“Hi.” Her voice was breathy and rushed. “Are you all right? I heard you got slammed by a horse.”
His forehead scrunched. Word traveled fast, apparently. “I was fine.” Cole retrieved her earring and held it palm-out so her fingers traced his skin when she took it.
“Was?” She fingered a stray lock of hair away from her neck then fiddled with the earring. Dumbstruck didn’t come close to how his brain was reacting.
“Hmm?”
Rylan laughed and smoothed the front of her dress, shifting uncomfortably. “You said you
were
feeling fine. So, you’re not now?” How could she even ask him something like that? What man would feel fine standing next to her when she looked so elegant and sexy and completely strippable?
“Why so dressed up?” He avoided her question, hoping his body didn’t give anything away. She looked down and swore when she noticed that one strappy, golden sandal had come unbuckled. She bent, her breasts mounding beautifully over the top of the bodice. Rylan quickly covered her chest with one arm and stood, a blush fanning her cheeks. Cole frowned, disappointed that the scenery had changed so fast.
“The wedding planner had an employee call in sick so she asked me to serve wine in the reception tent. Luckily your mom had this dress in her closet. Tags still on it.”
His heart lurched with the realization that the dress was likely one Livy had left behind. But then Rylan pulled out a chair and crossed her graceful legs to strap the shoe and he forgot about the dress. Forgot about all the reasons he shouldn’t be feeling the desire humming through him. It would be so easy to just—
Cole clamped his jaw, moved in front of her, and bent to one knee, ignoring the shot of pain that lanced through his side. “Put your foot up here.” He reached for her calf. Rylan jerked at his touch but relented, letting him place her foot right above his knee. Cole grabbed the strap over her ankle, heat shooting through his groin when she shuddered. Her skin was freshly shaven and silky smooth, and it was all he could do to stop from running his fingers along the curve of her leg. She smelled amazing, her body heat against his fingers, intoxicating. It took a huge dose of concentration and some mental testosterone-stomping, but he got the shoe strapped and stepped back. Rylan cleared her throat and stood, the blush even deeper on her cheeks.
Jesus, he wanted to grab her against him and kiss her again. Deeper, hotter, longer than before. He should tell her she looked beautiful. He should tell her he wanted…
“Holy hell! Who exchanged the housekeeper for a supermodel?” Tucker came in from the hall, shirtless and freshly scrubbed. He gave Rylan a low whistle and stopped beside her with one leg hitched. “Damn, woman. You look incredible.” Tuck unbundled the T-shirt in his hands and slid it on.
Cole squeezed his eyes shut. Yeah, he should have said that.
Rylan dipped her head. “Thanks.”
“Walk you to the reception tent?” Tucker held a crooked arm to her, and Rylan paused, sneaking a quick glance at Cole. Tucker followed her gaze and lowered his arm slightly. Cole bit back anger—jealousy, if he were honest about it. He didn’t have time to mess with this right now. Rylan looked beautiful. Tucker beat him to saying it. Fine. It shouldn’t bother him if Tucker escorted Rylan to the tent, to the store, to his bed. She was the help. Never mind her sensuality, incredible work ethic, and caring soul that threatened to reel his heart in anyway. No way. There wasn’t any room at the ranch for another heartbreak. No room, no emotional reserve, and damn well no money to pay for another big-ass mistake.
Before he could turn away, Tucker sidled up to him and grumbled into his ear. “I know you tried to deny it the other day, big brother, but the look on your face right now confirms that it’s my turn to do this.“ Tucker slapped Cole on the chest with a raise of his eyebrows and whispered with animated emphasis, “Handbook.”
Cole clenched his teeth to hold back both a smile and the left hook he was about to deliver to his brother’s face. Instead, he turned and flipped Tucker off. “I’m outta here.”
Rylan’s soft sigh followed him out and damn if it didn’t sound a little like disappointment.
