Page 70 of Dirty Rich Cinderella Story

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Lori

Cole walks me backward, presses me against the wall, and does a hot, quick inspection of my naked body. “You forgot to replace the panties I tore off you.”

“I didn’t forget,” I say. “I wasn’t letting you ruin yet another pair.”

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he declares.

“I’ll buy my own. I’m a Merrick Scholarship recipient, remember?”

His hand comes down on the wall and he leans in close. “I remember everything about you, Lori Havens,” he says, his voice low, rough, “to the point of complete obsession. Which is why I blame you for our tardiness.” He straightens. “We need to leave.” He picks up my clothes and hands them to me. “Which is why you can help me pack. Get dressed and come to my bedroom.” He issues that command and then walks away, disappearing into the apartment. I pat my hot cheeks, fairly certain that I’m blushing from that exchange, when I was just crushing my naked body against his without a blush in sight. I push off the wall, and I’m also smiling as I start dressing. A man that makes a girl smile gets extra white knight bonus points.

I tug everything back in the proper places, and head down the hallway, the dark wood beneath my feet carried into the main living room, where a gray couch and chairs frame a fireplace that seems to float in the glass of floor-to-ceiling windows. I pause, taking in the rich masculine style that screams power and money, my gaze drawn to an archway to the right that seems to lead to a den or library with rows of books on shelves. I wonder about the titles of those books and what they say about Cole Brooks.

“You coming?” I glance up to find Cole leaning over the steel railing of a second level.

My eyes meet his, a probe in the depth of his stare, a question in the air he has yet to ask. What am I thinking about his life, his world, his home? How does that affect us? “It’s perfectly you,” I say. “And that’s a compliment.”

His eyes warm with my reply, but his reaction, his very need for answers, tells me that I have not said everything I need to say to him. I rush toward the elegant winding steel staircase in the far corner of the room, and quickly make the climb. The minute I reach the top level, I cut right, and bring one hell of a hot man, now dressed in black jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt, into view.

He leans on the railing, just in front of an open door I assume to be his bedroom. Watching me, tracking my every step, and I swear, I know how he wins over a courtroom and a jury. When this man watches you, when he focuses on you, there is just him; nothing else exists. I stop in front of him, and when he motions toward the bedroom, I catch his hand. “Cole.”

The minute I say his name, he turns back to me. I greet him by pushing to my toes and kissing him, before I confess, “I got something wrong downstairs.”

His hands come down on my waist, and he walks me closer. “You got everything exactly right downstairs, sweetheart.”

“No,” I say. “I didn’t. I presented my reasons for pushing you away, as if your success was a bad thing when that is not the case. Please do not think that any of my feelings about my life reflect anything but admiration for your success. Professional and personally.”

“I was born into money, sweetheart. In the end, I made my own, but I never had to question how I would pay for school. I never had to worry about taking care of a sick parent.”

He hits about ten nerves with that statement. “You’re setting me apart from you,” I say, “And that’s what I did downstairs. That’s not what I want.”

“I can assure you, Lori Havens,” he says, lowering his voice, “the last thing I want is to set you apart from me.”

“Then don’t.”

“I won’t,” he says.

That’s as far as I get. His cell phone rings in his pocket and he kisses me. “How much do you want to bet that’s the driver wondering where we are?” He glances at the number and nods. “That would be a yes.” He motions for me to follow him into the bedroom, which ironically is a signal that we have to focus on work.

“Five minutes,” he says into the phone, disappearing into the bedroom.

I quickly follow, entering a room that, much like downstairs, is all clean lines and masculinity, with a low king bed with a gray leather headboard and a seating area off to the left. Cole enters another doorway to my right, and almost immediately returns with a suitcase in his hands. “For you,” he announces, setting it by the bed. “Those bags you brought with you won’t transport easily.”

In other words, he knows I don’t have a suitcase. “Thank you,” I say.

He arches a brow. “No other comment?”

“Just that you miss nothing,” I reply.

“If that were true,” he says. “I wouldn’t have been cocky enough to believe that I’d won you over in that hotel room. And I damn sure wouldn’t have gotten in the shower without taking you with me.”

“You had me at hello, Cole. You know that.”

“And yet I didn’t.”

“You do now.”

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