Текст книги "Irresistibly Yours"

Автор книги: Layne Layren

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter 29

Cole made it as far as Penelope’s office before he realized he didn’t have a plan.

Which would have been fine had he paused before opening the door, but nope—he’d gone flinging the door open without a single thought as to what he was going to say or do.

The result?

Two very startled pairs of eyes staring at him.

One pair of eyes—the big brown ones—he could drown in. Happily.

The other…

Cole focused all of his attention on the other man in the room. “Kolb.”

“Hey, Sharpe!” Todd Kolb had been standing behind Penelope, one hand braced on her desk, the other on the back of her chair, as they both looked at something on her computer screen.

Whether it was because he sensed the death glare from Cole or because of ingrained manners, Todd left Penelope’s side to shake Cole’s hand.

Cole might have shaken it harder than necessary. It was a clichéd move. Totally pathetic.

And absolutely unavoidable.

Cole did not like this man. He’d just now decided. Didn’t like his reddish hair. Didn’t like the preppy glasses. And his tie was the color of shit.

Penelope wouldn’t really date a man wearing a shit tie.

Would she?

“So, what’s going on in here?” Cole asked. He tried to keep his voice casual and curious, but it definitely seemed to come out vaguely predatory, and he could see from Penelope’s subtle eye roll that she noticed.

“Todd was walking me through some of the players for the off-season game tonight. Did you know that his uncle owns—”

“Yeah, I know,” Cole snapped.

Honestly, why did everyone think he didn’t know that? It was insulting.

“Next time I get tickets it’s your turn,” Todd told Cole, doing an admirable job of sounding apologetic. “I just thought since Penelope is new to town and hasn’t been to a game yet—”

“Yeah, that’s great,” Cole said. “Sounds good. But actually, Penelope and I have a meeting that was supposed to start five minutes ago, so—”

“Oh. Sure.” Todd looked a little surprised, but then gave a little shrug as though he wasn’t the least bit worried to be leaving the woman he was dating alone with Cole Sharpe.

Wrong, dude. You should be worried. Very worried.

Cole all but put his shoe up Todd’s ass in an effort to get the other man out the door, and then slammed it shut with more force than was necessary.

Then he spun around, to find her—

Typing at her computer.

Hell, she wasn’t even looking at him.

“Sorry if I was late to a meeting,” she said, not looking up. “I didn’t have anything on my calendar, but Outlook’s been so weird for me lately. Have you noticed—”

Cole ignored all of this, making it across the room in record time, moving around to Penelope’s side of the desk, and roughly spinning her chair to face him.

Except that this put her face level with his crotch, which was nice, but not exactly appropriate for the moment, so Cole slowly leaned down, his hands on either side of her against the desk as he caged her in.

“Cole?” She kept her shoulders straight as though unfazed, but her voice had gone decidedly breathy.

A good sign. Definitely.

He wanted to give her words. All the words. But first…

Cole couldn’t help himself from bending his head and pressing his lips to the soft skin just below her jaw. The tip of his tongue flicked out and he felt a surge of triumph when she shivered.

“Tell me you won’t be seeing him again,” he said, kissing her neck, slower this time.

“What? Who?”

Good. Excellent. She couldn’t even remember Kolb’s name.

“Todd Kolb.”

Cole gently raked his teeth against her neck and she gasped. “Oh, but…I really want to go to the game.”

“I’ll take you to the game,” he whispered.

She laughed softly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His stomach clenched and he pulled back slightly. “Because of your new boyfriend?”

Her nose scrunched. “What new boyfriend?”

“Don’t play games with me, Penelope.”

“When have I ever played games with you? I don’t even know how.”

Good point. She was a straight shooter.

“Todd Kolb,” he said. “Aren’t you dating him?”

“Dating him? I don’t even know him.”

Cole frowned. “What?”

“I just met him about ten minutes ago,” Penelope replied. “Cassidy introduced us because he thought I might like going to the game—”

“But Cassidy told me—” Cole broke off as the pieces snapped into place as he straightened.

Oh, hell. He’d been thoroughly played by his boss.

“That bastard,” he muttered.

“Who?” Penelope asked.

“Let’s just say Cassidy knew exactly what buttons to push,” he said, feeling foolish.

She motioned for him to back up. “Move, you’re making me crane my neck.”

“You crane your neck even when we’re both standing, Tiny.”

“True,” she said as she stood. “But at least when I’m standing I don’t feel quite so lamb to your lion.”

Any confidence Cole had felt at the way she’d responded to his neck nuzzling evaporated when she looked up at him with a cool expression.

