He's So Fine (2 page)

O
livia’s head jerked up, and her dark eyes met Cole’s. “Wh-wh-what?”

Not good, he thought. She wasn’t tracking. “Your clothes are keeping you cold,” he explained as gently as he could. “So you gotta lose ’em. Towel dry and then we’ll wrap you in blankets.” He kicked off his boots and pulled off his water-laden sweatshirt, which hit the floor like a fifty-pound weight. “I’ve got spare clothes here. I’ll get you something to wear.” His T-shirt went next. Another
thunk
.

Not moving, she stared at his chest. “You’re c-c-crazy if you think I’m g-g-going to s-s-strip—”

“That,” he said, “or I call nine-one-one. Nonnegotiable, Olivia.”

She blinked. “You kn-kn-know my name?”

“Yeah. You’re the woman who watches me and the guys surf while pretending to talk to Becca. Get moving, Supergirl.”

“I d-d-don’t watch,” she said, her gaze still lingering on his chest.

He had to laugh. “Okay, fine. You don’t watch us.” And he was the Tooth Fairy.

“And I’m f-f-fine,” she said with a shiver that nearly threw her off the bench.

“You’re blue, is what you are. You could pass for a Smurf.”

She flashed those dark eyes at him. Clearly she had plenty on her mind, but she was shaking too hard to let him have it. Lucky him.

“Look,” he said. “I’ll close my eyes, okay? And it’s not like we’re going to do the stupid chick flick thing where we have to get into bed together to warm each other up.”

“G-g-good, ’cause if you tried it, you’d be w-w-walking funny tomorrow.”

If she could toss out threats like that, she probably wasn’t in immediate danger of dying from hypothermia. But caution and safety first, as he’d learned the hard way over the years. “You’re still shaking badly,” he said. He grabbed a huge beach towel and shook it out, holding it up between them.

Instead of jumping up to follow his unspoken command, she narrowed her eyes.

But she wasn’t the only one who could play tough-as-hell. “Strip,” he said again, losing the gentle voice and going with the one he’d used as chief positioning operator and navigator, directing crews on the rigs. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

In truth, this was an empty threat, but the Boss Voice got through to her. She stood up, glaring at him before ducking behind the towel.

There was some movement, some rustling, which he took as a good sign. “We’ll get you dry,” he said, staring up at the ceiling to avoid catching a peek at her. “And then I’ll find you a pair of sweats and help you break into your place, since you lost your keys trying to kill me—er, save me.”

Her head reappeared for the sole purpose of delivering a pretty impressive eye roll, then she vanished behind the towel again. When he heard the heavy, wet thud of her clothes hitting the floor, he leaned forward and wrapped the towel around her body as best he could. His fingers inadvertently brushed the soft, wet skin of her shoulders and back, and he had to force himself not to think about the fact that she’d dropped her sweater and jeans. He was about to do the strip routine himself, and he didn’t want to be sporting wood while he was at it. “Dry off,” he said, and stepped back from her.

She nodded but didn’t move.

“Olivia?” he asked.

Her face was a mask of misery. “M-m-my arms won’t w-w-work.”

Shit. He quickly and gently pushed her back down to the bench, sat at her side, and began to pile blankets over the top of them both.

“W-what are you d-doing?”

“Sharing my body heat,” he said.

“I c-c-can’t feel any h-h-heat.”

“You will.” Beneath the blankets, he reached for the towel she still had wrapped around her. “Don’t freak,” he warned. “I’m just going to remove the wet towel and pull you into me.”

She opened her mouth, but using her sluggishness to his benefit, Cole quickly stripped the towel away from her, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her into him as two things happened simultaneously. One, she squeaked. Probably trying to formulate her next threat.

And two—holy shit—he realized she was completely, totally, one hundred percent naked beneath the layer of blankets.

And
pissed
. “Y-y-your pants!” she gasped. “Th-th-they’re c-c-cold!”

“Sorry, but I’m trying to do the right thing here,” he said through clenched teeth. He couldn’t see a thing below her neck, but he could sure as hell feel her. His hands were on her hip and low on her back, respectively, not touching anything he shouldn’t be, but damn she was soft, and at the feel of her, his brain clicked off. Just completely flatlined.

