the feeling made me as grumpy as he appeared. Actually, his expression tipped more on the sinister-murderous scale. “Nothing” I grumbled, matching his tone.
He towered over me, and I didn’t like the position. It made me feel small. “Really, because it looked like you were snooping,” he said roughly, eyes flicking to the sketchbook.
I snorted and shoved to my feet, not that it gave me more of an advantage. The dick still loomed above me. “Is it any different than you not asking my permission before drawing me?” I countered.
He frowned heavily. “Don’t go through my shit.”
“How do you know I haven’t already been through your shit?” What was wrong with me? Why did I have this urge to challenge him? I must be itching for a fight. I had no other reason for pushing Cole. Something in his thorny expression made me want to test him.
How far would he go?
The way people reacted in heated situations could tell you a lot about them. I knew plenty of guys who would hit a girl for saying less. Considering Cole had already choked and nearly drowned me, pushing his buttons probably wasn’t the sanest move on my part.
But what was it about him that made me want to push all his buttons? I felt like a kid in an elevator, unable to resist hitting every glowing numbered floor.
It probably said more about me than him .
I had issues. Clearly.
A deep-seated compulsion to be punished.
His hand whipped out, wrapping around my wrist, and he yanked, sending me nearly toppling into him. We were too damn close now. Through the material of my borrowed tee, my nipples brushed against his hard chest. “What else have your sticky fingers touched?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I sneered.
For a few long, tense moments, we only stared at each other, my breathing uneven and too quick. My chest rose and fell, creating friction between my nipples and his chest I definitely didn’t want to think about. Except now that I was aware of the sensation, my body reacted, nipples budding, and a warmth spread through me. I licked my lips, the worst possible thing I could do, for it brought attention to my mouth.
His eyes darkened. Or it could have been the lighting. I had a difficult time telling, but what wasn’t hard to see was that they lingered on my lips.
He wouldn’t dare try to kiss me.
Right?
My confidence wavered when I thought about our first encounter in the pool. The only thing I could be certain of was I didn’t know what Cole would do or what he was capable of other than constantly surprising me.
He released me, shoving a hand through his hair.
I narrowed my eyes at him and glared, but I wasn’t sure if I was mad at him or me. Him for being an asshole or me for missing the warmth of his body. “You don’t always have to be such a dick. It’s natural to be curious.”
He lifted a brow.
“And don’t give me some cheesy line about curiosity killing the cat,” I added.
A ghost of a smirk twitched at his lips. “Your words, not mine, Killer.”
Fuck, he is maddening.
“Are you coming?” he tossed over his shoulder, his gaze meeting mine for a moment before he disappeared around the corner, leaving me to decide .
I stewed in the room, staring at the spot where he’d been, caught between dashing after him or tearing the pages out of his book and tossing them into the fire. A growl of frustration rumbled up my throat. “I hate hurricanes,” I grumbled, snatching the flashlight and going into the hallway after him.
“Cole?” I called, realizing I had no idea where he was. The house was too damn big for me to go on a scavenger hunt to find him.
“In here.” I heard his voice come from the back of the house.
After wandering the first floor searching for him, I discovered here turned out to be the kitchen. Cole stood behind the island with a knife, cutting herbs. A pot of water sat on the stove, waiting to boil. He had chicken set out and a bowl of seasoned breadcrumbs. “Did you get lost?” he asked without glancing at me. His focus remained on preparing the food.
I couldn’t tell if he still simmered in annoyance, but it didn’t seem to matter. He’d moved on. I could too. “What are you doing?” I answered his question with one of my own.
“Sit,” he ordered. “I’m making dinner. You’re keeping me company. Besides, I need to keep my eye on you.”
I should take offense to his comment, but I didn’t have it in me to argue with Cole any more today. “You cook?”
“On occasion. And out of necessity,” he replied, adding the herbs to the breadcrumbs.
Moving to a stool on the other side of the island where he worked, I sat down. “When is it ever necessary for you? I bet you have someone who cooks your meals.”
He scowled, mixing the breading in a bowl. “So stereotypical of you.”
I watched him move around the kitchen as I did an absolutely shit job of convincing myself it wasn’t sexy seeing him cook. “Are you denying it?”
“Rita is a fabulous cook I’ll have you know. Where do you think I got my skills?”
Did I detect a hint of humor under his intensity?