Chapter Nine
Three in the morning finally saw an end to the drinking and dancing. Celebrities and their guests didn’t much know when to call it a night, Rylan thought. Limos were hauling the ones who weren’t staying on the ranch back to their hotel in nearby Missoula while the immediate wedding party settled into the luxury tents. She watched things settle down from the empty reception tent. A soft fiddle played in the background as Jaxon, Don, and Zane crafted a final slow tune. Rylan sat on a stool and let the music seep into her, wishing she could hear Cole play again.
Tucker had been by a while ago, holding a half-empty bottle of wine in one hand and a beer in the other. He’d handed her the wine with a wink. “Have some. It’s good.” And he’d left. She’d nursed the sweet, blackberry wine—at least, she thought she had. The warm buzz and hum in her veins told her maybe she hadn’t been as prudent as she should have been. All day, she’d tried to forget how it had felt to care for Birdie that morning. Once the initial shock took a hike, pure motherly instinct had taken over. Fix it. Make it better. Kiss the boo-boo and dry the tears.
Birdie had turned to her, not Cole, a surprise that pulled Rylan’s heartstrings so hard they nearly snapped. In a tiny, quiet way, it had felt amazingly good to be needed like that. To be wanted. When Birdie’s small arms reached for her, Rylan nearly lost herself in the memory of another pair of small arms reaching for her in a time of pain or fear. She’d held Rachel countless times, dried her little tears, and this morning, for just a moment, she’d been a mother again. A gnarled web of emotion had rolled around in her brain—fear, joy, regret, longing—slinging arrows to her heart. Her child was gone, and she could not, would not, replace her.
No wonder the wine tasted so good.
Just when she considered it time to head inside, Rylan spotted Cole wandering into the tent, hands shoved in his front pockets. She boldly watched him come closer, her pulse getting quicker with each step he took. She wanted him. The bad-girl side of her said it was time to take a risk, to be up-front with him and see where it led. The rational side of her, the one that usually got its way in matters like this, said no way. So many things about Cole Haywood made him the type of man she’d always wanted: strong, hardworking, sexy, caring. His appeal was starting to override common sense, and she was just tempted enough to let her body overrule her head. Rylan narrowed her eyes and took another drink.
Ah, heck. Let the wine decide.
Cole laughed as he sauntered over. Light-blue shirt half-unbuttoned. Snug, dark jeans, with a square silver belt buckle. And those eyes—the eyes that she could never get enough of—piercing right through her. She nibbled her lower lip, then gave a mock salute with a wine bottle. He strode over to her place on the stool and hitched a hip against the bar.
“That’s Paint River’s homemade wine. It’s pretty strong. You’d better be careful with—” Cole’s voice drifted off with a sigh when she showed him how little was left. “Did you drink the entire bottle?”
Rylan made a
pfft
sound. “What?” She gave a forced pout. “No…it was almost empty when Tucker gave it to me.” For a fleeting second, she wondered if she’d get in trouble for drinking. “I figured he owns this place, too, so if he said to drink some wine, I’d drink some wine.”
Emboldened by Cole’s easy smile and the way he leaned a little closer to her, Rylan cocked her head and grabbed his gaze. He was gorgeous. It hurt the deepest pit of her stomach, made her chest hurt and her center ache, all with one glance. Ridiculous.
“You know, the first time I ever drank wine was at my wedding.” Rylan set the bottle between her legs. The bunched, hiked skirt of her dress floated off the stool and brushed his knee in a reminder that only inches separated her long, bared legs from his body. He could reach out and touch her if he wanted to.
If.
Did he want to? God, did he?
She looked down at the bottle, rimmed the opening with her pinky. “I married Peter Donovan.
Judge
Donovan. Yeah. But he didn’t want me. Not
me
, me, you know. Just the image. He figured marrying the hero cop would be good for his career.” Her cheeks went hot as the words spilled out. Oh hell, what did it matter? There could never be anything between her and Cole—she was an emotionally broken housekeeper now, and being sued for every dime in her bank account and then some, thanks to the civil suit brought against her from the car accident her husband had caused.
Husband. What a joke.
