Chapter Eleven #2
He turned back toward the house and felt the warmth settle in his chest at the simple thought of her waiting inside and told himself it didn’t mean a thing.
After Cole showered, Aftyn took her turn.
He wouldn’t have minded sharing, but they had a reservation to keep.
Otherwise, he might have said to hell with it.
He pulled on clean boxer briefs, dark jeans, and a red dress shirt, then reached for his good, distressed cowboy boots, the ones that only came out when looking presentable was actually required.
He was stamping his foot into the second one when the bathroom door opened on a rush of warm steam.
Aftyn came out wrapped in a white towel that covered just enough and not a great deal more, water droplets catching the light on her bare shoulders, damp hair falling loose around her flushed face.
She looked at him with that smile, and he felt his pulse kick hard.
“Nope,” he said.
“Nope what?” Her voice was easy, unhurried, and she kept walking toward him like she already knew how this was going.
“Nope to whatever you’re thinking. We can’t be late.”
“Spoilsport.”
“No argument there.” He pulled her in anyway, felt the damp towel press against his shirt, and put his mouth to the side of her neck, breathing in the clean jasmine scent of her. “We could skip dinner,” he said against her skin.
“We could.” Her fingers found the collar of his shirt. “But I’ve been wanting to try this place. I’ve heard good things.” She pulled back just enough to look at him. “Your shirt is wet now.”
“I’ll change it.” He stepped back with some effort and checked his watch. “I’ll be in the living room. Twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be ready.” She reached up to catch the towel where it had started to slip, and the look on her face told him she knew exactly what she was doing.
“Okay.” He unbuttoned the damp shirt, shrugged it off, and grabbed a fresh one from the closet, then pressed his lips to her forehead and let himself stay there a beat longer.
Then he walked out, because if he didn’t do it now he wasn’t going to do it at all, the scent of her still on his mouth and the thought of that towel and the rumpled sheets behind him doing absolutely nothing to help.
****
Aftyn smiled to herself as she stepped into the royal purple lace panties and matching push-up bra, then pulled the black dress up over her curves.
It fit exactly the way it was supposed to, ending two inches above her knees, leaving nothing to the imagination and everything to it at the same time.
She stepped into the cobalt blue stilettos and turned to face the mirror above the mahogany dresser.
“This better knock your socks off, Cole Harrison.”
She drew a slow breath, opened the door, and walked to the living room. He was standing at the far wall with his back to her, looking out at the mountains. She cleared her throat softly.
He turned, and she watched it happen. His jaw tightened.
Those green eyes moved over her from head to toe, unhurried, taking their time at her curves, and then he closed them like he needed a second to collect himself.
When he opened them again, he crossed the room and stopped a few feet short of her.
“You look beautiful.” His voice came out low and rough around the edges.
“Thank you.” She felt the flush climb her neck anyway.
“The dress is something else.” His gaze dropped to her shoes and he swallowed. “But those shoes. Damn.”
She closed the remaining distance between them, heels clicking against the floor, and set her hands on his shoulders. Then she leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear, breathing him in.
“I’ll be keeping these on later,” she whispered, and caught his earlobe lightly between her teeth.
“Son of a bitch,” he growled. “Let’s go.”
He took her hand, led her to the kitchen and helped her into her coat, then shrugged on his sheepskin and lifted his black Stetson from the peg by the door.
They stepped out into the September cold, and it hit her like a wall.
Cole settled his hat on his head and guided her down the steps to his truck, one hand steady at her elbow.
He opened her door, walked around the front, boots crunching on the gravel, and folded himself onto the leather seat with a low, satisfied exhale.
“It got really cold since this morning,” she said, pulling her gloved hands together in her lap.
“September in Montana, darlin’. Even though it’s only the beginning.” He turned the engine over, rich and powerful, and reached for the dash. “I have heated seats.” He pushed both buttons and the dashboard washed their faces in a soft red glow.
“Oh, that’s nice. I used mine in the SUV on the way over.” She settled back as the warmth began to rise beneath her. “Warm butt, warm heart.”
Cole’s laugh came up from deep in his chest. “Pretty sure that’s not how it goes.”
“Works for me.”
Cole eased into the parking lot and cut the engine.
The building’s facade glowed under a pair of wrought-iron lanterns, rich red brick catching the pooled light, two oversized windows flanking the glass doors throwing molten amber out into the dusk.
