Freight Trained (8 page)

He placed his hands firmly on the table and leaned forward.  Because he was so tall, his face was only about a foot from hers when he repeated, "Grab.  Your.  Shit."  He leaned in closer.  "Now."

She felt her back stiffen further with each of his words until she sat fully erect in her seat, her initial shock turning into anger.

"Now's not the time to bring out the claws, Little Mouse," he warned, his voice low but no less angry.

She didn't heed the warning.  "Are you insane?  I'm not leaving here with you."

"Either you leave here, willingly, on your own two feet, or I throw you over my shoulder and carry you out."  He gave her a small smirk.  "Your choice."

"You've got to be kidding me."  Although he didn't look like he was joking.

He confirmed that with his next words.  "Trust me, darlin', I don't have a sense of humor." 

She turned pleading eyes to Maggie for help and bless her heart, she did try.  "Listen, Cole
–
"

His eyes cut to Maggie, stopping her mid-sentence with his glare.  "Stay out of this, Maggie."

When his eyes landed back on Abby, Maggie mouthed, "Sorry," giving Abby a guilty shrug.

Knowing she was on her own, she took a steadying breath then said in what she hoped was a reasonable and calm tone, "Why do you even care that I'm here?  I don't understand."

"You will."

What the heck did that mean? 

Abby's attention was pulled from Cole and the intense look he was giving her, when Glam-a-zon
—
for the life of her, Abby couldn't remember her name
—
took a position at his side, draping her arm across his back.  She leaned into him as if to impart a secret but spoke loud enough for the table to hear.  "Hey, Cole.  Long time, no see."

The angry vibes rolling off Cole grew thicker as his body stiffened and his eyes turned steely.  He stood, taking a sidestep out of Glam-a-zon's
—
Abby really wished she could remember her name
—
reach.

"I'm not interested, Heidi.  Go find someone else to play with."

Heidi!  That was her name.

"Aw, come on, baby, don't be like that.  You know you liked what I had to offer and if I recall correctly," she purred, taking the few steps that separated them and running her hand up his chest, "you liked it all night long."

Cole's hand shot up, capturing her wrist in what looked to be a painful hold if the little grimace on Heidi's lips were any indication.

Abby watched the scene unfold, fascinated. 
Wow, if that was Cole's type, no wonder he rejected her, twice!

He tossed her hand away.  "I said, I'm not interested.  Don't make me repeat it again."

"But you're interested in her?"  Abby could see Cole was at the end of his patience, making Heidi, in Abby's opinion, although glamorous, not very smart for pushing the issue.

He cut his amazingly green eyes Abby's direction and speared her with their blazing heat.  "Yeah, I'm interested."

A glutton for punishment it would seem, Heidi snorted, "Please, what makes her so special?  What's she got that I haven't got?"

His voice was a low, gruff, seduction as he replied with the single word, "Everything."

Abby's eyes widened at his declaration.  Distantly, she heard Heidi yell, "Asshole," and in her peripheral vision saw her stomp away, but her eyes never left Cole's, he held her spellbound, and she couldn't look away.

Without breaking eye contact, he came around the table and lifted her to her feet.  She wobbled on her heels, the liquor hitting her harder as she stood.  He held firmly to her upper arms while she regained her balance.  He gave her a sharp look.  "How much did you drink?"

She shrugged a shoulder, tilting her head in thought.  "Four or five shots."

"I think it was more like six or seven," Jane didn't hesitate to announce (so not helping).  "But who's counting?"

"Obviously, you," Abby mumbled under her breath. 

She thought she heard Cole chuckle, but her ears must have deceived her because his next words held not a hint of humor.  "I'm done fucking around.  Say goodbye to your girls."

The room started to spin, and she swayed.  The last shot she'd taken finally catching up with her.  If not for the hold Cole had on her, she would have landed on her ass.  In a blink, he swept her up, cradling her in his arms.  She didn't protest, feeling too sick to care the big oaf was getting his way.  She laid her head on his shoulder closing her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to control the nausea.

She heard him ask whether she'd brought a bag and Maggie's reply in the negative.  Their voices sounded funny, distant as if they spoke through a tunnel.  Then Cole was on the move, and it felt as if she were floating.  She may have even giggled a little.  The music faded, a cool breeze touched her face, and she heard herself mumble, "I broke rule number three," before everything went black.

Thin bars of sunlight greeted Abby as she slowly opened her eyes.  It took her foggy brain a moment to process, the wooden slats that covered the window were on a wall she didn't recognize.  It took her another moment to realize she was in an unfamiliar bed and that a heavy tanned arm hugged her around the waist.  And then another two-point-five seconds to realize that the arm was attached to an even harder warm body that her back was pressed against. 
And
it was at this point she panicked.  Her heart froze, her breathing stopped, and her whole body went rigid.

The arm around her waist tightened at the same time she heard a deep, sleep-sexy rumble in her ear.  "Relax."

She recognized Cole's voice and if possible, her body went tighter.  What the hell happened last night? 
Think, Abby, think.
  A vision of Cole popped into her head, hovering over her, demanding she leave with him.  Arguing, Glam-a-zon, her feeling sick, him cradling her in his arms, and... nothing.  That was it, all she remembered.  Not the trip back or how she came to be in Cole's home, waking in Cole's bed
with
Cole, and...

Her whole body went stiff again at the ramifications of what that meant.  Did they have sex last night?  Wouldn't that be something she'd remember?  She felt along her body, thankfully, discovering what felt like the soft cotton of a T-shirt.  And while her legs were bare, at least she wore underwear.  If they'd had sex, she wouldn't be wearing clothes, Right?  I mean, why bother dressing her after.  At least, she hoped that was a solid theory.

The arm around her tightened again.  "Abby, relax."

