Page 38 of A Photo Finish
Pretty_in_Purple:Okay. Sorry. Innuendos aside. Are you meaning to tell me I’m the only girl you chat with on here?
Golddigger85:Yes.
Pretty_in_Purple:Why?
Golddigger85:Because talking to you uses up all my free time.
I read that sentence over and over again. Coming from anyone else, it wouldn’t sound sweet. But coming from him, well, I can’t help but smile and stifle a laugh on a sip of wine.
Golddigger likes me.
* * *
He leans in closerand glares at me, big fat raindrops rolling down his masculine face. His gray eyes bore into me from underneath thick lashes and then skim down to my mouth. He looks mad, like every muscle in his body is held taut. Like a predator coiled and ready to strike. But I haven’t been afraid of him before, and I won’t start now.
I keep rambling to fill the space. “Don’t worry about it. Billie has talked to me about this too. Not everyone is going to like me, and that’sfine.” I edge forward to turn myself so he can lift me down the way he has in the past. The way he demands. But his hand pulses on my leg before lifting it higher and dragging me toward him. And I don’t resist. We’re like two opposite ends of a magnet, naturally drawn to each other.
His waist takes up all the space between my thighs. I almost lose my balance, or swoon—I’m not totally sure which—but I let go of the handle above me to catch myself, my palm landing in the middle of his hard chest to brace against him.
His opposite hand shoots forward and captures my chin, the pad of his thumb pressing gently on the cleft there. The intense gray eyes scouring my face freeze me in place. He’s so close I can feel his breath fanning down across my throat. His cologne wraps around me like a comfort blanket, all spice and cinnamon and warmth.
“You are not an inconvenience.” His voice is rough, low, a growl. “Anyone who doesn’t like you is an idiot. Do you understand me?”
I nod, feeling a bit breathless at his nearness. At his words. The way he overwhelms me. The way he’s holding my thigh.
My fingers grasp at the fabric of his T-shirt, not wanting him to pull away. Wanting him closer. Even after everything.
I angle my face up at him, watching the shadows play across his features. The glow of the headlights highlight all the prominent ridges and sharp lines. His jaw ticks as he stands frozen, staring me down. But somehow the meaning behind that glare has transformed. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s different. The flicker of desire reflected from my own eyes, maybe. Because I would have to be a blind idiot to pretend I don’t want Cole Harding. I’ve wanted him for years—before I knew what he looked like—when he was just a faceless avatar providing a lonely girl company. The friend I needed as I set out in the world. The hand giving my bike a push as I took off on my own for the first time.
“Okay,” I whisper, blinking once to give my eyes a rest, even though I don’t want to take a break from looking at him. And holy hell, am I glad I opened them back up in time because his stony gaze goes straight to molten lava as he lifts that thumb from my chin and rubs it across my slack lower lip almost possessively.
The rumble that breaks free of his chest is like a shot of electricity to my core. My entire body tingles, goosebumps and intense awareness shooting out through every limb. Emboldened by his touch, I reach up with my spare hand and run it across the scar that cuts through his thick brow. I trace the raised tissue and hear his sharp intake of air as I trail my fingers over the line, reveling in the feel of his skin under my fingers, of his hands on my body. The leg he has nearly wrapped around his waist. The way we’re justalmostlined up perfectly. The soft pattering of rain around us. It’s like we’re frozen in time, in this tiny bubble of curiosity. Because that’s what I see on his face now.
And it makes me brave. I fist his shirt tightly between my fingers and yank him to me, wanting to feel the swell of him against my thin pants. I sigh when I do, right as he groans, right as he drags that thumb across my lip again.
Jesus.I like that.
I lift my good leg and wrap it around his other side, wanting him closer. Our heavy breaths mingle wordlessly between us in the cold, damp air. His eyes devour me, confusion written all over his face now. I don’t even want to think about what’s written on mine as he hikes my thigh up higher and presses himself against the apex of my thighs, making my eyes flutter drunkenly. Pure lust, I imagine.
I let my other leg trail down the back of his, rubbing against him right as he rocks against me. But then he freezes and steps back abruptly, holding me at arm’s length, panting into the night air, his breath like steam rising between us.
I want to launch myself back at him. I want to beg him to keep going. But I know Cole isn’t the type of man that bends. I know he’s complicated. I know he has rules. Rules that he doesn’t break.
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks as he sets me down gently and brings his trembling hands back down to his sides.
I’m sorry?
Everything that was hot goes cold. Cold with dread. I shake my head. I’ve been here before. This is so like him—so likeme.To let myself get carried away where he’s concerned. To think something is there when it’s not.
I can’t even look at him as I feel myself go bright red. I send up a silentthank youthat it’s dark out, as I stare out at Pipsqueak’s paddock. And like she knows this moment needs to be broken up, she whinnies. Long and loud and shrill, like an alarm bell that makes us both jump.
“Can I take your truck for a minute?”
Cole shakes his head as if to clear it, trying to keep up. “What for?”
“I need to run up to the barn and get her a rain sheet. She’s getting soaked. No blanket. She doesn’t even have a shelter in there.”
He steps back quickly, putting space between us as he looks over at the little filly. “Horses have survived for years without waterproof coats.”