Aftyn leaned forward in her seat and took it in.
On the sidewalk a couple in distressed denim laughed at something between them, and near the entrance a woman in an elegant sheath dress paused to adjust her stiletto.
Cole had told her any attire went there, and the crowd bore that out.
“Sit tight,” he said, pushing his door open. “I’ll get yours.”
“Thank you.”
He came around the front and offered his hand. She slipped her fingers into his palm and he helped her down, and the warmth rolling out from the entrance felt like a mercy after the wind.
Inside, the air carried polished oak and simmering stock and something rich she couldn’t quite name.
Cole guided her through a short foyer to a hostess stand carved from dark mahogany, where a woman with chestnut hair offered them a practiced smile and Cole something a little warmer than that.
Aftyn noticed. She told herself to let it go, jealousy wasn’t something she made a habit of, but there was a difference between courteousness and the way that woman’s eyes moved over him like she was reading a menu but already knew she wanted.
Cole gave his name. The hostess gathered two heavy leather-bound menus and led them to a booth beneath a low-hung lantern. Cole lifted Aftyn’s coat from her shoulders, folded it, and laid it across the bench, then set his hat and coat aside and settled in across from her.
“This is a nice place,” Aftyn murmured, running a fingertip along the grain of the table.
“Always busy.” Cole flipped open his menu. “Hard to get a table without a reservation most nights.”
The hostess reappeared at the edge of the booth. “Can I get you something to drink while you wait for your server?”
Cole glanced across the table. “Aftyn?”
“White wine, please.”
“And for you, sir?”
“Callahan Whiskey. Rocks.”
“I’ll be right back.” She was gone as quickly as she’d come, and Aftyn watched her navigate the corridor with a fluid confidence that suggested she knew exactly the effect she had.
“No wonder you need a reservation,” Aftyn said, leaning in.
Cole’s mouth curved. “Every night. I called Grant to get us in.”
“Grant Hunter?” She looked up. “What’s his connection?”
“He owns it.”
She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I didn’t know that.”
“How would you?” Cole set his menu down. “He didn’t want to set up in Clifton, didn’t want to step on Connie’s toes back home. So, he came here instead. Works out well for everyone except the people who forget to call ahead.”
“That was thoughtful of him.”
“He’s a good man.”
“Very handsome too,” she said, and watched Cole’s eyes narrow across the table, the corner of his mouth fighting itself. She laughed. “I’m teasing you.”
“Sweetheart, you can tease me all you want.” His voice dropped low.
“Oh, I plan to.” She leaned forward on her elbows.
Cole’s gaze settled on her mouth. “I’m going to regret saying that.”
The hostess returned with their drinks, crystal glasses catching the warm light as she set them on the white tablecloth. She asked if they needed anything else, received a no from each, and glided back toward the podium.
Aftyn picked up her glass and took a sip. “Very good.”
“Grant only serves the best.” Cole lifted his whiskey.
She was glancing around the restaurant when she saw him. Peterson, cutting between tables with long determined strides, his eyes already fixed on their booth. She felt her fingers tighten around the stem of her glass.
“What the hell,” she murmured.
Cole looked over his shoulder, and she heard the quiet exhale through his nose. “What’s he doing here?”
“Having dinner, I would imagine.”
“Don’t be a smartass.” He was already getting to his feet.
Peterson reached them, his polished shoes catching the light. His eyes moved from Aftyn to Cole and back.
“Aftyn.” A short nod. “Harrison.”
“Peterson.” Cole’s voice was low and had no warmth in it. “We’re trying to have a quiet evening. What do you want?”
“Your sister just pulled into the parking lot,” Peterson said, looking at Aftyn. “She cannot see you here.”
The words settled over the table like a cold draft. Aftyn set her glass down carefully. “Why not? Maybe it’s time she knows I’m here.”
“This isn’t the time or the place.” Cole put his hand on her shoulder.
She felt the tension go out of her in a slow exhale. “You’re right. But after everything she’s done, now she’s going to ruin this too.”
“I’m sorry,” Peterson said, his voice dropping beneath the low hum of conversation and the clink of cutlery around them. “But I have to agree with Harrison.”
Aftyn looked at him. “You followed her here?”
“Yes. She came in with your ex. Once they parked I came inside to keep an eye on them. I didn’t even know you were here until I walked through the door.”
Cole was already catching the server’s eye.