Текст книги "Irresistibly Yours"

Автор книги: Layne Layren

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Chapter 16

Cole made it nearly a week of following Penelope’s stupid no-sex-on-weekdays rule.

He didn’t like it, but he’d seen from the stubborn set of her pointy little jaw that it was that or nothing, and, well…for reasons he didn’t care to explore too closely, nothing wasn’t an option when it came to Penelope Pope.

Not when he’d spent the better part of the last three and a half days trying not to think about those little sighs she made when he licked her nipples, or the way her hips went crazy when he fingered her.

Hell, he’d almost thought they could pull it off.

They’d made it through Monday’s staff meeting, Tuesday’s team lunch, and Wednesday’s after-work happy hour without him hauling her into a deserted corner and kissing her senseless.

Somehow he’d managed to sit beside her for hours on end as they reviewed images and copy and stats, without sliding his hand under her skirt and seeing if she was as wet as he was hard.

And then Thursday happened.

“Tiny,” he barked, the second he stepped off the elevator. “Where the hell have you been?”

She blinked in surprise at his harsh tone. “I was at lunch.”

He’d known she was at lunch. He also knew who she was at lunch with.

Cole’s gaze shifted to Lincoln, who was standing beside Penelope and looking at Cole with a knowing smirk.

“We would have asked you to join,” Penelope said, clearly confused at his anger, “but you were on the phone, and we had to be back by one, so—”

He had been on the phone. He’d been trying once again to get hold of Bobby, only to find out that his brother was busy. Again.

Cole was happy his brother had a life. Had friends. Was happy that his brother was happy.

It was just…

For years, Cole had known that he was all his brother had. That his brother needed him.

But there were times when Cole was struck with the realization that Bobby was all he had. His only family.

And Bobby never meant to blow him off—his brother would die if he thought he’d hurt anyone’s feelings, much less Cole’s….

And yet, hurt his feelings were.

Which put him a damn shitty mood.

“Relax, Pen,” Lincoln was saying to Penelope. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

He punctuated this statement by placing his hand just briefly on Penelope’s back and Cole had the strangest urge to drive his fist into Lincoln’s face.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Lincoln was his friend. Penelope was his…friend.

They were both his colleagues, and they were absolutely allowed to go to lunch together.

And yet…and yet—

He scowled at Penelope. “Do you have a few minutes? We have to make that US Open layout by end of day.”

“That’s going to take four hours?” Lincoln asked in sham confusion, glancing at his watch.

Cole ignored him, storming toward his office and hoping more than he should that Penelope would follow.

“I’m really sorry we didn’t wait for you,” Penelope said as she came into his office.

Cole shut the door without replying.

She touched his arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

He frowned at the question. Cole Sharpe was always okay. Cole Sharpe was the one who made everyone else laugh, who put everyone at ease, who always had the quick comeback and the ready smile.

But sometimes…sometimes, he wanted to lean.

Just a little. Or, at the very least, to simply be, without always having a quip at the ready. And when she was looking at him with those damn big eyes, all wide and compassionate, and hell, caring, he wanted to lean on her.

“Cole?”

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

His hands wrapped around Penelope’s arms and he jerked her toward him and claimed her mouth.

It was a graceless, hungry kiss. It had none of his usual finesse, but he needed it. Needed her.

He was so lost in the taste of her that it took him a moment to realize she’d gone still against him.

He pulled back slightly and gave her a questioning glance.

“Cole, you know the rules,” she said, her eyes locked on his mouth. “No blending work and pleasure, no sex on weekdays—”

He dropped his hands from her arms, releasing her, but he didn’t step back. There were mere inches separating them, and he wondered if she felt the heat between them as acutely as he did.

How had this happened? How was it that this sweet, feisty tomboy could turn him on just as easily as she turned him completely inside out every time she looked at him?

“Come on, Cole. Don’t do this.” Her voice was a whisper now.

His hands itched to reach for her again, but he forced himself to stay. To wait.

He grinned in triumph as she shrugged slightly, letting her purse fall to the floor with a quiet thump as her arms lifted to wind around his neck.

Their lips collided as they devoured each other.

Was it possible it had only been three and a half days since he’d last tasted her lips? Since he’d last run his hands over her lithe body?

It felt like forever.

He wrapped his fingers low on her hips, holding her snugly against his already hard cock as her hands roamed restlessly over his back.

