Текст книги "Pocketful of Sand"
Автор книги: M. Leighton
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
TWENTY
Cole
I EXPERIENCE A collision of emotion when Emmy steps cautiously out of her mother’s arms and walks toward me. At first, every feeling is the soft kind, the kind that decent people feel toward a child. But when she puts her thumb in her mouth, knowing what causes her to do it brings on a fresh stab of rage. It cuts through my sternum and goes straight into my heart like a sharp spear. In this moment, if I could find him, I would gladly rip apart the man who did this to her. I’d tear him limb from filthy, disgusting limb.
But then another shift happens. When Emmy reaches me, she curls her tiny fingers around mine and pulls me with her toward the kitchen. Rage is immediately forgotten, replaced by the soothing comfort that this little girl brings to the battered parts of my soul. Looking down at her, it’s almost like having Charity back. At least a little bit. And I can’t help thinking that maybe I can do right by Emmy, that I can somehow make up for what happened with my own daughter by saving someone else’s. But it will never undo what I did. It will never bring back the life I stole.
I’m aware of Eden’s soft gaze on us as we walk together into the kitchen. It’s a warm feeling, as though her happiness and security shine out from her like rays of heat from the sun. I glance back over my shoulder when Emmy steps in front of me and points up to a cabinet. Eden’s smiling, like I expected she might be, but even from here I can see the tears in her eyes. It makes me realize that I never want to see any pain or sadness in them. Never again. Only contentment. Or desire. Or love.
Turning back to the task at hand, I open the cabinet and pull out the bread before squatting down in front of Emmy. She takes a step back, but just one. I figure that’s probably something like progress.
“Do you wanna help? Be my mini sous chef?”
She looks shyly from me to her mother and back again. She doesn’t answer; she just takes off running toward Eden. She tugs on Eden’s hand until she bends so that Emmy can whisper in her ear, and then she races back to me.
“When Emmy and I cook together, we always listen to music,” Eden explains as she flips on the television and finds a music station.
“Then let’s get to it,” I say to Emmy, slapping my hands together and then holding them open. “Can I put you up here so you can help me better?” I ask.
At first Emmy just looks at me, her little lips pursed around her thumb. Music begins playing softly in the background as she watches me. I’m just about to make an excuse to let her off the hook when she slips her thumb out of her mouth and spreads her arms.
Something burns in my chest when I reach for her, cupping her gently beneath her arms and hefting her up onto the countertop. She’s light as a feather. So small and delicate. Fragile. How could anyone even think of hurting her?
I push the thoughts away. They don’t belong here with us. Not today.
Emmy doesn’t smile until she looks back at her mom. And when she does, her grin is enough to melt the coldest of hearts. I guess as long as she can see her, she feels safe.
I glance back at Eden again. She’s dancing for her daughter, head bouncing, eyes closed. When she opens them and finds me watching her, she blushes ten shades of red. After a few seconds she starts laughing, though, and then I hear an answering giggle closer to me.
Emmy’s eyes are lit up as she watches her mother. It hurts to see it, but more in a good way this time. It makes me incredibly sad, but not the hopeless kind of sad I’ve felt for so long. More like the feeling that I wish my own daughter could be here, enjoying a breakfast like this. But this little girl needs it as much as mine did. And at least I can be here for her.
TWENTY-ONE
Eden
I FEEL LIKE acting silly. I’m happier right now than I’ve been in a long time. Maybe ever. My parents were never the fun kind. Their work was always more important than me. Giving me attention was never a priority.
Then, when they sent me to Lucy’s, I got all kinds of attention, only it was attention that no girl ever dreams of having. I promised when I had Emmy that she’d never know the kind of childhood that I had. She’d have all my love and attention, and she’d never doubt how precious she is to me. I promised myself that we’d laugh and act silly and enjoy every day. I swore to myself that she’d have a million good memories of her childhood to compete with her horrible ones. And today will be one of those good memories for her. Since Ryan, she hasn’t let a man touch her, even in the most casual way, not even the doctors.
Until now.
Until Cole.
She seems to sense something in him. Brokenness? Gentleness? Sadness? Safety? I don’t know, but it puts her at ease with him in a way she hasn’t shown anyone in two years.
But today, Emmy’s happy. Her smile is music to my soul like the song playing behind me is music to my ears. And Cole…watching him interact with her, seeing the expression on his face when he looks at her…this day couldn’t be more perfect. And it’s only just begun.
It started with talk of the worst time of my life. Maybe it will end with laughter from the best.
“Come on, Emmy. Dance like you do in your car seat,” I call across the room to my daughter. I raise my arms and pump them to the beat like I’ve seen her do so often.