“I’m n-n-naked,” she snapped.

And oh, how well he knew it. He was pretty sure her nipples were boring holes in his chest. Just thinking about it had him warming up considerably. In fact, he might be starting to sweat. It’d been a while, but he was pretty sure he remembered nipples being one of his favorite parts of a woman’s body—

She gave him a shove.

“Sorry,” he said. “But you don’t want me to go away. I’m the one making you warm.”

“N-n-not what I m-m-mean,” she said. “Y-y-you have to be n-n-naked too!”

He stared at her. “That’s a
really
bad idea.”

“You w-w-want me to freak out?” she asked. “No? Then s-s-strip, Donovan.”

Bossy thing, wasn’t she.

“N-n-now,” she added, eyes sparking.

Yeah, bossy. And he liked it. “Whatever you say.” Still covered by the blankets, he shucked out of his pants—feeling more than just a twinge of pain in his shoulder now, something he ignored—and kicked the material away. “Better?”

“Are y-y-you…smiling?” she asked in disbelief.

He didn’t even try to hide it. “A beautiful woman just ordered me to strip,” he said. “But not because she wants my body. It’s funny, so yeah, I’m smiling.”

“Oh p-p-please,” she scoffed, and surprised the hell out of him by leaning in and carefully dabbing at the cut on his temple with the edge of a towel. “I’ve s-s-seen you
and
your partners,” she said, eyeing the cut and apparently deciding he was going to live. “You’re all l-l-listed on Lucky Harbor’s Tumblr as some of the hottest guys in t-t-town,” she said in a tone that didn’t suggest she was all that impressed by the dubious title. “I know you’ve got to have game.”

Seemed he wasn’t the only one warming up—her teeth were rattling less and less.

“You could probably turn a woman’s head with a single crook of your finger,” she muttered, rolling the towel to get to a clean spot to press against his temple.

He didn’t just smile now, he out-and-out laughed.

“What’s so funny now?”

“I was the runt all the way through high school. Small and skinny, and sickly too, even ending up in the hospital annually for strep and pneumonia. I’ve never crooked my finger at a woman in my life, though that’s definitely a skill I wouldn’t mind acquiring.” Luckily, in his senior year, he’d finally had his tonsils removed, and in the next year he’d grown eight full inches and gained fifty pounds of muscle, which had come in handy when he’d been working on the oil rigs. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been a lot of women on those rigs.

In fact, there’d been a total of three.

Given the odds—eighty-five guys to three women—Cole had done pretty well for himself, considering. But that was then.

He, Sam, and Tanner had come back to Lucky Harbor after the rig fire, having lost Gil. And in the time since losing his best friend, and then his father last year as well, he hadn’t had much game at all.

Correction. He’d had
no
game. “If I could turn a woman’s head that easily,” he said, “you’d be doing something other than dabbing the cut on my forehead.”

She went still for a beat, her eyes wide on his. He had no idea what was in her head, but he knew what was in his—the feel of the soft, curvy body practically in his lap.

And he nearly choked when she lifted the blanket and took a peek at him. “What the hell—”

She raised her gaze to his. “You left your underwear on.”

“Yes,” he said.

“But you told me to strip, and I did.”

“I didn’t say strip
everything
,” he said. “It never occurred to me that you’d lose the undies. Hot as they are.”

They both stared at the black lace lying innocuously on the floor. She flushed and lifted her chin. “Well, there’s only one thing to do now,” she said.

“What?”

“You have to do the same.”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Drop the boxers.”

He stared at her. “Tell me the truth. You hit your head, too, right?”

“No. And I’m not kidding,” she said, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. “Lose ’em, or a freakout of
epic
proportions will commence in three. Two. One—”

“Jesus, hang on.” He worked at shedding his boxers, doing his best to keep covered by the blanket. “I can’t believe you looked after I promised not to look at you—”

“Yes, well, one of us isn’t a gentleman, now are we?” she asked.

A short laugh escaped him, which he cut off when she—holy shit—lifted the blanket and peeked again.

Grabbing the blankets like a virgin at a frat sleepover, he swore. “Jesus, woman!”

“Just making sure,” she said.

“Sure of what?”

Looking pretty damn pleased with herself, she laughed.