“I hate this suit jacket,” she said with a little gasp, when he pulled back and bent his knees slightly to get at her neck. “I mean, I usually like it, because you look all corporate and yummy, but it’s in my way, and I can’t touch you.”

“How do you think I feel about all your clothes?” he muttered.

She was wearing a short-sleeved purple top with just the slightest V-neck. His mouth forged a trail downward until he could lick just under the fabric of her shirt, tasting the sweet upper curves of her breasts.

She made a breathy, sighing noise. “We really shouldn’t. We’re at work, and anyone could walk in.”

“First of all,” he said, kissing his way back up her neck, “don’t think for one second that we’re the first ones. Jake closes his office door every time his wife ‘brings him lunch’ and her hair is never quite as neat when she comes out. And I have it on good authority that the boss has gotten lucky in his office once or twice.”

She pulled back. “Cassidy? No. He wouldn’t. Sex in his office, really? He’s so controlled.”

“Not around Emma he’s not,” Cole said confidently, pulling her back in for a long, wet kiss.

“What’s the ‘second of all’?” Penelope asked, when they parted to breathe.

“Hmm?” Cole asked, his hands sliding up, inching ever closer to her breasts.

“Well, you said ‘first of all.’ That implies there’s something else.”

“Ah, right.” He stepped nearer, backing Penelope against the door. “Second of all, there’s a lock on the door.”

They both watched as his hand slid down, twisting the lock with a quick flick of his fingers.

And then she launched herself at him, all but climbing up his body, trying to reach his mouth.

He laughed a little, scooting his hands under her ass and pulling her up as he sandwiched her body between the door and his body as they kissed.

Cole barely registered the sound of one of her shoes falling off and hitting the floor when she wrapped her legs around his waist. He was too busy touching her. Tasting her.

Wanting her.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed her naked. Now.

He stepped back, and she made a mewling sound of protest as he set her back on the floor.

Cole locked his eyes on hers as he slowly lifted her shirt over her head. Her bra was pink and lacy. Pretty, but he was far more interested in what lay beneath, and he sent the bra in the same direction as her shirt: off.

“Cole,” she whispered, clearly embarrassed. She lifted her hands to cover herself, but he batted her hands aside. If anyone was going to put hands on her breasts, it was going to be him.

He rubbed the heels of his palms against her, his cock going even harder when she cried out. He’d never been with a woman this responsive. And suddenly he wanted to know if she was always this way, or if it was just with him.

He hoped to God it was the latter.

He toyed with her in soft teasing touches before dipping his head and putting his mouth on her. So obsessed was he with the feel of her beaded nipple against his tongue that he didn’t realize she’d undone his pants until her hand slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs and palmed his cock.

“Fuh-uck,” he said, his head falling back as she stroked him.

He saw the pleased triumph in her eyes, and he let her have her moment. Let her palm torture him for several moments until he was embarrassingly close to coming.

Cole gripped her wrist, tugging her hand away from him, as he swiftly assessed his options. He had a condom—several of them, actually. He’d learned his lesson after last weekend.

His cock hardened at the thought of turning her around, pressing her against the door, and taking her from behind. But logistically speaking, their height difference would make that difficult.

Instead, he tightened his grip on her wrist, pulling her toward the desk. He kissed his way down her body until he knelt in front of her, his hands quickly ridding her of both pants and panties as well as the remaining shoe.

He meant to stand back up. Meant to lift her up onto his desk and bury himself inside her—

Instead, he leaned forward and let his tongue find her slit. She gave a sharp cry, and he licked her harder, palming the back of one of her thighs and lifting her leg to the side so she was wide open for him.

Her hands found his head for balance, her nails digging into his hair as his tongue circled her.

Going down on Penelope Pope in his office was definitely going in Cole’s catalog of best erotic memories.

He was damn close to coming in his pants just by licking her. This was madness. Fucking madness.

Cole stood, taking a condom out of his wallet before throwing off his suit jacket. Penelope shoved his pants down around his hips as he freed his cock with his hand and rolled on the condom.

She hopped up onto the desk, slowing spreading her legs and crooking her finger at him. Cole groaned as he stepped closer, positioning himself at her wet entrance. “I thought you said you were no good at this,” he growled.

Her hands found his shoulders. “Guess I just needed to do it with the right guy.”

Her words sent an odd thrill through him, and he rewarded her by sliding into her with a slow, slick thrust.