Emmy shakes her head, her eyes flickering quickly to me then to Cole and back to me again.
Cole notices. “You mean like this?” he asks, shaking his hips and shoulders. Even though he’s goofing off for Emmy’s sake, I can see that he has rhythm, and for some reason that is a huge turn-on for me. It makes me think of his rhythm in other activities, thoughts of which have no business being in my head when my child is near. But still, all in all, I just feel warm and happy. And…hopeful.
Grinning over at Cole, Emmy raises her hands, just a little, and thumps them to the beat. “Go, Emmy! Go, Emmy!” Cole cheers when she starts to wiggle her shoulders. Her face is lit up like the fourth of July and I’ve never seen a more wonderful sight. Even as gorgeous as the man at her side is, seeing her make this small bit of progress is breathtakingly beautiful.
From the living room, I direct Cole in supply procurement as he gathers a bowl and fork, takes eggs, butter and milk from the fridge, grabs cinnamon from the cabinet and gets a skillet from under the stove.
He moves like he’s comfortable in a kitchen. I guess he has to be. I mean, he’s a bachelor. It’s that or starve.
“Think I can crack this egg with one hand?” he asks Emmy. She watches with wide eyes as he does exactly that. I can tell she’s impressed, but not nearly as much as when he dances his way to the trashcan to throw the empty shell away. She watches his every move, a smile playing with the corners of her lips the whole time. It occurs to me that she probably finds him just as incredible as I do.
As she whisks the milk and egg mixture, Cole turns to me. When his eyes fix on mine again, they make me feel breathless. He’s impossibly handsome anyway, but when he’s like this–so relaxed and playful, taking such care with my daughter–I think to myself that there can’t be a more attractive man on the planet. There just can’t.
“Come on, mom,” Cole says, holding out his hand to me. “Help us make dancin’ French toast.”
So I do. And it’s the best French toast I’ve ever had.
⌘⌘⌘⌘
We decide to make the snowman in Cole’s small yard. It didn’t take much to convince Emmy of the benefits of it, especially once Cole told her that he had carrots at his house and that the snowman would be devastated if he had no nose. She practically dragged me all the way to his place after that. The snowman must not be noselessly devastated!
Now, we’re sitting in his kitchen, looking out at the snowman in his back yard while he makes us hot chocolate to cap off the grilled cheese and soup we just ate. Emmy is watching cartoons on his enormous TV, playing with her toes through her socks, eyes glued to the screen.
“So, why did you really want the snowman in your yard?” I ask. That question has been bugging me all day. Cole seemed very determined to bring us here, to have the snowman here.
His eyes flicker to Emmy and then back to me. As always, even after such a brief reprieve from them, I’m struck by the bright blue intensity of his gaze. I think I can literally feel it when he looks at me. No kidding.
“Is it so terrible that I wanted you here? That I wanted to see you playing in my yard, sitting at my table, watching your daughter from my kitchen?”
His words warm me better than the crackling fire that’s blazing in his huge fireplace. “I guess that’s not too terrible,” I deflect, lowering my eyes so he won’t see how much pleasure his words bring me.
Cole reaches out and hooks a finger under my chin, lifting until my eyes are back on his, unable to escape. “I’d keep you here if I could. I’d memorize you in every room of this house. It would never be empty again. It would smell like you, feel like you. It would hold you.”
I can’t help the smile that breaks out across my face. “Well, in that case, we’d better get started. Do I get a tour of all these rooms I’m staying in?”
“I’d love to show you around.” His smile is heart-stopping. God, I almost wish he wouldn’t do that. Especially when I’m not expecting it. It makes my lungs shut down completely. But it fires other organs up to the point of being bothersome. Hot and bothersome.
Cole turns off the stove and sets the saucepan of cocoa onto a cool eye. “Would you like to see the other rooms, Emmy?” he asks, taking my hand and leading me into the living room where she is. She’s stretched out on the couch now, her head resting against one of the pillows. Her eyes are sleepy when she looks back at him and smiles, shaking her head. She promptly dismisses him by turning her attention back to her cartoons.
“Gotta admire that kind of focus,” he says wryly, pulling me with him toward a door on the other side of the room.
The cabin is laid out with the living room and kitchen being basically one big, open room with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the ocean. There’s a rock fireplace on the right wall of the space and a couple of doors on the left. Two hallways frame the kitchen, but I’m guessing we’ll get to those in a minute.
Behind the first door is an office. It looks well-used yet orderly, and I’m guessing Cole does most of his business from in here. I walk around the chunky, mahogany desk, trailing my fingers along the edge. It suits him. It’s rich and masculine, it’s color dark and sensual. It’s Cole. Down to a T.
