“Oh my God!” She had chalk and paint all over her clothes. Normally, she didn’t care. After all, it came with daycare territory, but she’d gone next door like this?
She showered, and instead of putting on sweats or PJs like she normally would for an evening in, she threw on a fitted top and jeans then dabbled on some perfume behind her earlobes and cleavage, remembering the feel of Cole’s mouth on both places. After she dried her hair and put on just a little bit of make-up, she studied herself in the mirror again.
She hadn’t been planning on going next door. She honestly hadn’t. In fact, she’d planned to steer clear of Cole—that’s what they’d agreed to, after all. No more interaction.
But now…
Now, all she could think about was what Liz had said—that Cole shouldn’t have to grieve alone. About how she wanted to take Cole in her arms and kiss away his pain. And about all the ways, now that she was bathed and clean, Cole could mess her up again.
Chapter Six
Cole was digging through his mother’s cabinets looking for something to eat that hadn’t gone bad when there was a knock on the front door. Jill? They’d agreed not to connect anymore, but he couldn’t help hoping it was her. He focused on not rushing to the door and took his time to open it, then regretted taking any time at all. Sans paint and chalk, looking fresh and beautiful, Jill stood there, holding a plate, the sweet scent of baked goods floating in the air along with a light floral perfume.
Damn
,
she looked good. Her dark hair shiny and light eyes filled with both hesitation and determination. Why did her contradictions turn him on so damned much? And why was she back?
Send her away—stop playing with fire!
half his brain told him.
Explore every inch of her body and find the hiding spots for her perfume,
the other half of his brain argued back.
“Hi again!” she said a little too brightly. Covering up nerves maybe? That only made her more desirable. “I know I said we shouldn’t…and that we weren’t… but you see, I’m just next door, and we made cookies earlier today with the kids. I thought you might like some.” She pushed the plate toward him.
How appropriate—enticing him with her cookies.
Evil woman,
he chuckled to himself.
He didn’t even look at the tasty treats, though. No, he was too busy remembering what her face had looked liked when she’d climaxed last night. He’d been imagining it repeatedly since he’d woken up this morning. In fact, Jill seemed to be the only thing he was capable of thinking about when he wasn’t thinking about his mother.
Talk about fucked up.
Against his better judgment, Cole stepped back and motioned her in. “I was just starving my ass off.”
Her eyes brightened. “Well, you’re in luck. I make the best oatmeal cookies in the world. So you won’t need to lose your ass.”
Cole smiled. Cute she was, there was no doubt of that. However, he doubted she made oatmeal cookies better than his mom, because no one, in all his twenty-nine years, had even come close to dethroning his mother’s baking.
“Why, thank you. I’ll take those,” he said, accepting the plate and setting it on the already cluttered coffee table. “Have a seat. The house is pretty empty, but I have warm wine.”
Jill laughed and sat down. “I’m good, thanks. Save your warm wine for a special occasion. Sit with me,” she said, patting the spot next to her on the sofa.
Cole thought about it a moment. Only a few hours ago she’d told him they should keep their distance, yet here she was, sitting comfortably in his mother’s house, wearing perfume and a smile. Was she playing games? He didn’t think so. In fact, he got the feeling her change of heart was more about her own conflicting feelings. She wanted to stay away, but she was just as attracted to him as he was her. At least, that was the scenario he wanted to believe.
However, there was another option: that since Jill now knew he’d lost his mother, she was just being nice. God, he hoped not. Empathy he understood and could respect—pity he did not need nor want, however. He blew out a harsh breath and joined her on the sofa.
Jill lifted the plate toward him. “Are you going to try one?”
“Hell, yes,” he said. He took a cookie and bit into it. He closed his eyes, tasting the cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice. “Oh, my God!”
“What?” Jill looked worried.
Pleasure wound its way inside him. “These are amazing. Wow, I have to admit when you said you made the best oatmeal cookies in the world, my first thought was that there was no way they would be better than the ones my mom used to make.”
Jill flashed him a smile. “Well…I did cheat. Your mother gave me the recipe.”