When he was all the way inside, he rested his forehead against hers, putting her hands around his neck. “Hold on.”

His palms slid down to her ass, pulling her even more tightly around him before he pulled back, and thrust home again, harder this time.

“Jesus,” he whispered, already on the verge of losing it. “You’re so tight. I can’t—”

“Hard and fast,” she whispered against his ear.

Cole needed no further encouragement. He slid his thumb down to her clit, pressing it in relentless circles as he drove into her at a merciless pace.

Holding off was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life, but he waited. Waited until he heard her cry out, waited until she contracted around him.

Then he let himself go. He came with a soft roar, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder, too damn far gone to let himself be embarrassed by his lack of control.

They clung to each other for long moments after, both of them panting, neither speaking.

It was Penelope who pulled back first, and Cole felt a stab of annoyance when she didn’t meet his eyes.

She scooted off the desk and shot him a quick, embarrassed look before kneeling down to pick up her pants.

No. There would be none of that. No embarrassment.

He knelt beside her, refusing to let either of them be embarrassed by their nakedness or what had just transpired.

He hooked a finger under chin, lifting her eyes to his. “You’re the hottest lay I’ve ever had, Ms. Pope.”

It was the right thing to say. She let out a surprised laugh, but he could tell by the warmth in her eyes that she was pleased with the compliment.

Cole just hoped she knew he meant every damn word.

He handed her clothes to her, then turned slightly so she could dress in some semblance of privacy.

Cole frowned a little as he tugged his own pants back up over his hips, wondering, not for the first time, who or what had made Penelope think she was anything less than a sexy, hot-blooded woman. That Evan bastard back in Chicago?

He wanted to ask her, but it felt like a boyfriend kind of question, and she’d made it perfectly clear she wasn’t looking for one of those.

Great. Fine. He certainly wasn’t in the market for a relationship.

He wasn’t commitment-phobic per se, he just hadn’t yet been in a relationship that wasn’t a hell of a lot more headache than it was worth.

Cole mentally braced himself for Penelope to go skulking out of his office, probably to avoid him for the rest of the day, if not the rest of the week.

But she surprised him. When he turned back around, she was fully dressed, looking completely composed as she scooped her purse off the floor and walked toward his desk.

She set the purse on his chair then went up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Is it slutty if I say thanks?” she asked.

He grinned. “If it is, I like slutty.”

Penelope grinned back at him, then went to unlock the door, swinging it wide open as though nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired.

When she turned back, she smiled her friendly work-Penelope smile at him. “So. Should we review those page layouts?”

Cole shook his head at how easy this all felt as he went around to the other side of his desk.

He didn’t know exactly what this was.

But whatever they decided to call it—or not call it—he could all too easily get used to it.

Chapter 17

Penelope told herself that it was a good thing that Cole was busy on Sunday.

Just because they’d agreed to limit their, um, sexy times to weekends didn’t mean that it should take up the whole weekend.

They’d spent Friday night together at her place. Thai takeout, baseball, and really good sex…basically her idea of heaven.

Saturday night had been more or less a repeat, except with Italian food.

And then Sunday rolled around, and Cole had told her he had other plans.

She didn’t ask what they were. It wasn’t her business. Besides, they’d totally violated her rules by having sex on a Thursday—lots, so really, it was just like she was trading one day for another.

But confident as Penelope was that their maintaining some sort of boundaries and distance was a smart decision, there was this tiny, stupid part of her brain that kept wondering if his plans involved another woman.

She couldn’t blame him if they did. She’d made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want a boyfriend.

And he’d flat out promised never to fall in love with her—not that that had ever been a serious possibility. They were really just co-workers who slept together, on weekends, but not the entire weekend, apparently, because he had plans.

So who was she to judge him if he dated on the side? Perfectly acceptable.

Even if the thought of another woman putting her hands on Cole made Penelope a bit…stabby.

And it was these wicked, torturous thoughts of him undressing another woman…of him kissing her neck…making her gasp…

It was these torturous thoughts that made Penelope realize she needed a distraction.

Penelope flopped on her couch and pulled out her cellphone, scrolling through her favorites until she found the one person who could soothe her nerves even when she was at her most jittery.

“Hey, Dad,” she said, as soon as he picked up.

“Penny!”