He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She looked utterly calm.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Are you all right? You look kind of off.”

He let out a little laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m off. I’ve been off weeks.”

“Well, I don’t know why you’re hollering at me about that. You dumped me—”

“I didn’t dump you.”

“Um, beg to differ. I came to be with you while your brother was in the hospital, bought balloons, and you said, and I quote, See you around, Pope. I actually went home and googled that, because I thought it might be a line from The Godfather, or some guy movie. But nope. Just you being a jerk.”

“I know. I know I did all that, I said all that.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “What are the chances we can pretend that day didn’t happen? That I didn’t act like a foolish ass?”

“Okay.”

Cole’s eyes flew open. “Okay?”

It couldn’t possibly be that easy.

“Okay,” she repeated with a little shrug. “Let’s say I give you a do-over. Let’s pretend we’re back on the sidewalk outside the hospital. What do you say?”

Oh. Fuck.

“Uh.”

She nodded. “Good start.”

He could do this.

“If I got a do-over…” He cleared his throat. “I’d tell you thanks for coming, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And I’d…Shit. Here’s the thing, Tiny. A few months ago, I made you a promise that I wouldn’t fall in love with you.”

She nodded slowly.

He stepped closer. “I’m going to have to break that promise.”

Penelope’s breath caught, and he lifted a hand to her face and pressed forward. “I’ve fallen in love with you, Penelope. Yes, that scares the shit out of me. And yes, it caused me to freak out. But my head’s out of my ass now, and I just, I want…I’m yours, Penelope. If you want me. Irresistibly yours.”

She stared at him, looking stunned, and Cole felt his chest tighten.

He dipped his head for a second, trying to gather his last bit of courage, before he looked up to meet her eyes. Tried again. “I love you. That’s all I’ve got. I love you.”

Penelope stood perfectly still as her eyes searched his face, not saying a word, her features betraying nothing.

Be patient. Be patient. You’ve treated her horribly, and she’ll need time. You can’t go begging—

“Please say something,” he blurted out.

Smooth, Cole. Good job on the no begging thing.

She swallowed and dropped her eyes to his chin. “Just trying to think of the best way to tell you that I broke my promise a long time ago. You’re really an impossible man not to fall in love with.”

Cole had the strangest urge to pump his fist in triumph, but instead he settled for pulling her closer. “Is that so?”

She smiled and went on her toes as she kissed his chin. “It is. And I love you.”

He bent and kissed her cheekbones. “Say it again.”

“No way, you say it again.”

“Not until you—”

“Here’s an idea,” came a male voice from the doorway. “Say it at the same time. Then you both win.”

Cole glanced up to see Lincoln leaning in the doorway drinking a smoothie. The haunted look was gone from Lincoln’s face, and now he wore a shit-eating grin.

“Don’t you knock?” Cole asked.

“I don’t know, Jake, do we knock?” Lincoln said, raising his voice and looking to his left. “I’m pretty sure we don’t.”

Jake Malone came into the doorway, saw Penelope in Cole’s arms, and grinned. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment, Sharpe. All the shit you’ve been giving me for the past year, and—”

Cassidy appeared in the doorway, his cool green eyes betraying nothing, but there may have been just the slightest upward tilt of his lips.

He leaned forward, his hand finding the doorknob of Penelope’s office door. “Sorry about my Relationships and Travel editors here,” Cassidy said. “I’ll just give you a moment of privacy…”

“Hold up,” Cole said before Cassidy could close the door. “I have a bone to pick with you, boss. You deliberately let me think—”

“Never happened,” Cassidy called, shutting the door with a sharp snap.

It opened a half second later, and Cassidy poked his head in the door.

“You guys do remember we have a staff meeting in ten?”

Cole was already kissing Penelope, and waved a hand over her head. Get out.

The door closed again, and Cole pulled Penelope closer, deepening the kiss. If he only had ten minutes, he was going to make every damn one count.

Penelope, however, had other ideas, because she shoved him back after two minutes.

“Wait. Does this mean I don’t get to go to the game with Todd tonight?”

“You have other plans,” Cole said, running his hands over her, just because he could.

“What am I supposed to tell him? I already said I was available.”

“Tell him there’s been a change of plans and you’ll be spending the night naked, at my place.”

“What if he asks to go later this week?”

“You’re busy then too.”

“Next week?” she asked, her voice just slightly exasperated.

He smiled against her neck. “Let me make this really clear. You’re going to busy all of the nights. Forever. With me.”

She pulled back. “That sounds to me like commitment, Mr. Sharpe.”

