Текст книги "Pocketful of Sand"

Автор книги: M. Leighton

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

ELEVEN

Eden

FOR JUST A second, I thought I saw something flash in Cole’s eyes.  Like ice thawing. Or resolve softening.

But then it was gone.  Almost like I’d just imagined it.  Now he looks like the same heart-stoppingly gorgeous, aloof man that he always is.

“I’ll need to get some things from Bailey’s to fix this.  You’ll be without water for a while.  If that will be a problem, you’re welcome to go across the street.  It’s warm and the water’s on.”

“I think we’ll be okay for a while,” I tell him, shivering without the hot water to keep me warm.

Cole frowns as his eyes rake me.  Despite his expression, my skin tingles hotly everywhere his gaze touches.  “You’re freezing.”

As if on cue, my teeth chatter, the coolness of the ambient air like ice on my wet limbs.  “If you’ll give me just a minute to dress…”

I don’t want him to rush off. I’d rather be freezing and without water for a few minutes than to let him go just yet.  But that’s not to be.

The crease in his brow deepens.  “Oh.  Sorry.  I, uh, I’ll be back.”  And with that, he’s gone, once again leaving Emmy and me watching after him.

⌘⌘⌘⌘

An hour and a half of sitting on pins and needles later, I hear an engine roar up to the house outside and then shut off.  Emmy runs to the window, but I make myself remain seated.  He can knock and then I’ll go answer the door. I don’t want him to think I’ve been sitting here waiting on him all this time.

Which is exactly what I’ve been doing. From the moment he tore his hot-and-cold blue eyes off my wet skin, I haven’t been able to get him off my mind.

Who the hell am I kidding?  I think about him too much all the time!

“It’s Jordan, Momma,” Emmy informs me.

My mood plummets.  I don’t know how to take Jordan and I don’t really trust her, so any time spent with her isn’t exactly pleasurable.  That’s doubly the case when I was expecting Cole instead.  Not a fair trade. Not a fair trade at all.

This time, I do get up and go to the door, peeking out before I swing it open.  My stomach does a little flip when I see Cole walking along behind Jordan as they approach my door. I can tell by the exaggerated way she’s swinging her hips that she’s hoping he’s looking at her butt.

When I open the door, she gives me a wide grin and a wink, as though she knows that I know exactly what she’s doing.  “Is he looking?” she whispers when she stops in front of me.

I glance past her to Cole. His eyes are focused squarely, disconcertingly on me.  His ever-present frown is in place, but his blue gaze is blazing up at me.  For a second, I have to work to breathe, to make my lungs expand and contract, expand and contract.

“Is he?” Jordan hisses before Cole climbs onto the porch.

I just smile and nod, trying hard to keep my eyes and my attention on her rather than the man coming up behind her.

“I gave this handsome man and all his plumbing goodies a ride back here since he doesn’t drive.”

Doesn’t drive? 

Although I’ve never seen him in a vehicle, it never occurred to me that Cole might not drive.

“I told you I could walk,” he says flatly when he stops behind Jordan.

Over her shoulder, she turns a million-watt smile on him.  “And miss an opportunity to flirt with you?  Not a chance.”

When she faces me, she rolls her eyes and then mouths an excited Ohmigod! Based on the flush of her cheeks and her uncharacteristically bright eyes, I’d say she’s pretty happy today, with or without alcohol.  If she has been drinking, as per her usual, it’s not obvious.

“Can we come in?” Cole asks, his voice rife with irritation.  I get the feeling he’s not too pleased about his predicament.

I suppress a grin.  “Of course.”

I back up and open the door wide. Jordan wiggles in first, followed by a lagging Cole.  My lips twitch as I look up into his scowling face.

“Don’t you dare laugh!” he leans down and whispers to me as he passes.  That only makes my mirth harder to contain.

As I close the door behind him, I’m having trouble not smiling from ear to ear.  Not because his reaction to Jordan is funny, which it sort of is, but more because I’m warmed from head to toe, inside to out, with how he shared it with me. Almost like a private joke.  It makes me realize that I like sharing things with this man.  And that I want to know him better.