Both her parents had called her Penny for as long as she could remember. She didn’t mind, but neither did she exactly bring the nickname outside the Pope household. She didn’t need a childish nickname to make her appear younger than she was. She seemed to manage that all on her own.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I was just thinking of you, actually. Thinking of heading over to the Sox game today.”

She lifted her eyebrow. Her father was a die-hard Cubs fan through and through. “Oh yeah?”

“Your mother’s having her book club over, God help me, which means I need to get out of the house. Cubs are away, so I figured…why not?”

Why not indeed. Rick Pope was single-handedly responsible for teaching Penelope her love of the game—all games. Her dad was an avid sportsman, and rather than bemoan his lack of a son, had dragged both Janie and Penelope into the world of athletics.

He’d had only partial success with Janie. He’d had to spray-paint her bat hot pink in order to get her to play softball on long summer evenings, and the only sport she’d stuck to for more than a month was tennis, and she quit that in seventh grade.

But he’d hit the jackpot with Penelope. Janie was the spitting image of their mother in looks and personality, while Penelope was her father’s daughter, from the dark hair to the love of sports to the flat chest.

She didn’t exactly love that last one.

“So tell me, how’s my little New Yorker?”

“Missing you,” Penelope said.

Just because New York was starting to feel like home didn’t mean that a huge chunk of her heart wasn’t still back in the Chicago suburbs at the house where she’d grown up. Right about now she could have used one of her mom’s famous oatmeal cookies, or her dad’s bear hugs…

“What’s got my girl down? Is it a boy? If it’s a boy, I know a guy….”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “You know a guy, and what? You gonna break someone’s kneecaps? Come on, Dad, Janie and I figured out around age fifteen that you’re all talk.”

“There are nonviolent ways to break a man,” her father said in a faux-Mafia-style voice. “And don’t think I missed that you didn’t deny having a boyfriend.”

Penelope blew out a long breath and said nothing.

“Penny…”

“If I tell you, you’ll tell Mom, and if you tell Mom, she’ll start sending me pictures of mother-of-the-bride dresses.”

“I can keep a secret if you need me to.”

She blew out a breath. The thing was, he probably could. And the thought of talking to someone about Cole was tempting, but her father? Much as she loved the man, and forward thinking as he was, there was no way she could even think about telling him about her and Cole’s weekend-only sex rule.

“I’m just in a thinking place right now,” she replied.

“Ah yes. Understood.”

Penelope smiled, knowing that he really did understand. Rick Pope had forever been telling his wife that Penelope was in a thinking place, back when Penelope’s well-meaning mother had tried to coax Penelope to talk about whatever was bothering her as a kid.

Janie and her mother were extroverts—they liked to talk about anything and everything, and tended to solve problems best by discussing them.

Penelope was more like her father—outgoing when they needed to be, but introverted at heart, especially when she was mulling over a problem.

“Sounds like you need to go to a thinking place, if you know what I mean,” her dad said.

Penelope sat up on the couch as inspiration struck. “Dad, I know exactly what you mean. And you’re a freaking genius.”

Ten minutes later, Penelope had hung up with her father and was out the door heading to the place where she’d always done some of her best thinking: the ballpark. Any ballpark.

She headed out to see the Mets. Partially because the Yankees were away, and partially because she’d only been to one Mets game so far, and she had yet to get a sense for the fans and the stadium.

Baseball was more than the game itself. It was also about the experience.

No two ballparks were the same, no two fan bases interchangeable. Understanding these home-team nuances was Penelope’s favorite part of the job. Yes, she was good with the stats and the plays and could probably outcall any ump…but it was the human element that had drawn her into sports in the first place. That coming together of people.

She had her pick of seats when she got to the stadium. The Mets didn’t draw the kind of crowds the Yankees did, and though she was sure the stadium could be a perfectly lovely place to experience a day game, today was overcast, with a solid promise of rain.

Penelope had planned to splurge on a ticket behind home plate but at the last minute heard herself request one along the third baseline.

It had always been one of her favorite places to watch a game. The proximity to the outfield made it feel less crowded but still close to the action.

She’d already missed first pitch by the time she got inside, but she took her time making her way toward her section. She paused in front of one of the souvenir stores. A Mets cap was one of the few team hats she didn’t own, and since it felt wrong to wear another team’s, she’d opted to go hatless for the day.

Which, at a ball game, just felt wrong. She thought about buying one, but buying a hat for oneself while at a game alone seemed sort of…sad.

