Page 125 of Tortured Tones

“Not my style.”

He brushed his thumb down my cheek and across my lips. “Your style messes with my head. In a frustrating, fuck-I-want-more kind of way.”

I swayed on my feet. “You want more? Of me?”

“I’m tired of fighting this, Ava.” He pressed his forehead against mine. “Nothing about us makes sense. But every time you’re in the room, my head spins.”

My heart raced against my ribs. “So what do you want to do about that?”

“I want to make it stop.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” I slowly slid my hand up and down the sides of his waist.

His lips brushed across mine, teasing me with his breath. “I can think of several things that involve you, that wall, my bed. . .”

My eyes fluttered shut. “It’s been a long night. I should go.”

“You probably should. But do you want to?”

I clutched onto a handful of his T-shirt to ground myself. No, I didn’t want to leave. “Cole, Hannah’s in the next room.”

“I gave her strict orders not to come out unless I screamed murder.”

“Charlotte?” I whispered.

“She’s exhausted and asleep too.”

Why did he have an answer to everything?

He caressed the side of my neck. Desire, want, and need burned in his gaze. “Ava? Stay. Stay because I want you to...because you want to.”

My head swam with dizziness. My body ached for more of his touch. This man had cast a spell on me. I hated that his charm had become my weakness. My addiction.

All my reasoning went out the door. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“We shower first.” I poked him in the chest. “You stink of sweat.”

He cupped the sides of my face, kissed my lips, and walked me backward into his room. He closed the bedroom doors behind us. “You can wash my back.”

“As long as you go down on me.”

Brushing his lips against mine, he growled, raspy and hot. “That I can do.”

Chapter 28

COLE

Something about Ava dressed in uniform made me hard as fuck. Guiding her into the bedroom, I peeled the jacket off her shoulders. Shit. She still had on all her security gear. I ran my finger underneath the strap of her holster. “How do I get this off?”

“Let me. It’ll be easier.”

As I ripped my T-shirt off my head and tossed it on the ground, she undid her holster and placed it on the chair in the far corner, then unclipped her radio from her belt, unthreaded the earpiece from her shirt and tossed it next to her gun. She removed the items attached to her utility belt and put them on the chair.

“Shit, Ava. How much crap do you carry?”

She tapped the pockets on her work pants and pulled out her cell phone. “That’s it.”

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