A lot better.

I get the feeling that the number of people Cole trusts in his life are about as many as the ones I trust in mine–none.  Well except Emmy.

But something tells me that I can trust him.  And that I want to trust him.  I want to be able to trust somebody.  It’s been so long…

Cole makes his way straight to the bathroom.  Surprisingly, my daughter is right on his heels, leaving me alone with Jordan, who doesn’t appear in any big hurry to leave.  She has already made herself at home on the sofa, so I resign myself to spending time with her until she decides to leave.

I curl up in the big chair facing her, tucking my cold feet up under me.  Jordan notices.

“Don’t you have heat in here?” she asks bluntly.

“Yes, it’s just not a particularly warm house.”

She shivers, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.  “You aren’t kidding.  And I didn’t even bring anything to warm us up,” she adds with a knowing wink.

“That’s okay. I’m getting used to it.”

“So, don’t you work?”

I should’ve known that this woman was the type not to pull any punches, but wow!  She just dives right in.

“Ummm, not outside the home.  I homeschool Emmy, so…”  I trail off, hoping she’ll let this thread die.

“Well that doesn’t make you money, does it?”

I laugh uneasily.  “No, but we have a little in savings.”  And that’s true.  She doesn’t have to know all the sordid details about how I came by that money or that what’s left of it is hidden beneath the false bottom that I tore out and sewed back up in the floor of my suitcase.

Jordan eyes me as she nods. Not really suspiciously, but more…curiously.  “Where’s the princess’s papa?”

Oh, God!  Is this what the whole morning’s going to be like?

“I, uh, I don’t really talk about it in front of Emmy,” I reply in a low voice.  That’s also true.  In some ways, Emmy is an extremely perceptive child and she’s never really pushed me on the details of her father.  I think in some strange way, she knows that she’s better off not knowing.

“Got it,” she concedes amicably.  “Well then let’s whisper about your hot plumber.  So is there something going on between you two or what?”

“Of course not. Why do you ask?”

Jordan gives me a withering look.  “I might be a lush, but I’m not stupid. I pay attention to things that interest me.  And, honey, that boy interests me.”  Her smile is genuine.  She doesn’t seem the least bit put out that he might be interested in me.

According to her, that is.

I don’t really see it, although I can’t say that the idea doesn’t give me a little thrill.  I can only imagine what it might be like to be the object of something other than his frowns and his quiet, brooding ways.

“Why have you two never, um, dated then?”

I’m remembering Jason’s comment about her being the town “bicycle.”

She sighs loudly.  “No matter how much I might try to drag him out of his shell…and his clothes…” she adds with an impish wrinkle of her nose, “he keeps to himself.  I know the guy’s broken and all, but I was beginning to think he was gay.”

I think of what I know of Cole so far. Nothing, not one single thing, makes me think he’s anything other than 100% darkly delectable, manly-man straight.

“But you don’t think so now?”

She waves me off with her hand.  “Nah, I don’t think I ever really did.  I think it was just easier to understand than his rejection.”  Her comment, unexpectedly insightful, takes me by surprise.

“Oh,” I say flatly, not knowing what else to say.

Jordan’s face takes on an uncharacteristic seriousness. “I’ve got more baggage than I can handle. I wouldn’t blame anyone else for keeping their distance. Still hurts, though.”

“Why would you say that?”

She stares hard at her fingers where they pull and tug and twist a loose string along the sofa cushion.  It’s the first time I’ve seen her anything less than comfortable, confident and slightly inebriated, I think.

“My husband left me three years ago. But not before he screwed half the town and told everybody about the problems I had trying to get pregnant.  He was a real son-of-a-bitch.  I’ll be the first to admit that he hurt me and that I haven’t been the same since.  It’s just…it’s just…so humiliating,” she confesses a bit tearfully.  I’m so shocked by her story and by her softer side that I just sit here staring at her.  Thankfully she hasn’t looked up at me.  After a loud sniff and a shake of her head, as if ridding her mind of bad memories, Jordan finally raises her glistening brown eyes to mine and smiles.  “That’s when I started drinking.  Haven’t looked back since.”