Folding my hands on the counter, my eyes tracked his movements. “I’m impressed you know her name. ”
His perpetual frown deepened. “I think you have the wrong impression of me.”
“You’re not an easy man to figure out,” I admitted.
“Good, then I’m doing it right. I don’t want you to figure me out, Killer.”
“What are you making? Or am I unable to ask?”
“I hope you like Italian.”
I rested my chin on my hand, suppressing a sigh at the mention of something homemade. “I like food.”
He chuckled. “Good.”
“Can I help?” I offered despite my lack of skills in the kitchen. “I feel like I should be doing something.”
“Don’t get out of that chair.” He started prepping the chicken, dipping it into a mixture and then the crumbs. “Just relax for once.” His gaze flicked up before returning to his task. “Which judging by the expression on your face isn’t something that comes easy to you. When was the last time someone took care of you?”
I blinked, a speck of annoyance flaring in my chest. He saw too much, and I didn’t like it. Feeling exposed made me uncomfortable. I had to fight not to fidget with my hair or shift in my seat, both things I wanted to do. “I don’t need someone to take care of me.”
He lifted the fork in his hand and pointed it at me, sending crumbs flying. “Doesn’t surprise me, but if you were mine, I’d show you what you’re missing.”
My experience with guys made me unenthusiastic about having a relationship. Either my bar was too high or the ones who were interested in me didn’t know squat about romancing a girl. Maybe romance was dead. Or maybe I’d read too many books and watched too many movies. “What would your last girlfriend say?” I inquired, curious what Cole was like as a boyfriend.
I tried to picture him with a girl and couldn’t.
He scooped a handful of pasta, dumping it into the boiling pot of water. “Nothing. I don’t date. To my mother’s great disappointment.”
“You just use them instead. Treat them like a trick of cards.” I had a bias against the rich summer jerks that stemmed from a bad experience at fourte en. It stuck with me, and I vowed never to let myself fall into the trap again.
His eyes flashed to mine. “Our bet isn’t a game.”
“Isn’t it?” I tossed back, not wanting to argue again but unable to stop my mouth or the snarky tone that came out. What was it about Cole that got under my skin so easily?
“Not to me.” He took a match and lit the burner, having to ignite the gas manually with the power out. The orange-red flame added hues of light to the dim room. Only three candles burned in the kitchen, giving him the light he required to work. “Why are you frowning now?” he demanded.
I huffed and lifted my gaze to find his narrowed eyes on me. “I’m supposed to work today, and since I have no idea what time it is, I’m probably late.” The excuse quickly rolled off my tongue. Not a complete lie. I had thought of the diner today. I was scheduled to work, but with the power outage, I doubted Ann and Forest would be open for business.
“A pattern?” He reached under the island, pulling out a pan.
I recalled yesterday morning when he’d caught me as I was leaving work still drunk from the night before. Why did that seem like weeks ago? “Not until I met you.”
A dark smile flirted on his mouth. “If it’s work you want, I have something you can do.”
“This sounds like something I should immediately say no to. Please don’t make an awkward, sexiest remark about what I can do with my hands or mouth.”
Cole smiled, and I nearly lost my breath. “You’ve got a dirty mind, Killer. I was only going to suggest you grab us a bottle of wine, but if you’re offering an alternative…”
I groaned.
“What else are you going to do? Pout?” he suggested.
“I’m not pouting.” To prove my point, I hopped off the stool and went to the cabinet housing the wine. Yes, I knew right where it was. Using the flashlight, I scanned the bottles. “White or red?”
“White,” he replied over a sudden sizzle from the stove.
I skimmed the bottles, pulling out a few to check the labels before grabbi ng one with a pink sticker and fancy silver text. I brought it back and set it in the middle of the island.
Cole tilted the bottle and read the label. “Hmm, Provence Rosés.”
“Is that bad?”
He opened a drawer, producing a bottle opener. “No, actually. Do you drink a lot of wine, Killer?”
My nose scrunched. “Hardly. It had a pretty label.”
His husky chuckle produced a flutter in my stomach. “I take it you don’t like wine?”
“I don’t drink much,” I admitted. Was it possible to feel comfortable in someone’s presence yet simultaneously feel this electric current coursing through your blood that edged on the line of magnetic and panic? Being here with Cole made me feel that way, and I couldn’t explain it.
My body unable to decide if it should run from him or to him.