He grinned. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“Okay, but I’m thinking I should get this one in writing. You’re obviously terrible at keeping your promises, and—”

Cole cut her off with a kiss. Penelope didn’t know it yet, but he was pretty damn sure she’d be getting his promise in the form of something shiny and sparkly.

Say, along the lines of a diamond ring…

Epilogue

“Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh, it’s him.” Penelope thumped her fist against Cole’s biceps in excitement. “Do I look okay? Do you have any lipstick?”

Cole stared at her. “Are you kidding me right now with this?”

She barely heard him. She stood on her toes, peering around the crowd of reporters to get a better look. “Dang, I wish I were taller. Can I sit on your shoulders?”

“If you think for one second I’m going to hoist you onto my shoulders so that you can ogle another man—”

“Not just any other man, though,” she said. “Jackson Burke. Only, like, the greatest quarterback in the history of quarterbacks.”

“Former quarterback,” Cole corrected under his breath.

They were both quiet for a moment, two avid sports fans paying a moment of silence to the end of a legend.

Five days ago, Cole and Penelope had flown in for the Redhawks’ training camp. It was a sports editor’s dream. A chance to interview players, coaches, see who was looking good, who’d had a few too many beers in the off-season…

The moment they’d stepped off the plane, both of their phones had exploded in a barrage of texts, emails, and tweets.

Jackson Burke, the Texas Redhawks quarterback and four-time Super Bowl winner, had been involved in a multicar accident on the way to a training game.

Nobody from the Redhawks had confirmed the extent of his injury, but rumors were flying that his football career was over.

Further rumors were circulating that he’d had a woman, not his wife, in the car with him.

It was a toss-up which was getting more press—the demise of his professional life or the implosion of his personal one. Especially given the swirling rumors of his womanizing ways in recent months.

The crowd parted enough that Penelope could get her first glimpse of Jackson, and her heart sank as she realized that the rumors likely held some truth.

The sling on his shoulder was the first clue, but it was the look on his face that confirmed it.

This was a man who’d lost everything.

“Damn,” Cole said.

“I know,” Penelope said. “He’s even more gorgeous when he’s haunted, isn’t he?”

Cole glared at her, and Penelope hid a smile. She was doing it to needle him, but truth be told, Jackson Burke was an exceptionally good-looking man. Dark brown hair, hazel eyes framed by some great eyelashes. Then there was the body. That glorious, sculpted body.

Basically, the man was so perfect to look at that he was the paid rep for at least a half dozen different lines of fitness equipment, men’s grooming products, and a couple kinds of whiskey.

The crowd quieted as Jackson Burke took his place behind the microphone. It was the first press conference he’d given since the accident, and judging from the pissed-off expression on his face, it hadn’t been his idea.

“Mr. Burke, can you tell us the extent of your injuries?”

No.

“Mr. Burke, do you anticipate recovery by the start of the season?”

No.

“Mr. Burke, if your injuries prevent you from returning from football, what will you do? Your college degree is in journalism, do you think you’ll ever be one of us?”

Hell no.

“Mr. Burke, can you tell us the identity of the young woman in your car?”

No.

“Mr. Burke, in the three days you were in the hospital, Mrs. Burke wasn’t ever seen coming or going. What is—”

There was a loud crash as the podium hit the ground.

“Holy shit, he just table-flipped a podium,” one of the other reporters said excitedly.

“Guess his other arm still works fine,” Cole muttered in her ear.

“Yeah,” Penelope said distractedly. Her eyes stayed trained on Jackson Burke as he walked away, shaking off his agent and coach and giving the finger to the crowd of bolder reporters who’d dared to follow him.

“Time’s up, sweetheart,” Cole said, his hand sliding around her waist. “Your ogling minutes are all used up.”

She turned around to face him, and the sight of his perfect, beloved features had her forgetting all about Jackson Burke.

The damn man still didn’t fail to take her breath away. She doubted he ever would.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, oblivious to the buzzing crowd around them. “What if I were to ogle you?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Do you want me to strip? If you take me back to our room, I can definitely strip down and let you ogle, and if you’re a really good girl, I might let you touch….”

She glanced at her watch. “Shouldn’t we head over to the game camp? See if we can’t get someone to talk to us about yesterday’s near brawl?”

“Definitely. We should. Or, we can try out that two-person shower in our suite.”

Penelope pursed her lips. “You know, hypothetically, if I agreed to that shower idea, it would be the first time in my life that I chose a guy over sports?”

He lowered his lips to her ear. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Deal. But if Cassidy asks—”

“He won’t. Trust me, he does not want to know.”