I’ve never seen someone wear alcoholism more proudly, but in a way, I guess she’s earned her weakness.  Besides, who am I to judge? We all heal and cope (or avoid coping, in this case) in different ways. I have enough problems without chastising this wounded woman for the choices she’s made since her husband turned on her.

“So now you can see why it’s my mission to get in that man’s pants,” she says, nodding her head toward the bathroom.

“Ummm,” I hedge.

No, I don’t see the connection at all.

She shrugs.  “You’d get it if you drank more,” she declares with a grin.  “But I’m glad you don’t.  That little girl needs you.”

This is the moment that I decide I like Jordan Bailey.  Very much.  Even if she is damaged and headed down a dangerous path with her drinking.  Sometimes I think broken people gravitate toward one another, like our shattered pieces connect on a level that unscarred people never know.

I glance toward the bathroom, thinking of the man inside, holding my daughter so rapt.  Maybe that’s why I’m so irrefutably drawn to him.  He may be the most broken one of all.

TWELVE

Cole

SHE’S GETTING UNDER my skin.  I’ve thought about Eden from the second I left her with a fixed faucet and running water.  I’ve thought about her being there all by herself, about the possibility that Jason might come over to check on her, especially after Jordan tells him what happened.  And that eats at me.  I hate to admit how much it bothers me to think of him being in her house, of him being close to her.  Of any man, really.

Even though I don’t want the strings, even though I don’t want the feelings, in some way I feel like Eden is already mine. Or at least that she should be.  And what’s mine, no man touches.  Or at least, if he tries, he doesn’t get to talk about it for a few days while he heals.

It makes no sense, of course. I have no claim on her. No right to care even.  But I do.  God in heaven, how I do!

That’s why, although I shouldn’t–shouldn’t care, shouldn’t get involved, shouldn’t make things worse–I email my agent and ask him to send me a no-contract phone as soon as possible.  As inadvisable as it is, I want her to have a way to reach me.  And only me.

THIRTEEN

Eden

IT’S ONLY BEEN two days since I’ve seen Cole, yet it feels like forever. I’m like a junkie, jonesing for her next fix.  What is wrong with me?  I never get like this. Over anybody, much less a man!  I’ve had too many bad experiences. I have too much baggage. I don’t even want to want someone this way.

And yet here I am.  Wanting.  And loving it in a perverse way.  The anticipation, the sensations, the exhilaration–they’re as addictive as Cole himself is turning out to be.  My worry, however, is that they’re as destructive as an addiction.

I can’t let it get to that point.  I have to protect Emmy, first and foremost.  And even though I feel like Cole could be good and…safe somehow, if the tide shifts, I have to be ready and willing to bail.  Emmy comes first.  Always. She has to.

The knock on the door pulls me from my troublesome thoughts. I glance at Emmy on the floor.  She’s in the beginning stages of another drawing.  She probably doesn’t even know I’m in the room. She loses herself when she has a crayon in her hand. I’m glad she has that respite from the world around her and the ugliness it can sometimes show.

I get up and walk to the door. As I near it, I don’t even have to stretch up on my toes to peek through the glass at the top.  My heart is already pattering at the dirty blond crown I can plainly see.  I know who’s outside. Every nerve in my body is screaming his name.

I slip off the chain and unlock the deadbolt, swinging the door open to Cole. His longish hair is framing his face and, despite the cold, he’s wearing only a sweatshirt and jeans. But I forget all about that when I look up.  The moment I meet his intense cerulean eyes, I’m stuck. Trapped.  Drowning in a sea of blue.

Neither of us says anything. The thump of my daughter running up to me and slamming to a stop against my thigh jars me back to reality.  I glance down.

Her thumb is in her mouth, but she’s already smiling around it.  Cautiously, she eases just far enough away from me to still be able to hold on, but also be able to reach Cole’s hand.  She curls her fingers around his and tugs him toward us.