"It's really hard to relax while having a panic attack."

A soft chuckle tickled her ear, causing the ever-present butterflies that resided in her stomach whenever she was in Cole's vicinity to take flight, creating all kinds of havoc in her stomach.  She needed to get out of his bed, out of his house.  No way, she was doing this with him again.

She tried to slide out from under his arm, but he squeezed her tighter.  "Cole, I need to get up."

"No one needs to get up on a Sunday morning."  He must have moved his head closer because now, not just his breath but also his lips caressed her ear as he spoke.  The butterflies not only took flight but did swoops and dives.

"I need to use the restroom."  Her face flamed at having to mention her need of the bathroom, but she knew it was the only legitimate excuse he couldn't argue with.  If she hadn't been so embarrassed, she would have felt gleeful at her small victory when his arm disappeared from around her waist.

She slid out of the bed, darted her eyes around until she spied the bathroom, then did a quick dash, closing and locking the door behind her.  The bathroom was large like the rest of his house, done in shades of "male"
—
browns and tans
—
with a huge tiled, walk-in shower and a separate smaller room that held the toilet, which she didn't hesitate to use. 

At the sink, she turned on the hot water then looked at herself in the mirror.  Her reflection back was not a pretty sight.  Last night's perfectly applied make-up was now a smeared mess and her long, brown hair a tangled disaster.  Running her fingers through the long strands, clarity slowly replaced the fog in her brain.  Maggie had styled her hair in a braid atop her head.  At some point last night, Cole must have taken her hair down.  For some reason, that action seemed more intimate than the fact that he'd also seen her boobs while he changed her into his T-shirt.

Deciding thoughts of Cole playing with her hair and seeing her boobs was a road she didn't want to go down, she threw the knowledge into one of her mental boxes and sealed it with industrial-strength, packing tape never to be opened again.

Feeling almost human after scrubbing her face, finger-brushing her teeth and mouthwashing away all traces of last night's drinking, she cracked open the bathroom door happily noting that Cole was not only out of bed but gone from the room.  She went on a hunt for her clothes, finding them neatly folded on the dresser and slid into her jeans.  She checked her pockets, making sure her phone, ID, and house key were still in place, scooped up her top and shoes, leaving Cole's T-shirt on, not ready to do a full walk-of-shame back to her house in a sparkly halter top, and exited the bedroom.

Abby paused at the bottom of the stairs, scanning the large open room, spying Cole in the kitchen, cooking at the stove.  He was shirtless, his broad, strong back on full display.  Her eyes fixated on the play of his muscles as he moved, stirring something on the stove, reaching for his coffee mug that rested beside him on the counter.  His smooth, tanned skin was flawless with nothing to distract from the beauty of so much raw masculine power.

She took a few steps forward, and he turned as if sensing her presence, spearing her with his eyes.  She froze, his look stealing her mobility and those damn butterflies came to life once more.  She pulled her eyes from his, forcing them down to his chest.  Bad idea.  His chest was almost as captivating as his eyes.  Smooth and as flawless as his back, his pecs bulged over a set of rippled abs.  Her appraisal halted abruptly when her eyes encountered a long, jagged scar that started near his navel and extended down toward his hip, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans.  The scar was old and faded, not grotesque or scary in the least but what it represented
—
at the time what must have been a life-threatening injury
—
chilled her to her bones.

"Eyes, Abby."

Her eyes shot back to his.  Lost in her perusal, she hadn't noticed that she'd closed the distance between them and now stood nearly at the threshold of the kitchen.  She couldn't read his expression.  His eyes were hard and his jaw stiff, but his body was fluid as he casually leaned against the counter.

"Come here, Abby."

His voice was a commanding growl, and her body shook with the effort to stay in place.  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "I need to go home."  And she did.  She was in danger here.  Not physical danger, she didn't fear that, but emotional danger.  She'd taken a big step for him, bigger than he'd ever realize, and he pushed her away, twice.  She wouldn't give him the opportunity to do so again.  She still didn't understand his game, didn't understand why she was here, why he hadn't taken her home last night and quite honestly, she didn't want to understand.  If this was what playing with the big boys was like, she would happily go back to the safe pee-wee version.

"Abby.  Come here."

"No, I'm leaving."  Then why didn't she move her feet? 
Come on Abby, you've said all that needed saying, walk to the front door and leave.
 

His chin dipped to his chest as his eyes darkened at her defiance.  In a blink he was moving, his graceful swagger holding her paralyzed until he was nearly upon her.  She took a stumbling step back, but he caught her, his hands locking on her arms.  He loomed above her, their height difference so much more noticeable in her bare feet.  Her heart rate picked up speed as she forced words past her suddenly dry lips.  "I don't understand what you want from me."

"You will."

Her mind flashed, and she remembered he'd spoken those words last night but still didn't understand their cryptic meaning.  And then she did.  His mouth descended on hers.  She wouldn't call it a kiss.  Kiss was too tame a word for what he did to her mouth.  Plundered.  Ravaged.  Consumed.  Devoured.  These were but a few of the words that filtered through her head.  His tongue came out, lashing at her lips, demanding entrance.  She granted it.  She had no choice, really.  Her brain had shut down, and her body had taken control. 

Her fingers lost their grip on her blouse and shoes as her hands found his hips, needing something solid to anchor herself to before she drifted away on a tide of sensations.  Her whole body tingled as his tongue danced in her mouth and when his hand left her arm to grip a fistful of hair, forcing her head back allowing him deeper access, a surprised moan escaped her throat.  She gripped his hips tighter, digging her fingers into the sturdy denim.  Her mind swam, all thoughts becoming consumed by the aching need growing between her thighs.  A need growing so powerful, she would do almost anything to have it sated, even give her soul to the very man who ignited it.