Instead she settled for a hot dog and beer and made her way toward her seat. As she’d expected, there were plenty of open seats, including the ones to either side of her own.

Penelope had just settled in and taken a bite of her hot dog when the Mets second baseman sent a line drive up the first-base foul line, and the crowd erupted in cheers when the ump ruled it a fair ball.

Penelope happily chewed her hot dog, watching as the runner on second rounded third and started the desperate race to beat the right fielder’s throw to home plate.

It was one of the best moments to watch in any game. The runner’s dramatic slide, the catcher’s desperate tag, then that heartbeat of wait before the ump’s ruling of…

Safe.

The Mets were on the board, and the enthusiastic fan in front of Penelope went nuts, throwing both his hands in the air in his excitement.

The only problem?

One of those hands was holding a very full bag of popcorn.

And in a rather dazed, slow-motion fashion, Penelope found herself covered in puffy, buttery popcorn kernels.

“Oh, I’m soo sorry! I’m sooo sorry!”

The apology was every bit as enthusiastic as the cheering had been, and Penelope found herself smiling as she glanced up at the popcorn thrower.

Her heart broke just a little at his red-faced embarrassment. His blue eyes were wide with dismay as he looked at her butter-splattered T-shirt, and Penelope was desperate to make him feel better.

She picked up a couple pieces of popcorn off her lap and tossed them into her mouth. “Nice of you to share with me!”

His smile lit up his entire face. It was impossible not to smile back. The man had short sandy brown hair, blue eyes, and the distinctive features of someone with Down syndrome.

So immersed was Penelope in his happy, relieved smile, it didn’t immediately register that her popcorn thrower wasn’t alone.

Or that she recognized the man with him.

“Cole?”

He turned around, noticing her with an expression that fell somewhere among shock, dismay, and wariness.

“You know my brother?” Popcorn Thrower asked happily.

Brother. This was Cole’s brother.

“Penelope and I work together,” Cole said, shifting his attention back to his brother. “Penelope, this is Bobby.”

“I’m his big brother!” Bobby said, sticking out a hand for her to shake.

“Ah, then I bet you know all his secrets, huh? You may just become my next best friend.”

“Cole’s my best friend,” Bobby responded immediately. “But you could be my second best friend. After Andy. And Sara. And Joyce. And—”

“I’m sure Penelope will be thrilled just to be on the long list, bud,” Cole said. “But maybe we should hand her some of our napkins?”

Bobby turned around and rifled around the front pocket of his sweatshirt and came up with a handful of napkins. Penelope took them, although it was really too late to do much other than swipe at the remaining kernels. The butter had already left an oily tie-dyed pattern all over her shirt and jeans.

Bobby had become distracted by a double play on the field, but Cole was still watching her. The shock had faded, and maybe some of the dismay, but he was definitely still wary. Because she was crashing his time with his brother?

Wait. Oh God. Did he think she’d followed him here?

She scooted forward. “Cole, I swear, this is a total coincidence. I had no idea you were coming today, and…wait, aren’t you a Yankees fan?”

“I am, but—”

“I’m a Mets fan,” Bobby said proudly.

Penelope nodded at this, taking a bite of her neglected hot dog. “A split family. I love that kind of drama.”

“You should come down here and sit by us!” Bobby said.

“Oh, I’m—”

“Yes, do,” Cole said. “It’s not safe for you back there. I hear it’s cloudy, with a chance of popcorn showers.”

Bobby laughed and Cole winked at her.

“Well, I guess—”

Cole reached around, grabbing her beer from the cup holder and moving it down to his row.

Why not?

It beat watching the game alone.

Plus, now she knew that Cole wasn’t with another woman and she was feeling a bit giddy.

There were two free seats. One on the other side of Bobby, one on the other side of Cole.

She chose the one next to Bobby, who seemed absolutely delighted to have someone to regale with his rather impressive knowledge of Mets history.

Penelope was a little worried she’d have a hard time not sneaking glances at Cole, but as the innings ticked by, her concern evaporated. Bobby was really, truly charming.

He had a youthful energy that made one happy to be alive. He also shared his remaining popcorn. Couldn’t beat that.

“Do you have a crush on my brother?” Bobby asked, after Cole had bought them all ice creams.

Penelope leaned over and snuck a bite of Bobby’s chocolate ice cream, which was better than her vanilla.