Penelope let him take her hand and lead her in the direction of their hotel, when suddenly she tugged him to a stop.

“Hold up. I said it was the first time in my life I chose a guy over sports.”

“Yeah?”

“So you didn’t say it back,” she said, feeling oddly sulky. “You’ve chosen a woman over sports before?”

He scratched his cheek. “Yeah. Once.”

Jealousy stabbed through Penelope, and the unfamiliar emotion left her with the strangest feeling of being icy cold and fiery hot at the same time.

“Who?” she demanded. “When?”

“It was at a Yankees game. I spent the first three innings captivated by her back and the way she kept scribbling in this little notebook….”

Penelope made a huffing noise. She did not like this woman. She really didn’t like that the woman liked baseball. That was her and Cole’s thing.

She started to lift her chin and play it off, but then she saw the little whisper of a smile on his face.

Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. I have a little notebook. And you first met me at a Yankees game.”

“Hmm, that so? I don’t remember.”

She pinched his arm playfully. “Cole Sharpe, don’t you dare tease me about this. The woman who distracted you from that Yankees game. It was me?”

His hands found her face as his thumbs gently brushed her lips, his expression tender. “Penelope. It’s always been you.”

Read on for an enticing excerpt

from the next in the Oxford series

Playing For Keeps

Available soon from

Chapter 1

It wasn’t that Jackson Burke was a cowboy.

Not really.

Sure, he’d been born and raised in Texas, but he’d lived most of his life in the suburbs of Houston.

The only time he’d seen a horse was at summer camp.

And sure, he liked his jeans and his boots, but he’d adjusted to the daily suits.

Mostly.

So maybe Jackson was more cowboy than he thought, because man, did he hate New York City.

He hated that his new penthouse apartment, with all its shiny appliances and stunning skyline, didn’t have a backyard.

Hated that you couldn’t do something as simple as go out to buy a tube of toothpaste without having to share the sidewalk with a hundred other people.

The beer was overpriced, the food was overpriced, and there were always a dozen sushi places within a half-block radius—but it was damn near impossible to find decent barbecue.

He hated the subway. Hated the cabs. He even hated the fancy car service that he could easily afford, because it reminded him that he had nowhere to go.

Hated his new job and everything that it represented.

Basically, Jackson hated that he was in New York instead of Texas, but most of all—more than the expensive beer and the substandard barbecue—he hated why he was in New York instead of Texas.

Hated that he was no longer Jackson Burke, quarterback of the Texas Redhawks.

He was no longer quarterback of anything.

Which would be great—no, not great, it would never be great—but it would be tolerable if everyone would quit acting like he was just a stroke of luck away from a comeback.

Of course, they hadn’t seen the X-rays.

They hadn’t had to listen to doctor after doctor string the words never and football into the same sentence.

Still, there were two things that Manhattan delivered just as well as Texas: whiskey and women.

Tonight, like most other nights lately, both were on the agenda, but unlike other nights, the women part of the equation wasn’t going to end with them naked between his sheets.

There were some women who weren’t meant for fucking. Your ex-wife’s little sister was one of them.

And though he wasn’t going to get all sappy and emotional about it, Mollie Carrington was perhaps the one positive thing about his move to New York City. The spunky kid was the one person who’d never seemed to care about his jersey.

Which was a good thing. Because he’d never be wearing one again.

–

“Joining us for dinner, sir?” The hostess at the upscale Italian restaurant gave him a polite, if slightly generic smile.

“I am, but I’m early,” Jackson replied, forcing a return smile. He’d been doing a lot of that in the past eight months—forcing smiles. Forcing everything.

“Not a problem. Feel free to grab a seat in the bar while you wait.”

That was the plan, sweetheart, Jackson thought as he forced another smile and made his way into the dimly lit bar.

It’s not that he was dreading seeing his sister-in-law. No, ex–sister-in-law. Of all the women in his life, Mollie was easily the least complicated. It was just that Mollie made him think of Madison, and Madison was, well, very complicated.

Still, Mollie was a good kid. Granted, he didn’t see her much. She’d been twenty when he and Madison had gotten married at twenty-eight, and completely immersed in her college life at Fordham.

Then she’d opted to stay in New York, coming to Houston only for holidays and the occasional weekend getaway.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen her. A year ago, at least.

Jackson was a little surprised to realize he’d missed her. Odd, considering that their friendship had more or less been born out of obligation on his part: Right after he and Madison had gotten married, he’d been so damn desperate to be the perfect husband, and by extension, the perfect brother-in-law.