His eyes flicker back up to mine as he steps forward.  Still caught in that blue gaze of his, I don’t retreat.  We just stand in the doorway, almost chest to chest, his handsome face staring down into mine.  Up close, I can count every long eyelash that frames his bright eyes, number every light brown whisker that dots his lean cheeks.  He’s the perfect combination of beautiful and manly.

“May I come in?” he asks, his voice sending a chill skittering down my spine.  I can feel Emmy pulling him in, pulling him closer to me.  I don’t back down. Something in me craves his closeness.  Wants more of it.

I tip my chin up, my lips tingling with an unspoken desire for him to touch them, caress them. Devour them.  “Of course,” I reply, yet neither of us moves.

For several long seconds, we are rooted to this spot, the attraction between us as perceptible and vibrant as a living thing.

But then he moves to one side to step around me, letting Emmy drag him to the living room so she can show him her drawing.  She picks it up and holds it out to him.  He takes the paper gently from her fingers. It looks so small when it’s held in his big hands.  He could easily crumple it, probably crush it into dust, yet he doesn’t. He holds it delicately, as though it’s the most precious thing in the world.

I was so lost in thought before Cole arrived, I wasn’t really watching what Emmy was drawing, but from Cole’s elbow I can plainly see that it’s her attempt at capturing them. She’s holding his hand and her shoes are at least five sizes too big.  I’m guessing it’s from the day she went to fetch him for me when I was stuck in the tub, holding off a flood.

Cole squats down in front of her, turning the paper back to face her.  “Is this me?” he asks, pointing to the tall man with pale yellowish-brown hair.  Emmy nods, toying with the hem of her Hermione T-shirt.  “This is really good.”  Cole’s expression shows that he’s impressed and that he’s not just being kind.

I’m proud, of course.   Emmy does a great job when she takes her time.  She often adds details that surprise me.  Every doctor she’s had since we left has encouraged her to draw as a means of therapy. Thankfully, she seems to really enjoy it.

Cole starts to hand the picture back to Emmy, but she pushes it back toward him.  “Is this for me?”

She nods.

“Thank you. I know just where I’ll put it.”

He stands, holding the paper in one hand while he smiles down at Emmy. I can see the moment she becomes uncomfortable with his quiet attention.  She lowers her eyes and edges toward me, eventually leaning her forehead against my side.

When Cole’s gaze leaves Emmy and lifts to mine, there’s a sadness in it, a grief that nearly staggers me. I can only imagine that he’s reminded of his loss every time he looks at my daughter.

“Cole, I…”  I don’t even know what to say.  I probably shouldn’t bring it up.  For all I know, I’m not supposed to even know about his loss. But I feel the need to say something, to offer some sort of comfort, even though I know that there is none. I don’t think there is comfort for a parent who has lost a child.

As always, his frown reappears, like he’s burying deep any small sign of emotion.  Or maybe just burying his pain.  I might never know.

“I brought you something,” he begins.  I’ve been so wrapped up in his consuming presence, I’d forgotten to even wonder why he might be here.  Cole reaches into his pocket and brings out a cell phone.  An iPhone to be exact. “I wanted you to have something for emergencies.  My number’s already in it.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him that I have a phone. I have a child. It would be totally irresponsible for me not to have a way to at least call 911.  This, however, is a nice phone.  A real phone. The kind I used to have when I was still at my aunt’s.

The thought heralds an onslaught of rapid-fire images and emotions that make my heart feel like it stopped in my chest.

“It’s just a phone,” Cole says.

I drag my eyes away from the flat, rectangular screen.  “What?”

His frown deepens.  “It’s just a phone. It won’t bite.”

“Oh. Right. I know. I just…sorry. I was just thinking.”

“You don’t have to use it to call me. I just wanted you to have it in case of emergency.  The winters here are–”

“Brutal, I know,” I finish for him, shaking off the chill that has settled over me.  “I really appreciate it. You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugs.  “I know.”

I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it’s the need to know something about this enigmatic man while he’s standing here in my living room, feeling charitable.

“Why did you?”

“Why did I what?”