When I round the desk, I look up to find Cole watching me. His eyes are the same intense electric blue as always, but they’re not so unreadable right now. Right now, they’re hungry. The way he’s looking at me…it’s like he’s starving to death and I’m his favorite meal.
The thought sends a chill racing through me. It lands with a delicious thud right between my legs.
I almost groan. But I don’t. I hold it in.
Being alone with Cole again (even though we aren’t totally alone) after being so close to him all day and not really being able to touch him (even though I wanted to so, so badly) is making me feel bold and a little dangerous. I stand in front of his chair, brushing my fingers back and forth over the slick wooden surface.
I drop my voice low, the blare of the cartoons easily keeping my words from entering the living room. “So, Mr. Danzer, after you’ve memorized me in this room, what will you imagine doing with me?”
No sooner than the words are out of my mouth, Cole’s pupils explode, swallowing up every bit of his blue irises. “Oh, so that’s how you’re going to play.” His voice…God, it is scrumptious.
“Who’s playing?”
One dark blond brow shoots up as he steps closer to the desk. He doesn’t stop until only the expanse of mahogany separates us. “I’d imagine you as my personal assistant, dressed in a slim skirt that stops just above your knees and a silky blouse that buttons up to about right here,” he says, reaching across the desk to press his finger to the space right between my breasts. I feel his touch like a bolt of electricity shooting through me.
Damn, maybe I shouldn’t have started this, I think when I feel moist heat gather in my panties.
“That’s very…specific,” I say breathily, wishing he wouldn’t take his finger away. But he does.
“You’d be wearing high heels and black stockings and your hair would be held up with a pencil.” His words draw me into a scenario. I can all but feel the brush of the skirt against my thighs as I walk into this office to find him sitting behind his big desk.
“Would I be bringing you coffee?” I ask, getting into the vision.
“I don’t give a damn what you’d be bringing me. As long as you bring it, because I’d meet you at the door and I’d close it behind you. Your big, gray eyes would get all wide and innocent like they do sometimes, and you’d back slowly toward the desk. When you felt it brush that beautiful ass, you’d stop. And when I reached you, you’d stop me with a hand to my chest, telling me not to mess up your lipstick. I’d laugh, and then I’d turn you around and bend you over the desk. I’d ease that skirt up and find nothing underneath. Not a damn stitch of underwear. Because you’re a dirty little vixen that way.” His grin is enough to melt all my clothes off. Right here, right now. I’m practically panting as I wait for him to continue. “I’d drop to my knees and I’d kiss those creamy thighs. That pretty ass. That sweet pussy. I wouldn’t stop kissing…and licking…and touching…until you came for me. And then I’d stand up and eeease into you. Again. And again. Until you came a second time, until all that sweetness was dripping down your legs. Then I’d push your skirt down. And I’d turn you around. You’d slap me, but then I’d kiss you and smear your lipstick anyway. You wouldn’t complain. Because you’d love it. You’d love it and I’d love it.”
I’m so turned on, I think I’d be grateful if a good, stiff wind would blow between my legs. I clear my throat, realizing I’m way out of my depth in this game that I so pluckily started. I don’t even know what to say, because everything I want to say is totally off limits with my daughter in the next room. I settle for, “Well, I guess I’ll have to buy a skirt the next time I go to Ashbrook.”
Cole gives me that smile again. It nearly stops my heart, I think, which is not a good thing. At this point, I need all the oxygen to my brain that I can get. All my bloodflow seems to be diverting to…other places. “In that case, let me show you the other rooms, too. You might have a list.”
Excitement twitters through me. This man might be dangerous after all.
TWENTY-TWO
Cole
I AM SO hard right now, I could probably drive a nail through a cement block with the tip of my dick. I’ve taken Eden into nearly every room in my house and spun her an explicit, erotic tale about the things I’d like to do to her in each one. With each scenario, she’s only gotten more excited. I can see it in the flush of her skin. I can feel it in the flutter of her hand in mine. And I can sense it in the rapid way she breathes, in the throaty way she asks questions when she plays along.
Hot damn! I never would’ve expected such a sexual creature to be hiding behind those amazing gray eyes. It’s like a bonus–for a woman to be such a good mother, such a decent person, such a pleasure to be around, but to have a dirty-girl streak, too.
Jackpot.
I pull Eden behind me into the second guest room’s bathroom. “It’s so spacious,” she mutters in her low, husky voice. I know she’s trying to be quiet so she doesn’t wake Emmy, who fell asleep two rooms ago, but it’s sexy as all hell. I don’t even think she realizes how she sounds, how she could ask me to do anything in that voice and I’d do it.
“What was that?” I ask, flattening her against the short wall, out of sight of the door. Just in case.
