Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Piper clasped her hands together in her lap and silently prayed for her disastrous date to come to a quick and painless end.
She glanced over at Gerald, hands ten and two on the steering wheel, the captain of his ship. And by ship, she meant the most boring car in the history of cars. The beige Chevy Malibu was currently cruising at an adrenaline-pumping twenty-five miles per hour.
Guilt made her inwardly wince. Gerald really was a nice guy.
So nice. Definitely a step up from her previous date a few days ago.
Richard had been the first to reply to her profile on Perfect Match.
He’d also lied about his height. In fact, she was pretty sure he’d used someone else's picture entirely. The guy had eaten with his mouth open, talked about himself nonstop, and made her pay for half the dinner…down to the last cent. Which was fine, she didn’t mind going Dutch.
But he’d actually kept a running total, jotting it down in a little notepad.
By the end of the night, she’d been desperate to get home to her book, where the hero was all alpha, taller than the heroine, and was actually interested in what she had to say. He certainly wouldn’t frown and purse his lips unhappily when she was a buck short with her half of the tip.
Gerald at least had good manners, a good job. He was well groomed, dressed nice. That had to count for something, right?
Maybe for some. Unfortunately, nice didn’t set her heart racing, her body burning—drive her to tear his tan slacks from his body and ravage him.
She felt nothing. No spark, not even a flicker.
But then that wasn’t what this date was about.
She did feel bad, going out with both men in an attempt to make Cole jealous, to get him to make a damn move, but she’d been desperate.
The man was fighting their connection with everything he had.
Oh, he tried desperately to hide how much he wanted her, but he was failing miserably.
The heated looks, that kiss…the rigid control he always had around her. It told a different story all together.
Cole used to smile a lot, was affectionate. She’d loved it when he’d throw an arm around her shoulders and kiss the top of her head when he came home to Miami during his breaks from college, how he’d tease her. He hadn’t held himself at a distance away like he did now.
God, the way he’d stormed over to her cottage the other morning, all bare-chested and super pissed, muscles flexing, nostrils flaring.
She thought she’d finally gotten to him.
He stood there and barked at her to put on more clothes, cock hard as iron—yes, she’d felt it—but still he’d resisted.
In the end she’d got pissed as well, had baited the hell out of him. It hadn’t worked. He’d walked away.
This was her last chance, if another date didn’t tip him over the edge, she didn’t know what would.
They were made for each other, he just had to damn well give in.
She wanted fireworks, heat, an intense connection.
She didn’t want a guy who lived with his mother and was so dull she’d almost nodded off halfway through the main course.
If she’d had to sit through another minute of Gerald going into great detail about his rare coin collection, or how excited he was for the next Plaid paint-by-numbers catalog to come out, she would have lost her mind.
She’d actually considered stabbing herself with a fork, just for an excuse to get the heck out of there.
Her date signaled the turn into Axle Alley a whole block before he needed to, the tick, tick, tick counting down the long seconds until she was finally alone and her date was a distant memory.
The road was quiet, like always, when they headed toward her cottage. She looked up at the apartment above the garage as they passed. Cole’s place was mostly dark, apart from a light flickering in the living room where he must be watching TV.
He’d watched her leave earlier, scowling from his kitchen window. But he wasn’t there now.
Dammit, she’d suffered through the date for nothing. It seemed his determination to keep away from her was just as strong as hers was to win him over.
The guy had been nothing but grouchy and rude to her since he’d moved next door. It should be easy to hate him. To give up on him. But she couldn’t.
He’d been through so much. It was in the haunted look in his eyes, always there, lingering in their depths. So much pain. She felt trapped in his gaze whenever it locked on hers. The anguish she saw, so strong, so potent, it was impossible to miss. It hurt to see him like that.
She wanted to be there for him, and not just as his lover. She wanted to help with whatever was tearing him up inside. Be there for him in every way she could.
“Here we are,” Gerald announced.
“Oh, out front’s fine. Thanks, Gerald.” Her hand was already on the door handle, ready to make her escape.
He winked, and her stomach did an unhappy somersault. “A gentleman always sees his date to the door.”