“Why did you get me a phone?”

“I told you. I–”

“I know what you told me, but we aren’t your responsibility.”

His lips thin in aggravation.  “I didn’t say you were.  I was just trying to help. I can see that I made a mistake.”

When he sets the phone on the coffee table and starts to turn away, I stop him with a hand to his forearm. I feel his response to my touch–the rippling of muscle under my fingertips.  “Wait!  That’s not what I–”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Cole, stop!  Please.  I didn’t mean it like that. I just…I don’t want you worrying about us. It seems like you…like you’ve got enough to worry about without us adding to it.”

His eyes are like a turbulent sea.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I sigh, exasperated with myself and the mess I’ve made of things.  “I just mean…God!  I don’t know what I mean. I just know that I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.  I…I’m grateful for the gift.  Thank you.  I just…I hate that you went to so much trouble for us.  Jordan…Jordan said you don’t drive and I…I…”

His expression turns stony and cold.  “People say all sorts of things about me.”

“So you do drive?”

The further tightening of his features answers my question.  “Use the phone if you need it.  Toss it in the garbage if you don’t.”

He pulls away and heads for the door in long, angry strides. I’m left to either watch him leave again or chase after him.

This time I chase after him.  “Cole, wait.”

He stops with his hand on the knob, his face in profile to me.  I can see the firm set of his jaw and the little muscle that twitches rhythmically there.

“Yes?”

I walk right up to him, winding my fingers around his arm again and hauling myself up on my toes.  I press my lips to his cool cheek.  “Thank you,” I whisper against his skin.

I start to back away when he turns to look at me.  His mouth is within an inch of mine and I stop dead, frozen by the magnetism that exists between us.

I see his piercing eyes fall to my lips.  I know I should move away, but I don’t.  I’m not sure I can, even though the muscles in my calves are trembling as they hold me up.

Cole’s arm is wedged between my heavy breasts and I have the intense urge to press into him, to ease the ache that’s getting stronger with each passing day.  As though he can sense it, he lists toward me. Just a little.  The tiniest of sways.  But it’s enough.  It’s enough to fan the flame of our attraction.

I jump when a harsh knock breaks the spell.  Neither of us moves for a few more seconds, hesitant to let this go.  Whatever “this” is.

At the second knock, I drop back down onto my heels.  Cole clears his throat and steps aside so I can answer the door, but his eyes are still on me. I can feel them, like velvety fingers, keeping me wound up.  Disconcerted.

It’s with one shaking hand that I reach for the knob and pull open the door.  Jason is standing on my porch, smiling down at me.

“Jason.  Hi,” I say, sounding as breathless as I feel.

“Eden,” he says with a nod, his smile widening.  “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh, of course,” I stammer, standing back to allow him to enter.  I know the moment he spots Cole.  His body language changes completely. He stiffens and his smile turns cold.  He tries to hide it, but only a complete fool wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Hiya, Cole.  Didn’t know you were here,” he says as if there is no tension in the room.

“Jason,” Cole nods. “What brings you by?”

Conveniently, Jason holds up a white slip of paper he’s carrying.  “Brought the receipt for the items you bought at the store. Jordan forgot it when she bagged it all.  I told her I’d bring it on out, but you weren’t at your place or across the street, so I thought I’d drop it off with Eden.  You know, since you were fixing things here.”

I guess that makes sense, but still, it seems like an awful lot of trouble for a receipt.  “Thanks,” Cole says coolly, reaching for the paper.  He folds it up and sticks it in his jeans pocket.

“Were you on your way out?” Jason asks Cole innocently enough, pointing back over his shoulder at the door.

Unruffled, Cole simply says, “As a matter of fact I was.”  Jason moves farther into the living room as Cole approaches the door again.  “Call if you need me,” he says.  Then, with one long look, he’s gone, leaving an empty space in the room that ten Jasons couldn’t fill.  I feel oddly…bereft, a sensation that’s becoming more pronounced every time I’m around my handsome landlord and then he leaves.

“I thought you didn’t have a phone,” Jason reminds after the door is closed and the room is quiet again.