I feel her shallow breathing. I see the sensual slant of her eyes. She’s on fire right now. Just like me.
“I said it’s so. Spacious,” she repeats, her eyes falling to my lips as she annunciates.
“There are so many things I’d like to hear you say right now. In that voice,” I confess, my mouth mere inches from hers.
“Like what?” she asks, all sex and innocence, spicy and sweet.
“Say ‘cock’.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. “Cock,” she says softly.
I bend my knees enough that I can press my hips into hers. Her gasp of pleasure is nearly my undoing.
“Are you wet right now?”
“Yes.”
“You are?”
“God, yes!”
“Show me.”
Her eyes widen the tiniest bit. I know what she’s thinking. “But Emmy…”
“One finger. Show me with one finger.”
She debates for less than a second before she reaches between us, her knuckles brushing my stiff dick, and slides her hand into her pants.
“Go deep,” I tell her, loving the way her lids get all heavy and her lips part like she’s about to moan. I know the instant she does it. I know when she pushes her finger inside. Her breath brushes my cheek in a quick puff. I figure she’s about as close to coming as I can stand her being without doing something I’ll regret. “Now let me taste.”
“Ohmygod,” she groans quietly, gently taking her hand from her pants and hesitantly raising it between us. When she stops, I reach for her wrist. Without taking my eyes off hers, I bring it to my mouth and slide her moist finger across my tongue, licking it from base to tip.
“You taste better than ice cream, Eden Taylor,” I tell her. And then I give in to the urge to kiss her. It’s quick and violent and full of all the insane things that she makes me feel. And then I let her go. Because that’s the responsible thing to do. Her kid’s in the house, for chrissake.
Reluctantly, I release her mouth and rest my forehead against hers. “Damn you, woman! Damn you for making me feel this way.”
“I’m pretty sure this is all your fault, Mr. Danzer.”
When I raise my head, she’s smiling up at me. I’ve never wanted something, anything, anyone, so much in all my life as I want this woman right now.
I push away from the wall and take her hand again. “Come on. If we don’t get this over with, your daughter’s liable to get an education that she’s too young for.”
Her smile tells me she knows I’m kidding.
Mostly.
The last stop on the tour is the master suite. It takes up the majority of the west side of the house. I stop at the double doors and gesture for her to go first. I just stand back and observe.
It’s as I watch her walk through the room, touching the ice blue comforter, dragging her fingers along the edge of the dresser, that the reality of having her here, of feeling the crazy way I do about her, hits me. She belongs here. With me. In this room. In this house. In my life.
“This is amazing,” she whispers in awe when she reaches the floor-to-ceiling windows across from the bed. They’re framed by nothing and filled with the snowy beach beyond.
Most people find the beach soothing–the waves, the horizon, the endless stretch of sand. But I don’t care about most people. I care about this woman. And for some reason, it pleases me that she’s reacting this way.
I don’t approach her. For some reason, this moment has taken on a different feel. It’s not sexual, despite the things we’ve done and talked about doing. This moment is real. The jarring kind of real. The earth-quaking kind of real. And I feel it in numb places that I never thought would be able to feel again.
She turns abruptly and pins me with those incredible eyes of hers. “What are you thinking? Right now?”
I start toward her, loving the way she looks both nervous and excited the closer I get. Her face is so expressive. I doubt she could hide what she was feeling if she tried. I’ve known from day one that she was attracted to me. I love that I can read her so easily.
Even though I can see how she feels, written right there on her face, I still don’t tell her what I was really thinking.
“I love that, even though you’re a good mother and a lady right down to the way that you fold your napkin in your lap, you took a naughty tour of my house and said ‘cock’ in the guest bath. You realize that officially makes you every man’s dream woman, right?”
“Are you saying you dream about me?”
“More often than you know.”
“Care to tell me about some of those dreams?”
“I think I just did, but I’d be happy to show you later if you’re that interested.”
“Oh, I’m interested alright.”
I’m so close I’m practically pressing her back to the cold glass of the window. It would take so little for me to get her out of her pants and wrap those luscious legs around my waist. Just a flick here and a zip there.
“You’re dangerous. Did you know that?” I tell her.
“Funny, I was just thinking that same thing about you a few minutes ago.”
“Stay with me, Eden,” I say impulsively. I’m not even sure what I mean, what I’m asking of her.
Again, her transparent eyes tell me what she’s going to say before she says it. “I can’t. Emmy…”
“She can stay, too, of course. I meant both of you.”
“She needs her room, her things. She needs that stability. We move so much, it’s the only thing I can give her on a consistent basis. Other than me. I, uh, I guess you’ll just have to come to me,” she adds with a sexy twist of her lips.
I smile down into her face. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
