Coletrane (14 page)

I sat there, drinking it all in. His story, his words.
His hurt.
Like the ink that covered my skin, the tragedies of his life seeped inside my flesh.

He owned it all, showing no shame, no fear. Just gut-deep grief he hid inside so well.

I had to give him props for that, as I swiped my eyes again.

Afterward, we sat in silence for a few moments, both remembering, both coming to grips with the ghosts that could never fully be laid to rest.

Brodie finally scooted forward and hit me with his icy blue stare. “Sorry about your sis.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about your folks.”

“Sometimes life just shits all over you.” He twiddled one of the big rings around his finger.

“I hear that. So you get why Sin’s too good for me?”

“Didn’t say that.”

I snorted. “Loser ex-junkie with a wealthy, incredibly smart socialite. Right.”

“You got a degree. You’ve a got a paying full-time job you’re good at and you love. What the fuck man?” Brodie laid it on the line. “Did you ever go back to the drugs?”

“Got cured of it pretty quick when Brooke died.”

“Take Cat. She almost ruined her life. You think she doesn't live with guilt and shame every day? Think she had it easy?” He rose from his chair, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “She got it together though. Even landed
Mr. Moneybags Romance Author of the Lowcountry
.”

I relaxed with my first real laugh of the night. “Yeah. I guess.”

Brodie smacked me on the back of the head. “Shut up and put up. That’s what I say. Works for all occasions. Hell, that could even be a greeting card.” He headed toward the door then halted in his tracks. “Oh, and just so you know, I'm still gonna give you shit.”

“Wouldn't expect anything less.”

“Now, let’s say we pack up the ovaries, go back out there, and pretend we still got some balls between our legs.”

If folks would’ve told me an hour ago Brodie hard-as-Steele would end up giving me a pep talk—and making me fucking weep like a baby—I’d have told them to get their heads examined.

No shit? He’d done the trick.

My resolve was in place.

Then, just because he was Brodie, he stopped short and I almost banged into him.
“You just need to own the whole loser past. Make it yours. I mean, obviously Sinclair don’t care.” He smiled, apparently pleased with himself.

“Dude, promise me you’ll never go into motivational speaking?”
Or the greeting cards gig for that matter.

“I don’t think there’s any chance of that.” His chuckle was dark and wicked, pretty much trademark badass Brodie.

No shit.

In the main room, nothing had changed. The volume on the chatter and music still ran high. Hunter was rubbing JB’s flat belly as if it was already swelling with his baby. Brodie found Ashe, and they started to groove to the music. Tail was busy making chicks form a line, deciding who’d get the first dance with him.

Nothing had changed, except me.

Kinkaid beefed up beside me as I joined him behind the bar. “What’s with all the powwows?”

I reached for a glass, a long line in many more to clean. “I think I gotta try to make it up to Sin.”

“You’re really into her.” He took the polished glass from my hand and lined it up on the shelf.

“Understatement.”

“Then I wish you the best.”

I WAS ALREADY SWEATING it when I rode up to Sin’s office building the next afternoon.
Uptown
downtown Charleston and I did not mix well, as had been evidenced. It didn’t help it was about a million degrees and even one minute outside felt like I was trapped on the face of the sun. The second week of September and the weather hadn’t cooled down one little bit.

And
I was nervous as fuck.

The building stood on the corner of Wealthy and Wealthier. No shit? I was surprised they didn’t have engraved plaques announcing that loud and proud.

The office building rose up to the highest pinnacle allowed—what I liked to call the Church Ordinance meant no skyscrapers could top the tallest peak of the tallest church steeple downtown in order to preserve the historic skyline.

The place was all white granite, pineapple sculptures that were a symbol of Charleston’s hospitality, shiny windows, and, in small block letters on an understated plaque—Fairley-Chatham Family Foundation—because I guessed when you were this rich you actually didn’t have to boast about it.

I motored in and parked the Harley into the slip of space next to what was apparently one of Sin’s
other
cars. A Land Rover with the forest green tag and a big grill on the glossy black front. The Rover was closest to the door, backed into the spot reserved for the Executive Director.

Sweating it some more
.

I swept through the carousel doors, and almost walked straight back out again.

Man up. Balls out.

Get your woman back.

Inside, the lobby was a hushed. White marble. More granite. Quiet and calm as a mother’s womb except for the classical music pumped in from unseen speakers. Plants, paintings, recessed lighting.

I felt so out of place.

I ran my fingers through my hair, wiped my palms on my jeans, and strode to the high, horseshoe-shaped console. The man sitting behind it in a sleek black suit glanced at me with an interested smile.