And damn, she had a smile on her. Mischievous and full of secrets, but still contagious. “Okay,” he said. “I like that look on your face much better than the abject misery you were wearing, but didn’t anyone ever tell you not to look at a naked man and laugh?”

She just laughed again, the sound soft and musical and somehow both sexy and sweet at the same time.

He sighed. “At least you’re warming up.”

“A little,” she allowed.

“Maybe I should peek to make sure.” Teasing, he made to lift the blankets.

With a squeak, she fisted them tight to her chest. “Don’t you dare!”

“Uh-huh. What’s good for the goose and all that.” All he could see of her over the pile of blankets was her face, those fathomless eyes, and all that wet, dark hair. She smelled like ocean and sexy woman—his favorite scent—and he was suddenly struck by how beautiful she was.

Oh shit, Donovan, don’t go there
…

“Cole?”

He had to clear his throat twice to answer. “Yeah?”

“I really need my phone—it’s on the dock where I dropped it. Hopefully. But I’m still cold.”

Still staring into her eyes, he pulled her tighter into him, and at the feel of her soft curves, his body gave up the valiant fight and tightened.

Some parts more than others.

He immediately began to work complicated calculus problems in his head, trying to remember the definition of the derivative of the function—

She pressed her icy feet against his calves, and he yelped like one of his sisters.

She laughed again, and he immediately lost track of calculus. All he could feel was her frozen limbs. Rubbing her arms to warm her up, he forced himself not to think about what she might look like under the blanket.

He failed miserably, which meant he was hard as a rock and buck-ass nekkid. And worse, she had to feel it pressing into her hip. He tried to pull back, but she made a soft, disagreeable sound and tightened her grip on him.

“You’re not warm yet?” he asked in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible.

He couldn’t help it. He didn’t have enough blood to run both heads. And on top of that, their bodies were melded together in a way that had him heated up and aching to lay her flat on her back on the bench and—

“You’re really warm,” she whispered.

Try hot as hell, babe
. “I’ll go get your phone,” he said valiantly. “And something hot for you to drink.”
Coffee, tea…me.

“Uh…” She shifted, bumping a bare thigh right into his erection.

He hissed out a breath as his hips gave an entirely instinctive roll to get closer.
Christ
. And there, perfect, now she was back to staring at him.

“You’re…” She broke off. “Um.”

“Yeah.” He was “um” all right. “Involuntary reaction,” he promised. “Just ignore it.”

“But—”

“Seriously. Don’t give it another thought.” He went to shrug and had to bite back a grimace thanks to the pain in his shoulder. “Drink?” he asked again.

She bit her lower lip and nodded. “Tea, please.”

Tea for her, and never mind that it was the crack of dawn, he’d take a vodka, straight up. He grabbed a towel for coverage and worked at not further revealing himself, which involved gymnastics that should have won him a medal.

Olivia was smiling by the time he got all wrapped up. “I’ve already seen it all,” she reminded him.

“I really wish you’d stop smiling when you say that.” Shaking his head when her smile only widened, he moved up the stairs to go retrieve her phone for her, the irony that she was now amused instead of disgruntled—and he was disgruntled instead of amused—not escaping him.

O
livia watched Cole go, nothing but a towel low on his hips, the muscles in his back all taut and delineated—and perfect. He moved like an athlete, with easy, economical, and innately testosterone-fueled grace—

Her smile faded as he rolled a broad shoulder, his other hand settling on it to rub absently as if it ached.

He’d been hurt. Which meant she wasn’t the only one of them good at deflecting attention away from herself.

Not that this surprised her. There was a sharp intelligence in Cole’s eyes, which went along with his healthy survival instinct.

Damn. She still couldn’t believe what had just happened. She’d been out for an early walk on the dock when she’d seen a guy in a knit cap, sweatshirt, and cargo pants hit the water and go under. And yeah, she’d mistakenly assumed he’d needed help and had jumped in after him to try to save him. So what? It meant that she still had a heart, that she could indeed care about someone other than herself.

And that was a good thing. A relief, to be honest. But she was feeling pretty damn naked about now.

Oh, that’s right. She
was
naked.

At least Cole was in the same boat. His wet clothes were still lying at her feet, mixed in with hers, which gave the situation an air of intimacy that she could have done without.