“Ah, thanks.” She forced a smile. Poor guy, she really did feel terrible for using him. But he most definitely was not for her. She wanted passion, excitement, a man who couldn’t keep his hands off her. Who lost control because he wanted her that much. She wanted Cole.
She started to open the door, but Gerald shook his head. “That’s my job.”
“Right.” She slumped back in her seat, desperate to get out of his freaking car.
He climbed out, brushed his hands down his slacks, and straightened his dark brown sports coat, then with a smile on his face walked around to her door and opened it. She forced a smile of her own and hoped she didn’t look as impatient as she felt.
Taking her hand, he led her to the front steps. “I had a wonderful time tonight, Piper. In fact, I can easily say this is the best date I’ve ever had.” He smiled brightly, and the guilt she already felt skyrocketed.
Oh boy.
“I had a great time, too, Gerald. You’re a really nice guy.” Time to finish this thing.
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” His hand tightened around hers.
Okay, the nice guy line is a known prequel to a friendly thanks, but no thanks. Most guys knew this, but it looked like Gerald would need her to spell it out.
His breathing had grown choppy and kind of wheezy, and sweat beaded his forehead and slicked his palm. It took a huge amount of effort not to yank her hand away and run inside to scrub the crap out of it.
“Can I…” He let out a shuddery breath. “Can I see you again this Saturday?”
Goddammit.
“Well…I, ah…you see…” Before she could come up with some lame excuse, he sucked in a breath and tugged her forward, knocking her off balance.
She collided with his narrow chest, and his arms locked around her, trapping hers at her sides.
Then she watched in horror as his mouth came toward her.
His open mouth. It landed on her face. She guessed he was going for her lips but missed the mark completely.
His tongue slid across her cheek, then finding its way to her lips, stabbed at them several times.
She stood there stunned, unable to move as that lizard tongue tried to force entry into her mouth, sliding across her teeth.
In that awful moment, she realized that this was Gerald’s first kiss.
It had to be. No one kissed this badly, unless they’d never done it before, and even then most people managed it a hell of a lot better than this.
God, it was disgusting.
But now she felt even worse. This very sweet, incredibly boring man thought he was kissing the pants off her, and more than likely believed he was doing a stellar job—and all she wanted to do was bite his stabby, sloppy tongue off and shove it down his throat.
He pulled back, and she dragged in a much needed lungful of oxygen.
“Wow,” Gerald whispered.
Could this get any worse? “Um, Gerald…look.” He loosened his arms, and she quickly wriggled free. “That was lovely, but I’m not sure we should…”
He reached for her again, completely ignoring her. Panting like he’d run a marathon as he came in for a second kiss. Head dipped, eyes closed, mouth wide open. So wide she could see his freakin’ tonsils. Like he had every intention of eating her face off.
She gave him a light shove to get his attention. “Gerald…”
Nope, nobody home. The guy was more than likely empowered by what she was now one-hundred percent certain was his first kiss.
And by the looks of him, determined to get his second.
One of his hands veered downward, toward her chest, and she slapped it away, shoving at him, harder this time. “Gerald. Stop. Snap out of it.”
“Piper. Oh, sweet, Piper.” That mouth kept on coming.
Lord. Oh, dear lord.
“I’m sorry, but…” She ducked away from his lips. “I said, stop…Gerald.”
The next thing she knew, Gerald was wrenched back, arms wind-milling at his sides. The guy made a strangled squeal before landing on his ass on the front lawn. Her gaze darted up and collided with Cole’s wild one. Chest heaving, teeth gritted.
Shirtless. Again.
He was wearing black nylon shorts, and nothing else. Sweat coated his body like he’d been in the middle of a workout, which was highly likely since every muscle seemed to bulge and ripple as he prowled toward her handsy but harmless date.
Cole grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him to his feet, then got in his face. “When a woman says stop, you fucking stop.”
Gerald's mouth flapped, eyes going round as saucers. “I didn’t… I can assure you I wouldn’t…”
Piper snapped out of her stunned stupor, which wasn’t easy because Cole was sweaty and shirtless, and rushed forward. “Let him go, Cole. He didn’t mean anything by it, did you, Gerald?”
She felt like she was in a hostage negotiation.