“She did?”
Jill nodded, ducking her head. “She used to make them and bring them over for the kiddos. They loved them. Towards the end…I mean, when she started… Anyways, she gave me the recipe so I could keep making them for the kids.” She bit her lip. “I did it again. I’m sorry.”
“No, no. Don’t be sorry. My mom loved kids. I’m sure it was fun for her having you guys next door.”
“Yes, she liked to sit on the porch and watch them play.”
Just like she’d do when Cole was a kid. He stood. “You want some water? I think I’m going to get some water.”
“Sure, water would be great,” she said.
Cole went into the kitchen and poured two glasses of ice water. He drank half his glass before heading back into the living room.
“Here you go.” He sat down next to Jill again. “So what part of LA are you from?”
“I grew up in Orange County.”
“Oh, an O.C. girl. Is Daddy a doctor?”
A strange look crossed Jill’s face. She seemed to recover quickly before she said, “No, he was an artist.”
“Was?”
“Yes. He passed a few years ago.”
Cole craned his neck to catch her downcast gaze. “Now I’m the one who’s sorry.”
She shrugged. “It’s okay.”
He could tell it wasn’t, but she didn’t seem any more interested in talking about her father than Cole was in talking about his mom, so he let it go.
“So what do you do, Cole?” Jill folded her hands in her lap.
She’d entered into the banal, let’s-get-to-know-each-other type of discussion. Definitely different from the Jill he’d known last night…the woman who’d all but ordered him to fuck her. Was that woman really so different from the Jill who sat sedate and prim on his couch?
Didn’t matter, really. He’d let her set the pace in whatever this now was between them. Friendship? Neighbors? His mind was all for the new dynamic, but hell—his body still wanted her, and bad. “I’m self-employed. I co-own a security company.”
“Security? Like for weddings and parties, things like that?”
He fought to keep from brushing his fingers through her hair. Indulging himself in the silken strands. “No, more like for rich, famous people. Rock stars, movie stars, politicians…”
“Wow, seriously? Who’s the most famous person you ever did security for?”
“I can’t tell you her name, it’s all confidential.” He looked around dramatically like he was making sure no one was listening, then said in a conspiratorial tone, “What I can tell you is she’s pretty famous for her…
ass
ets. My partner and I had to charge her double for protecting it—I meant them—if you know what I mean.”
Jill laughed. The sound loosened Cole’s muscles.
Focus, Cole
, he told himself.
Relax. Enjoy the company of a woman for who she is, not how she makes you feel
. He took another cookie and bit into it.
“What made you want to go into the security business?” she asked.
He shrugged. “We live in LA. It’s a hotbed of celebrities and big shots, right? A friend who I’ve known forever agreed it could probably turn into a lucrative business, and it has. In fact, business is so good we’re going to open an office in San Francisco.”
“Oh, that’s right. You mentioned moving north earlier.”
“That’s the plan. At least, until the business is established.”
She nodded and sipped her water.
Cole watched her face. Was he imagining things, or did it seem to bother her that he’d be leaving LA? They barely knew each other, so that didn’t make sense. Neither did his own reaction to the idea he might not see her again.
Fuck. Why was he pretending he didn’t want to see her again, when all he wanted was to take her, caress her, touch and tease and tempt her? Maybe there was a reason she was here. Maybe they were supposed to have more than one night together.
Maybe.
His body ached with want, overriding coherent thought. He reached out and touched her face. For a few moments, she stared at him, her eyes darkening. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she whispered, “Cole,” her voice unsteady.
He said nothing, just closed the space between them, and covered her mouth with his. He put his hands on either side of her face. Their lips brushed back and forth lightly in a whisper-soft kiss before he pressed harder and opened her with his tongue.
“Mmm…” she moaned softly through the kiss.
She tasted fresh and sweet, and he relished the heat spreading in the pit of his belly. He slid his hand down the side of her face to her neck then over her shoulder and down her arm. He felt goose bumps rising on her silky skin.
“Wait. Stop.” She breathlessly pushed him back.