“I do. A little bit,” she said.

Cole glanced up at her in surprise and she shrugged.

“Are you going to get married?” Bobby asked. “Then we can be best friends and you can be my sister!”

“Bob,” Cole said in a warning voice.

Bobby looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“Penelope and I are just friends,” Cole explained.

Penelope swallowed, telling herself that it didn’t sting.

Of course they were just friends. Heck, she was the one who’d set the rules. Multiple times. And even if they were more than friends, she could understand why he wouldn’t want his brother to get the wrong idea.

It wasn’t like the three of them were going to start making a routine out of ball games together.

That last thought caused a little stab of regret, and Penelope frowned down at her ice cream. What was wrong with her? One baseball game and she was all ready to insert herself into Cole’s family?

She wondered if it was always just the two of them, or if parents sometimes tagged along. Did Cole’s parents live in New York? Were they alive?

It was something a girlfriend would know. Heck, it was something a friend would know.

Her frown deepened as she realized just how little she knew the man she was sometimes sleeping with.

After singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” at the seventh-inning stretch, Bobby headed to the restrooms with firm instructions that he did not want Cole to come with him.

Penelope and Cole stayed standing, watching in awkward silence as the crew cleaned up the field. She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, and Cole turned toward her suddenly.

“Thank you.”

She glanced up at him. “For?”

He lifted a shoulder. “For not making it weird. For being…understanding.”

It was on the tip of Penelope’s tongue to protest that it was no big thing—or at least that it shouldn’t be. But something on Cole’s face had her holding back. As though he’d been through this sort of interaction before, and not had it end well.

She touched her fingers just lightly to his elbow. “I’m having a really good time.”

He swallowed and glanced at her before his eyes darted back to the field.

This was a different side of Cole. One she was suddenly desperate to get to know. But it wasn’t the time. Or the place. And then Bobby was back, and the game wound down into what turned out to be a pretty impressive victory for the Mets.

The three of them filed out of their row and joined the slow, crowded procession toward the main level. Bobby chatted happily the whole time about some big party they were having at the Big House later, and how he was going to wear his new purple shirt.

They were a few feet from the exit when Cole interrupted his brother. “Hold on, Bobby, there’s something we need to do before we can leave.”

Both Penelope and Bobby looked at him.

“Look at Penelope here,” Cole said. “Does she seem like she’s missing something?”

Bobby studied her with careful precision before holding up a finger. “A hat!”

“Damn straight,” Cole said. “She’s lacking a Mets cap.”

“Says the guy wearing the Yankees hat,” Penelope said.

She meant to match his playfulness, but inside her heart was doing weird, skippy things.

How had he known? Not just that she wanted a hat but that she didn’t want to buy it for herself—by herself.

“You pick it out,” she told Bobby, once they were inside the crowded shop. “You know the Mets better than anyone.”

“Classic,” Bobby said without hesitation. “Definitely classic. Do you know your size?”

“Of course I know my hat size,” Penelope said with a mock-offended voice.

She caught Cole’s grin out of the corner of her eye. “A woman who knows her hat size, Bob. Is it any wonder we adore her?”

Her eyes flew to Cole, but he seemed unaware of what he’d just said, instead helping Bobby rifle through the disorganized mass of hats until they found her size.

She reached into her pocket for the cash she’d brought, but Cole held up a hand. “No way. The Sharpe brothers are paying for this and your dry cleaning bill.”

His eyes skimmed over her butter-splattered outfit, and Penelope didn’t think it was her imagination that his eyes lingered on certain body parts.

And it definitely wasn’t her imagination that the formerly comfortable shop had turned extremely warm.

Cole took her hat to the counter as she and Bobby debated whether it was okay that there were pink jerseys. She said no, he insisted yes.

When Cole made his way back to them, he plopped the hat on her head before curving his hands around the bill and applying gentle pressure in an attempt to get rid of the “new hat” look.

His eyes were warm as they locked on hers, and she had a pretty good feeling that if they were alone he would have kissed her.

And she had a really good feeling that she would have kissed him back.

“Penelope, you should come with us to dinner,” Bobby said, unaware of the electricity humming between her and his brother.

“Oh, I can’t,” she said. “I have to get back home so I can—”

Damn it. The only excuse she had at the ready was feed my fish, and there was no way she would give voice to that level of lame.