The look on Cole’s face, the way he had hold of Gerald’s shirt in a white-knuckled grip, the pure aggression he was throwing off.
It was unnerving as hell but, alarmingly, also a major turn-on.
She had to be wrong in the head. There could be no other reason for it.
Poor Gerald was dangling from the end of Cole’s fist, and she was getting tingles in her most happy of happy places.
“N-no, I didn’t.” He shook his head so fast his face was nothing but a blur.
Cole let him drop to his feet, stepped back, and pointed to his car. “Go.” Gerald looked over at her, and she opened her mouth to apologize when her psychotic neighbor barked, “Now.”
And he did. Like a flash, Gerald streaked across the lawn and was in his Chevy Malibu and tearing down the street a minute later. All concern for the speed limit forgotten.
She spun around to face Cole, planting her hands on her hips. “Oh. My. God. I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Did you want him to kiss you?”
That deep, growly, ravaged voice lifted goose bumps on her skin. “Well…no, but I…”
His nostrils flared. “Did you ask him to stop? Twice?”
“Yes, I did, but I was going to…”
“What?” he snarled. “What were you going to do?”
Holy shit. She’d wanted to get Cole’s attention, but this wasn’t what she’d had in mind. The man was furious. Like red eyes and puffing smoke from nostrils angry.
Dragging her to bed was most definitely the last thing on his mind. He looked like he wanted to strangle her.
She sucked in a pained breath, realizing in that moment it didn’t matter what she did, she couldn’t win this.
He’d never give in to his feelings for her.
He wouldn’t allow himself to have her, would fight their connection tooth and nail.
And goddammit, it hurt. She didn’t get it.
Was he trying to be noble? Did it have something to do with his friendship with her brother? Or was it something else entirely?
She forced down the pain and focused on the only emotion she could handle right then. Anger. “You have some nerve storming over here and interfering like this. I don’t need another goddamn big brother. One sticking his nose in where it’s not wanted is bad enough. So back the hell off.”
Then she spun around and marched up the steps to her house, unlocked the door, and slammed it shut behind her.
The second she was inside, she ran to the bathroom, fighting back the emotion threatening to spill over, and yanked on the tap.
Her face was still wet from Gerald’s slithery tongue and—she gagged—she could smell the seafood bisque he’d had as his main course.
“Gross.” She scrubbed her face with soap, then grabbing her toothbrush, loaded it up with toothpaste and brushed her teeth hard enough to remove the enamel.
Where did Cole get off, acting like that? He didn’t want her, or wouldn’t allow himself to, so what? Now no one else could have her, either? Not that she wanted Gerald, but that was beside the point.
She rinsed and spat, then glanced up at the mirror, taking in her flushed face and wild hair. “Crap. No wonder Cole got the wrong idea.” She looked like someone had roughed her up, and not in a good way.
Grabbing a towel, she dried her face—and jumped a foot in the air when the front door crashed open, followed by a familiar, uneven gait coming down the hall. She poked her head around the bathroom door, and Cole’s gaze locked on her as he strode forward, eyes still wild, mouth tight, chest heaving.
“What are you doing? You can’t just barge in here like that.
” Heat hit her face when she got a good look at him.
The man looked fierce, like whatever control he’d called on outside had gone, poof, completely vanished.
In fact, his expression could only be described as savage.
Like he had every intention of taking a bite out of her.
She backed up, and he kept coming, right into her tiny bathroom. Her butt hit the vanity at her back, and he crowded in. She searched his face, and what she saw made her knees weak and her heart pound.
Lust.
He held none of it back, and the sight stole her breath.
His hands landed on her hips, and he lifted her off her feet like she weighed nothing, planting her ass on the counter. His fingers flexed, digging into her flesh, and he sucked in a rough breath.
Oh good lord.
Then his hands moved, sliding down over her thighs to her knees.
He held her gaze while he did this, like he was waiting for her to protest, like he expected her to tell him to stop.
If she could get her mouth to work, instead of hanging open like one of those sideshow clowns, she certainly wouldn’t be protesting. Oh, hell no.
The muscle in his jaw jumped as he slowly spread her legs wide, wide enough that his hips could fill the space between them. Then he growled. A deep sound that vibrated through his chest. “I’m not your fucking brother.”