Cole reached out and took the bottle from her, his hand brushing against her thigh. Dark curiosity flickered in his eyes, mixed with a little surprise. Her eyebrows rose. Well, why stop now? She had plenty more secrets. Rylan licked her lips, the sweet remnant taste of tangy wine on the tip of her tongue. Leave it to a little alcohol to give her a hefty dose of I-don’t-give-a-shit-anymore. And she’d only had a few sips—just enough to take the edge off and soften her mood.
She lifted her chin. “Did you know I got shot?”
Cole’s head tipped to the side. His palm rested on her knee, threatening to rob coherent thought away as his body heat pressed into her flesh. Gently, his fingers squeezed her thigh in a move that was equal parts protective and sensual. Rylan was glad she didn’t have to choose between the two; she loved them both.
“Ah, no.”
Rylan tossed back her hair. His expression darkened as she slid the silk skirt up her until her left leg was bare to where her thigh creased against her thong. She pointed to a small pucker mark on her skin about three inches down from her hip.
“I took down a rapist and got a bullet right there. Chased him through a bar and the bastard shot me. I still took him down, bleeding all over the place.” She nodded. “That made me a hero, apparently. Was just doing my job. I caught the judge’s eye and stupid me thought I actually meant something to him.”
Cole turned his body to fully face her, his grip on her leg pressing firmer. His lashes flickered. A small muscle jerked in his cheek, and if she didn’t know better—because, really, Cole Haywood could not be capable of having real emotion on her behalf, not as hot and cold as he’d been toward her—he looked intensely angry.
“What happened?” He brushed the back of her upper arm with the fingers of his free hand. A liquid hot shiver went through her as she let the skirt fall.
“I was a cover.” She fiddled with an earring, knowing that she should really, really stop talking, but she couldn’t seem to. “That’s why he wouldn’t touch me, you know, more than once every few months. I was just the cover-up for his dirty little secret. I was the safe wife—the face for the media to latch onto for his up-and-coming political campaign.” She leaned closer, wishing she’d had a little more wine before she quickly realized she didn’t really need it. For some morbid reason, spilling her guts to Cole felt kind of nice. “I didn’t take his name when we married.
That
really pissed him off.”
He took a slow breath, his eyebrows hitching for her to continue. “A cover?”
God, how she wanted to lean into him. Feel those strong arms around her. Part the unbuttoned opening of his shirt and taste the tan skin over his collarbone. Fantasy. Pure, wonderful, delicious fantasy.
Too bad her real life had been anything but. “The second time I ever drank wine was the day I found the judge…fucking a hooker on my kitchen table.”
Cole’s balance slipped against the bar. Rylan’s eyes went huge when she saw his reaction, but how could he help it? These things were just spilling out of her mouth, as calm and easy as if this were an everyday conversation about the weather or what to have for dinner. He suspected she hadn’t even had much to drink. She was too steady, her voice too even. The little bit she’d had probably helped loosen her reserve, but the rest was her own doing. Why the hell did she want him to know these things, and worse, why did he feel so invested?
The soft give of her thigh under his hand reminded him he was crossing a line…again. He was touching her, again. And he couldn’t give a flying fuck. He wanted Rylan to keep talking, to let him in on her secrets. It pained him to know the hurt look in her eyes—rimmed with real, vivid agony—was caused by a man who was supposed to love her. He couldn’t stop the memory of how she’d cared for Birdie this morning—how deeply the tender side of her got under his skin. He couldn’t shake it off. All day, he’d been trying, but the warm flush pumping through his veins wouldn’t go away. Now, he didn’t want it to.
Her eyes took on a far-off glow. “It didn’t take me long to find out he had a fetish for prostitutes and vodka. Who in the hell could trust a drunk judge with a taste for whores, right? Enter me, the perfect wife. The perfect cover for his vices. Wine didn’t take the stab of that realization away. Getting shot felt better.”
Crickets roared in Cole’s ears as he righted himself with a hand on the bar, the usual soft timbre of the night suddenly a blaring symphony. Adrenaline pumped through him, jacking his testosterone and fueling him with the urge to rip the judge apart. What a piece of shit. Stunned didn’t quite fit what was tearing through him. Cole let the emotions steer him until he stood before her.