Mollie had gone to Australia for a year abroad and had been terrified at being so far from home. Since Madison didn’t “do” email, Jackson had done his best to give Mollie a sense of home by corresponding with her via the Internet while she was halfway across the world, and somehow they’d never stopped, even when she’d gotten back to New York.

Not like they’d been writing long love letters that he’d spritzed with his cologne or any bullshit like that, just emails here, quick texts there. She reached out whenever she had boyfriend problems, and he’d just been grateful to have someone in his life willing to talk about something other than football.

Mollie was a friend…one of his best friends, perhaps, but her email invitation to catch up over drinks now that he was in New York had caught him by surprise.

To say that the end of his and Madison’s marriage had been stormy would be a massive understatement.

He hadn’t heard from Mollie since the divorce was finalized.

Until now.

“Can I get you a drink, sir?” the bartender asked.

“Manhattan, Knob Creek bourbon if you have it, with Carpano Antica if you have that,” Jackson said.

“Of course, sir.” The middle-aged bartender didn’t even bat an eye at the precise order.

Now this was one thing New York did better than Texas—cocktails. Perfectly cold, perfectly mixed, perfectly classic cocktails.

The bartender fluttered down a white, monogrammed cocktail napkin in front of Jackson as he stirred the drink, before straining it into a chilled glass.

Perfect. Utter fucking perfection.

And what shit it was that Jackson’s life had turned into this—the highlight of his day was a well-made cocktail.

Jackson took a sip of his drink as he surveyed the room with a bored eye. It was early on a Wednesday evening, which meant that most of the clientele were the after-work business crowd: men in perfectly tailored suits, women in classy pencil skirts with perfectly coiffed hair.

Houston had this too—a thriving business scene—but it was different.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just that the way people responded to him was different here. Not so long ago, he could walk into a room—any room—and be swarmed with fans wanting autographs or selfies or just to touch him.

People occasionally recognized him in New York, but more often than not, he blended into the suit-wearing, Monday-through-Friday crowd as though he were one of them.

Because he was one of them.

Or at least he was trying damn hard to be.

Jackson slid a finger under the collar of his shirt, tugging it outward just slightly in an effort to ease the choking sensation it gave him. The tailor had assured him that the shirt was a perfect fit, but it still felt tight.

Trying to distract himself from the fact that he was wearing a boring blue suit just like most of the other men in the bar, he let his attention shift to the women.

It was one of the few benefits of his divorce—the ability to look at other women without feeling guilty.

Hell, in the early years of his marriage he hadn’t even wanted to look at other women. Madison had been…everything.

Even toward the end, he’d stayed faithful.

And not a damn person believed him.

Jackson took a sip of his drink and let his eyes scan the room. There were the two cocktail waitresses in their tight black dresses. Hot, but young. Far too young. There was the group of classy, designer-clad women near the window, nursing their white wines.

Then there were the businesswomen on their cellphones, the gussied-up women on dates, and the elderly woman who’d just ordered her second martini….

Bored.

He was bored. Jackson’s fingers crept to his collar once more. Sweet Jesus, was the thing actually getting tighter?

He went for another sip of his drink only to freeze when he saw a pair of very nice legs out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head subtly to get a better look, and all traces of boredom vanished.

A woman in a short red dress will do that to a man. Especially when the woman has the most perfect pair of legs he’d ever seen. Long—sinfully long—toned, tanned…

His eyes traveled up…and up and up, over the trim ankles in their sexy sandals, over the defined calves and toned thighs and narrow hips. The woman was tall and thin, bordering on lanky, which he didn’t usually go for, but it was working for her.

His gaze kept right on going, over the narrow waist, small but perky breasts, until he reached her face.

Pretty. Very pretty. Her shoulder-length blond hair was tousled and sexy, her eyes brilliantly blue. And that mouth…

That mouth was smiling at him. No, smirking. At him.

The woman had definitely caught him in the act.

Shit. Might as well roll with it.

Jackson calmly lifted his drink to his lips as he met her eyes, only to feel a little jolt as their gazes collided. Jackson felt a punch of lust in his gut, followed by something else…something low and dangerous, not unlike an eerie siren trying to tell him that something was very, very amiss.

Slowly, the woman lowered herself to the barstool next to his. He watched in horrified arousal as she reached out, plucked his drink from his hand, raised it to red, red lips, and took a deliberate sip.

Only after she’d set the drink—his drink—back on the bar did she speak.

“Hello, Jackson.”

“God. Mollie.”

He continued to stare in shock at his ex sister-in-law.

Oh hell. When had this happened?