Hell, if he was checking me out, maybe I could use that to my advantage. He was definitely metrosexual, and judging by the way his eyes walked all over my face, chest, and arms, chances were he definitely wasn’t heterosexual.

“Hey.” With a wink, I braced my elbows on the semi-circular desk that separated us. “My name’s Cole.”

“Preston.” He held out his hand and I shook it with an extra squeeze.

“Preston,” I drawled with another wink.

When I withdrew from his grasp, I made sure my triceps, biceps and pecs flexed extra hard.

His mouth dropped open.

“I was wondering if Miss Chatham might be free for a few minutes?”

Preston scooted out of his chair, no questions asked. “Right this way.”

He led me down a hallway that was floor to ceiling windows on one side, and probably priceless paintings on the other. He kept looking back, and I kept pretending to check out his ass. But my eyes were on the real prize, getting a one-on-one with the boss lady herself.

After rapping his knuckles on a closed door, he opened the way and stood beside me.

Sinclair sat behind her desk, facing the opposite direction. “Yes, Preston?”

Preston was so close his shoulder brushed mine. “There’s a Cole to see you. I’m sorry.” He frowned. “I didn’t get his last na—”

“Coletrane Sawyer?” Her chair swiveled around.

“You’re
that
Cole?” Preston leaped back from me.

Oops.

He gave a sharp gasp. “Sinclair’s Cole?” he screeched. “You scoundrel! I’m scandalized!”

The screeches continued as he left the room, but he wasn’t so
scandalized
he let the door slam in his wake. No, he closed it very softy behind him.

Sin had watched everything as understanding dawned and she clearly tried to suppress her laughter with her lips pressed tight.

Then Preston poked his head back inside. “Can I get your number?”

“Sorry, dude. I’m kind of into this lady here.” I jerked my thumb in Sin’s direction.

“My heart will never be the same!” floated to us from the hallway as Preston walked away.

“You hit on to Preston to make sure he’d let you see me?” Sin asked, moving out from behind the desk.

With a grimace, I admitted, “Yes?”

“Oh, dear Lord.” Cupping a hand over her mouth, she stifled a giggle. “I wish I’d seen that.”

I had no wish to see anyone but her ever again. And
hellooo
.

What is she wearing?

“What are you wearing?” My mouth played catch up with my brain.

Yup. Hello, all right, to another rendition of Sin. Dressed in a tight white knee-length skirt that stretched up over the swell of her hips, she blew my mind. The soft green blouse with two little bows on the short sleeves looked professional and sexy at the same time. Her bare legs, as creamy and curvy as ever, ended in white leather heels that were high, high,
high
.

Her hair was piled on top of her head and pearls hung from her wrists and ears.

I stared until my eyes dried up and I was forced to blink.

“Cole.”

I snapped to attention.

She trotted back to her desk and sat in a cushy leather chair, placing a distinct barrier between us. “Why are you here?”

“I owe you an apology. Or several.” I stepped closer to the desk. “I need to ask for your forgiveness.” My voice turned hoarse. “I need you to be mine again.”

Sitting back, well out of reach, she coolly appraised me. “Go on.”

“I never thought those assholes would show up or do anything like that, Sin. If I could change my past or the dumb shit I did, if I could make it all go away, I would. I’d do anything for you.” I leaned over her desk, bracing my palms on the hard surface. “I regret the hell out of the fact that I come to you loaded with so much ugly baggage, but I want you too much—
hell
—I need you too much to let you go.”

“I already know all about who you were, what you did, what happened to you. When you were a teenager. And I’m over it. I already told you that.” Her beautiful green eyes softened. “I need to know what kind of a man you can be for me.”

“The kind who takes care of you. No questions asked. In all ways. And always.” That was a given.

“Yet you walked away from me instead of talking about the problem. That’s not acceptable.”

“I know.” I pulled back, any hope I had tumbling away.

“And Preston was right. You are kind of a scoundrel.”

Raking both hands through my hair, I sighed. “Never been called that one before.”

“
My
sexy, tough guy, scoundrel.”

“What?” Relief flashed through me so fast I felt dizzy.

“You heard me. If I’m your woman, then you’re my man. And you won’t do any more dumb shit like that again, got it?” Standing up, she pointed a finger at me.

“Got it.” Did I ever. And her telling me off like that . . . holy shit.

A thrill shot to my stomach, and a tingling overtook my balls. She kept this up I’d have a raging hard-on in about ten more seconds.

“What’s with that look?” she asked.

“Nuthin’.” No way would I admit to wanting to screw her on every surface of her office.

And there were a lot of surfaces.

She rounded the desk. “I know what that look means, Cole.”

“Well, you’ve seen it enough times before.” I remained in place, locked still.