Enough of fighting it. He wanted a taste—no, he wanted to show Rylan that she was so much more than a sick man’s pawn. Her eyes flashed silver as he placed both palms on her knees. The silk of her dress was like heaven’s own clouds under his hands. It glided easily, lusciously over her legs, and he ran his hands slowly up her thighs. Rylan caught her breath, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder. She dug her fingers in—to hang on, he realized with a swell of ego, not push him away.
Vanilla notes wafted around him as he brought his face inches from hers. Her lips were parted and so tempting. Denying himself and diverting the encouragement in her expression, Cole leaned in next to her ear. Glossy strands of her hair tickled his mouth and chin. Cole let out a wedged breath and inhaled deeply the smooth scent of woman and blackberry wine. He didn’t know what paralyzed him more, the info dump she’d just let loose or his cock throbbing urgently from her softness in his arms.
She held her breath for a beat, and it thrilled him. Her free hand found its mark on his other shoulder as his hands moved just a little higher. Cole glanced down at the tight contours of her tender thighs, half bared to him. Just a little higher and he’d see that satiny white string of her thong that she’d flashed him earlier. Just a little more and he’d lose it completely, press his mouth to the inside of her beautiful thigh and work his way up—
Rylan’s fingers followed his shoulders to the curve of his neck, up until the bare skin heated under her tender caress. Her fingers found his hair. “Are you coming on to me, Mr. Haywood?”
He bristled a little at the title but shoved it aside as hard as he could. There wouldn’t be any “Mr. Haywood” bullshit. Not right now. His lips dipped behind her left ear. He let a little stream of breath wash over her flesh, making her tremble, before he pressed his mouth to her skin.
“That would be deliciously, wickedly inappropriate, don’t you think?” He nuzzled the soft column of her throat, his hands going another inch higher toward her hips.
“Oh, yes.” Her breathy words were more of a moan. Tonight, he wasn’t her boss. He never wanted to be her boss again—hell,
he’d
quit if it meant one no-strings night with Rylan, to be her lover and get it out of his system. A tremor went through him at the promise of that, a deep realization flagging him.
“Say my name.” She’d never said it, and he couldn’t go another moment without hearing it. Cole licked the sensitive skin just below her ear before capturing her lobe between his lips as his fingers squeezed her thighs. She jumped a little before sinking into his touch.
Her smoky voice shook. “Mr. Haywood.”
“Is that how you really think of me?” Cole held back a growl at the formality, his fingers digging a little harder into the delectable flesh of her thighs. He nipped her ear just enough to make her gasp. Rylan turned her head and broke free, her hands palming his cheeks and positioning his mouth in line with hers. Their breath mingled, hot and sweet.
“That’s how I
should
think of you.”
His fingers slid under the bunched skirt, over bare flesh to grip the bones of her hips. Her legs quivered, her eyes going heavy with desire.
“But is it?”
Without hesitation, she shook her head. Cole brought his lips to hers, tasted her with a quick slide of his lips from one corner of her mouth to the other. She shuddered, leaned in just as he pulled away.
“Say it. I want to hear your sexy voice say my name.”
Her eyelids fell halfway, her lips parted just enough to show him the small tip of her tongue as she wet them.
“Cole.”
Fucking. Christ.
His cock squeezed and throbbed with fury. Cole nudged her legs wide with his hip and settled between her thighs as he pulled her hips down to his pelvis. Her bottom slid to the edge of the stool, her center joining him in a soft, hot caress against every inch of his aching, demanding erection. Her hands assumed a vise grip on his face, her lips grinding against his with a fire he needed more of. Wanted more of. Right damn now.
“Say it again,” he demanded. She slanted her head to take his mouth fully, the dance of her tongue creating amazing friction against his. God, his head was swimming, and it was so, so good.
“Cole.” The gravel in her voice nailed him. “I’ll say it all night if you want me to.” She pulled back with a heavy pant. He stiffened a moment at her words, his blood near boiling in the best way possible. But then her thighs clenched around his hips, drawing her soft center against him harder. One hand wandered to his back, pulling him against her breasts and holding him tight. Save for the narrow edge of stool still under her butt, she was clinging to him, and it was nowhere near close enough.