As if being bare as on the day she’d been born didn’t do that all on its own.

She nudged the clothes with a foot and curled in on herself a little. Having spent her formative years on a TV set where assistants and dressers had tugged and pulled at her nonstop, she’d long ago lost her modesty in urgent situations. Cole had said strip, and she’d done so.

But at the memory of his shock when he’d realized she’d stripped to her birthday suit, her face flamed all over again.

Cole came back in less than a minute, handing over her phone.

“Thanks,” she said, and thumbed the screen to activate it. Four missed texts, three from her mom, and though they hadn’t actually spoken in weeks, her mom got right to the point.

And then, time-stamped only two minutes later:

First, Olivia really hated it when her mom called her Sharlyn. She knew Olivia had changed it years ago. And second—
we
? No. It was the break
her mother
had been waiting for. Olivia didn’t want a break. She’d had her one and only break when
Not Again, Hailey!
had been canceled shortly after her sixteenth birthday. Yes, she’d gone on to have a meltdown of epic proportions. Britney Spears and Miley Cyrus had nothing on her; hence the name change from Sharlyn Peterson to Olivia Bentley.

She’d come out on the other side a long time ago and now lived a normal life. Or at least as normal a life as she could have ever wished for.

And she loved it.

She loved it so much she was willing to lie to everyone she met to keep it.

And had.

The third text wasn’t any more a surprise than the first two.

No, her mother hadn’t exactly been the classic mom-manager, but it wasn’t as if being a teenage mom from a farm in Kentucky had exactly prepared her for Hollywood.

The fourth and last text was from Jolyn, Olivia’s older sister by eleven months.

“What’s wrong?”

Olivia jumped and set her phone down on the bench away from her.

Cole studied her for a beat, and she took the opportunity to do the same. He had glossy brown hair gone wild thanks to their impromptu swim. He was also sporting at least two days’ worth of scruff on a square jaw, and his ready smile was devastatingly contagious. And then there were his eyes, ocean blue and deep and…mesmerizing. They held as many secrets as hers did.

Clearing her throat, she shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said.
Or everything, take your pick
.

“Nothing’s why you’re frowning at your phone like you wish it’d gone into the drink along with your keys?” he asked with a healthy dose of
get real
in his tone.

Olivia shrugged and pulled the blanket in tighter around herself with a shiver.

Swearing softly, he covered her with two more blankets, pressing the wool closer against her, his hands thorough but carefully respectful.

And damn, she missed his body heat.

Apparently not versed in reading a woman’s mind, Cole moved to the stove in the kitchen.
Galley
, Olivia corrected. On a boat, it was called a galley. And it was a damn fine one, too. In fact, the entire boat was nice. Beautiful wood accents and cabinetry, state-of-the-art interior and electronics. It was huge, and extremely well taken care of.

“What were you doing on the dock so early?” he asked.

“Just walking.”

“At five thirty in the morning?” he asked.

“Best time to go.” She’d moved to Lucky Harbor about a year ago and had taken over the vintage shop from a proprietor who’d run it into the ground. Olivia had wanted to come here since she’d been a child and her on-set tutor, Mrs. Henderson, had told her about growing up in idyllic, quirky, beautiful Lucky Harbor. Olivia had turned Unique Boutique around, babying the place back to life. It was a love affair for her, making the old valuable in a new way, and for the first time in her life, she was proud of her occupation.

She didn’t open up for business until ten, but her body’s inner clock had never gotten the message and was set for Annoyingly Early. Having spent a good number of years in Los Angeles, she never got tired of taking in the gorgeous landscape that was Lucky Harbor. The place was cradled between the Olympic Mountains and the gorgeous Pacific Northwest rocky coast, and she loved walking here. “It’s peaceful,” she said. “Safe.”

“Not so much on the dock this morning.”

“No,” she agreed, taking in the way he smiled and how it caused her to as well.

“You took jumping my bones to a whole new level,” Cole said.

Before this morning, she’d never had the occasion to speak to him directly, nor had she ever given him much thought. He was just a guy she occasionally caught glimpses of, in his company T-shirt and his low-slung cargo shorts with all the pockets, usually with tools sticking out of them.