Sin approached, hips swaying, the sexy stroll even more pronounced with the tight skirt and mega-high heels.

When she was close enough, she leaned toward me. “You want to
fuck
me.”

She whispered
fuck
so sweetly, so perfectly, I had to restrain myself from grabbing her, carrying her back to the desk, ripping off her clothes and ramming into her over and over again.

I gulped. “Yeah, I do. But not here. Can you take the rest of the day off?”

“Let me think about that for a minute.” One long, rounded, cotton candy pink fingernail tapped against her bottom lip. “Yes.”

I made a lunge for her, but she skipped back. “I need to make a few calls first.”

I growled from deep down inside.

She smiled at me as she talked on the phone, sitting on her desk, swinging her bare legs back and forth.

The woman getting down to business was hot.

Getting the woman down to my business would be even hotter.

I narrowed my eyes at her, planning exactly what I’d do to her once I got her home.

Pincushion better find some damn earplugs.

When Sin finally wound things down, I asked. “You need to run home for anything? ’Cause I want you to stay the night.” And tomorrow . . . tomorrow night . . .

She held up a finger, entered a second door, and emerged with a soft-sided, well-worn suitcase made of what looked shockingly like the skin of an endangered species.

“You keep an overnight bag at the office?” I hefted it in my hand, figuring I better not ask her what the hell she had packed to make it a twenty-pound weight.

Hopefully some naughty lingerie.

As long as she hadn’t been wearing it for anyone else.

“I travel a lot. Sometimes last minute.” We wandered through the hallway and reception where Preston hissed at me from his seat behind the console.

I waved cheerfully as we left.

Stepping out into the sun, Sin held my hand and asked, “Mine or yours or I’ll follow you?”

I didn’t want to be separated from her for an instant, and taking in the tight skirt that made my brain backfire and my cock do a touchdown dance, I knew there was no way she could straddle the bike without busting a seam, although that idea had some merit.

“Yours.”

She drove.

I drooled.

At my place, I took her bag, helped her out of the Rover, and steered her upstairs. I followed one step behind, mesmerized by the sensuous sway of her backside.

The second we got inside my apartment, Pincushion dashed out like a bolt of lightning, crisscrossing between my ankles, howling, yowling, and begging for attention.

“Scram!”

“Cole. You cannot treat your cat that way.” Her eyes twinkled as she sauntered after the feline into the kitchen, presumably to feed the fleabag.

“Says the woman carrying around a dead animal carcass dressed like a bag,” I called out, chuckling. “At least my pet is alive and kicking. Or howling.”

“Oh yeah. That’s rich coming from the man who wears a leather vest and boots.”

Huh
. She had me there. I grumbled to myself as I picked up her dead alligator bag and took it into my bedroom. Performing a quick check, I made sure everything was as shipshape as I’d left it in the morning.

Sin appeared in the doorway, her presence like an electric shock coursing through my system.

I prowled to her, grasped the back of her neck, and drew her up to my lips.

Kissing her with no pretense—just pure driving desire—I tongue-fucked her mouth as ruthlessly as I was gonna fuck her body. I wanted to get all the way inside her mind, her heart.

Edging slightly away, I walked backward. Her nipples had popped up, the nubs pressed against the thin material of her shirt that was the same summer-green shade as her eyes.

I took in her stunning body, the immaculate clothing, the arrangement of platinum blonde hair. “Can I just say how much I love the heels?”

“These old things?” Her red lips—soft and moist—tipped into a smile. “Just the heels?” She pressed out a leg, highlighting the way her calves stretched and her hips turned, encased in the tight white skirt.

“The whole fucking package is pretty damn sexy.” A lazy grin curved my lips.

“So are you.” She winked. “You know what I like best about you?”

“Hard to guess.” I folded my arms over my chest.

“Hard is right.” Sin slowly unpinned her hair, and little by little the blonde waves cascaded down, framing her sinful, sweetheart face. “I definitely like your cock.”

The cock in question was about to drill a hole through my jeans.

“Your big muscles. Your height.” Her eyes roamed over me, soaking me in, and I felt her gaze like a touch on my skin. “Everything that’s
bad
about you. The ink. The barbells.” She licked her lips and flicked her hair. “Broad shoulders and the way that little line of dark brown hair runs from your belly button through your abs to that big . . . thick . . . cock.”

“Sin—”

“
Shh.
I’m not done. That’s not all.” Her face surrounded by the almost gauzy curls, she dropped all the hairpins to the floor where they bounced soundlessly next to the high-class/sexy slut pumps. “Your heart is what attracted me to you. Your fierceness. Your absolute
maleness
.”