“He brought me one,” I confess, not following him into the living room.

His eyebrows shoot up. “He did?  Well, looks like you’re bringing him out of his shell.”

I shrug.  I don’t know what to say to that, although his observation makes me happy.

“The guy needs all the friends he can get.  Nobody really wants to have anything to do with him, so…”

I know what he’s doing. I know what he’s getting at.  And it infuriates me.  I don’t let him see that, though.  “I’m glad I can be different then.”

“You are definitely different,” Jason says, his genuine (if a bit shark-like) smile returning.  His gaze skims me appreciatively.

As if sensing my discomfort, Emmy jumps up from her place on the floor and runs to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and looking up at me with her big, shiny green eyes.

“Well, thanks for bringing that by for Cole.  Emmy and I were just about to get into her lessons for the day.”

His expression sobers, but he still seems pleasant enough.  “I’ll see myself out then.”  When he passes me, much closer than what I’d have liked, he stops and bends toward my ear.  “If you need help, you’d be better off calling me.  I don’t think you want to put much faith in Cole.  Not with a history like his.”

I frown. I want to ask questions. I’m sure he knew I would want to ask questions.  But I’m not falling into his trap.  “I guess you should leave me your number then.”

That seems to satisfy him quite a bit. He takes out his wallet and removes one of several crisp business cards.  They read JASON BAILEY.  OWNER.  BAILEY’S QUICK STOP.  BAILEY’S PROPERTY MANAGEMENT.  BAILEY’S IMPORTS.

What doesn’t he do in this town?

“Call me anytime.  I mean it.”

He gives the underside of my chin a quick brush with his hooked forefinger, like we’re that familiar, and then reaches for the knob. I wait with bated breath for him to disappear, unlike with Cole, who I have to resist the urge to beg to stay. And when the door is closed behind Jason, I can’t help noticing the relief I feel. Nothing like the empty, yearning sensation I get when Cole goes.

With Jason gone, Emmy happily returns to her spot on the floor.  I drift to the chair and sit down, lost in deep thought.  What is Cole doing to me?  How can I be so taken with someone I hardly know?  What is it about him that pulls me in, that has taken such a hold on me and won’t let go?

What.  Is it.  About.  Cole?

I don’t know how many minutes have passed–ten, twenty, sixty?– when an insistent fist bangs on the door. Two sharp knocks.   My heart is thumping heavily in my chest when I get up to go answer it.  But that’s nothing compared to the wild galloping that commences when I open it to find Cole staring at me with hunger in his eyes.

Cole.

He came back.

And he’s going to kiss me.

I can feel it like static, stimulating every fine hair on my body.

And then he drags me into his arms and puts an end to my curiosity.

His lips. I knew they’d taste like heaven. And they do. They’re the perfect mixture of firm and soft, and they move over mine with a power I always knew him capable of. It prowls in him, just beneath the surface, like a caged animal. Right now, the animal is barely contained.  I feel it in the way his lips urge mine apart, in the way his tongue tangles and dominates mine, sending shockwaves of thrill all the way through to my core.  I feel it in the way his hand threads into my hair to hold me still for his plundering.

He’s capturing me.

And I’m captured.

He wants me.

And I’m all his.

And I love it.  I love it all. More than I ever thought I could.

When we’re both panting breathlessly, Cole raises his head and spears me with a blue gaze hotter than the tip of a flame.  As I watch, he licks his lips, as if savoring the taste of me.  Saliva pours into my mouth, making me crave the fresh mint of his tongue more than ever.  Now that I know what it’s like, I won’t be able to get enough.

“Eden,” he says in his incredible voice, staring down at me with his incredible eyes.

“Yes?”  I all but sway, hypnotized by the spell he’s cast over me.

He could ask me anything right now, anything at all, and I’d agree to it. I’m putty in his hands.

“Get out of my head.  Please.  I don’t want you there.”  His words are soft.  Sincere.  Heartbreaking.

But before devastation sets in, I realize exactly what he said. What it means.  And I’m thrilled.

I’m in his head.