Liar
, the devil on her left shoulder said.
He’s big and built, and when you watch him work on the boat in those shorts where all his goodies aren’t necessarily relegated to his pockets, you give him plenty of thought…

It’s okay
, the angel on her right shoulder said.
He’s a really great guy. All techno-geek with some alpha mixed in. It’s natural to think about him
.

Naked?
the devil asked.
Can we think about him naked?

“If it helps, I think my rescuing days are over,” Olivia told him, shoving aside her inner voices.

“Nah. You’d jump in again if you had to,” he said, sounding confident.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because you took a flying leap for me, a perfect stranger,” he said. “Without even thinking about it.” He was staring into the pot of water like it couldn’t boil fast enough for him, and a whole new layer of emotion hit her.

Embarrassment.

Olivia had a lot of experience with not being wanted. Too much. Suddenly antsy to go, to get away from the boat and that horrible feeling of déjà vu, she started to get up.

But Cole’s gaze lifted and pinned her in place with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. “Stay still a few more minutes,” he said.

“It’s you who has a bump on your head,” she said.

“Trust me, I’ve had a lot worse.”

“And your shoulder?”

He ignored this. “Can you feel your fingers and toes?”

With him studying her carefully, she could feel every single inch, thank you very much, not to mention certain erogenous zones. “I can feel irritation at your bossiness,” she said. “Does that count?”

He grinned. “That’s a good start.”

She didn’t bother to roll her eyes. “You seem pretty at ease with a woman’s irritation,” she noted, curious about him, which was unusual in itself. Since moving to Lucky Harbor, she’d done a lot of keeping to herself, and other than making a habit of staring at Cole every chance she got, very little noticing of the opposite sex.

“A woman’s irritation doesn’t scare me much,” he said. “I’ve got three sisters. I grew up in the House of Estrogen.” He shrugged a broad, bare shoulder. “I’m good at inspiring whole new levels of irritation.”

She couldn’t imagine that to be true. He was easygoing and laid-back, and he had a way about him that inspired confidence. Or at least the sense that with him around, everything was going to be okay.

“How about you?” he asked. “You have family around who are a pain in your ass, too?”

She nearly let out a laugh, but it’d have been a manic one so she kept it to herself. Besides, his statement had been made with a small, affectionate smile. He clearly loved his family, pain in the ass or no. Explaining her situation would be like trying to describe life on Mars. Easier to simplify. “No,” she said. “No family around at all.”

Which, for a big, fat lie, was pretty much also the truth.

His smile vanished, and she looked away before she could catch any sort of sympathy in his gaze. She didn’t want that. She didn’t deserve that.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That sucks.”

Look at that, she needed to give herself a pedicure. Her pale purple toenails—complete with a few randomly placed white daisies—were peeking out from the blanket, and were chipped. The silver ring on her left second toe sparkled, though. Her agent had given it to her on her fifteenth birthday, only one year before
Not Again, Hailey!
had been canceled and everyone in Olivia’s—Sharlyn’s—life had deserted her. She pulled the blanket in tighter, suddenly feeling
very
naked. “You mentioned some spare clothes?”

“Yep.” Cole poured hot water from a pan into a mug. “How do you take your tea?”

“Laced.”

He smiled approvingly and bent low to a cabinet, coming up with a bottle of brandy. He doctored up her tea and brought it to her. “Hang tight.” He vanished through a door and came back a moment later. “Try these,” he said, dumping some clothing in her lap.

He still wore only the towel wrapped low on his hips. He had to be cold, but was seeing to her well-being first with the tea and clothing. It’d been a long time since anyone had catered to her needs before their own. A really long time. And even then it’d been because something was expected of her.

Not Cole. Not appearing to expect a damn thing, he hunkered down before her, hands on the bench on either side of her hips as he looked at her—not at her body, but right into her eyes. “Can you move your limbs now?” he asked. “Or are you still stiff with cold?”

She stared at him as she felt her hardened heart roll over in her chest and expose its tender underbelly, shocked at the way her throat tightened so that she couldn’t speak.

If she lost it now, she told herself, she’d…make herself run every morning for a week.

She hated to run. She put it just behind a root canal in the list of things she hated. A root canal without drugs.

But her body apparently didn’t care, because along with the tight throat her eyes burned.
Well, crap
.