Cole was breathless, too. Breathless and confused. Why had she stopped him?
“I can’t do this.” She shot to her feet.
Cole stood up, too. “Okay, that’s okay. Can I ask why?”
“I just can’t, I’m sorry. I’m really attracted to you, Cole. Obviously. But you’re going through so much right now. If I had known that last night, I never would have….”
“You never would have what? Taken advantage of me? Because I have to tell you, I wouldn’t mind you taking advantage of me again.”
“We’re neighbors now,” she said.
“Not for long.”
“That’s right. You’re going to pack everything up and move to San Francisco. Are you going to sell the house I’m living in, too?” Her eyes brimmed with worry.
The abrupt turn in the conversation threw Cole. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered how selling the rental house would affect her. But he
was
planning on selling the house—both houses—and investing the money into the expansion of Frontline. That meant Jill would have to find someplace else to run her daycare.
An unwelcome suspicion swept through him. Again, he considered her change of heart by coming over.
Was the possibility he was going to sell the house the real reason she was here? Had she come over to try and talk him out of selling? The idea that she’d been motivated by her own agenda rather than any genuine desire to be with him made him flinch. And say incredibly stupid things.
“Why do you want to know, Jill? Are you hoping to change my mind? Because it would take more than cookies for that. Or is that why you kissed me back?”
Her eyes widened. Her face paled. Her expression…
Jesus, she looked like he’d just smacked her in the face. “Did you seriously just say that to me?”
Yeah, he had. Because he was an idiot. “Fuck. That was an asshole thing to say.”
“You’re right. It was,” she said stiffly before standing. “Goodbye, Cole.”
“Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
But she wasn’t buying it. She opened the door and stepped out. She paused on the front stoop to turn and face him. “Before last night, I’d never—and what you just accused me of, I’d never…” She shook her head. “That’s not who I am. But how would you know that? You don’t even know me. And I don’t really know you, do I?”
“That’s not true. Please, Jill. Come back inside, so we can talk.”
“No. I don’t want to. Right now, I’m thinking I don’t ever want to see you again, Cole.”
With that, she was gone. And this time, he was pretty sure she wasn’t coming back.
Chapter Seven
The next day, after a restless sleep in his old room and a brutal morning workout at a nearby gym, Cole still burned with guilt over what he’d said to Jill the night before. He was a fool for jumping to conclusions and letting unfounded suspicions make him lose control of his mouth. More than once last night, he’d barely managed to stop himself from going over to her house. Today he’d go over and apologize, though he’d wait until her work day was over before bothering her.
Dropping his gym bag in the hall, he got straight to work, packing up everything in the living room except his mother’s knickknacks.
After filling several boxes with stuff, he took down framed photos and paintings from the walls, things that had become so familiar to him he’d barely noticed them anymore. Now that he had packed most of it up, the space seemed overly large and empty, like a shell more than a home.
Still avoiding the collectibles in the hutch, he started in on his mom’s bedroom. His gaze immediately landed on the old trunk at the end of the bed. Whenever he’d brought home his artwork or his report cards from school, she would hang them on the refrigerator to show them off for a while, and then when she took them down to make room for something else, she would take them into her room and put them in the chest.
He trudged over and sat on the floor next to it, then pulled the lid open. The brown chest was packed with clear shoeboxes, spiral notebooks, file folders, and little bags filled with stuff—a lifetime of memories. Abruptly, not allowing himself to examine any one thing too closely, he began moving items into a packing box.
He paused when he spotted what looked like an announcement for his mom’s senior prom, and his hands shook a bit. The announcement, along with several other pieces of paper, fell from his hands and fluttered to the floor. “Damn it.” He scrambled to pick up the item closest to him, a newspaper clipping attached to a postcard. The clipping was from 1985, news coverage of a “Junior Republican Convention” in Long Beach.
He stiffened.
The last thing his mother told him before he informed her he didn’t want to know anything about his father was she’d met him at a political rally. Was this the one? He hadn’t wanted to know. But his mom was gone now. So…he could change his mind…if he wanted to…