He carries me down the hall and turns left. Then sets me back on my feet. My eyes go wide as I glance around.
“Cole, this is…amazing!” I walk around the gorgeous dark-wood circular library, a few reclining reading chairs near the window.
“My decorator thought I’d like this.”
“Don’t you?”
“I don’t read much.” He jerks his head toward the cabinets. “The shelves are still pretty empty. My decorator put a few books up there on hockey, and a few autobiographies. To give it a bit of a lived-in look. All for show, you know?”
“Oh, man, I could help you fill these shelves.” I run my hands over the bare bookcases.
“With your books?”
“Oh, hell no. Don’t read my books.”
“Why not?”
“Just…don’t.”
He steps up behind me, his body close enough that I feel his heat. “Because of the sex? Are you worried that I’d be peeking inside your brain, learning all about little Nina’s wants and desires?”
“No, it’s not like that. That’s all made up.”
“All of it?”
“Of course.” I turn to see him. “It’s fiction, Cole. No sex is that good, and no man is that good.”
He opens his mouth like he’s about to respond, then his lips curves downward. He bends forward a bit, as he releases a long, slow breath.
Next thing I know, he squares his shoulders and Cocky Cole is suddenly standing before me, a smile on his face, but it’s fake, grim, and reminds me more of young Cole, when he’d show up at our house unexpectedly, a little shaken up but trying to hide it.
To all the world, Cole had it all…but now that I think about it, maybe there was more going on in his life than he let on. Perhaps he was suffering from the absence of his mother. What kind of woman just up and left her two kids, right?
“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go finish up in the kitchen,” he says.
I follow him out and wonder what I said to flip the switch on his mood. To be honest, he’s all kinds of contradictions. Wild and alive, and thriving off the crowd at the grocery store, but mellow and…kind, when he’s here at home. Most of the time. While I liked seeing him in his element, giving autographs to the crowd and giving credit to his team, I sort of like this side of him a little better. When he allows me small glimpses.
I walk back to the sink as he’s putting a glass away, and grab the removable nozzle from the tap. I turn it on, but the damn things shoots out of my hand and soaks me with water. I catch Cole trying to stifle a laugh.
Oh, he thinks this is funny, does he? I wrestle the hose into submission and turn it on him. It’s freezing cold, and he yelps and jumps.
“Jesus, Nina!”
“That’s what you get for laughing.”
He tugs his wet shirt away from his skin, pulls it off, then I’m suddenly not laughing anymore. Nope, not laughing at all. Drooling would probably be a more appropriate word.
But I have no time to think about his hotness when he spins the dishcloth and snaps my ass with it. I yelp, and reach for the hose again, ready to give him another good soaking, when my stupid back twinges.
“Oww,” I whimper, and Cole goes perfectly still, every muscle in his body tight.
“Shit, I’m sorry Nina.” When I meet his gaze, there is deep-seated concern on his face. “I never thought.”
“It’s okay, it happens a lot.”
His brow pulls together, and he puts his big hands on my shoulders. He dips his head. “What helps?”
“Just rest and heat. I’ll have a hot bath when I get home.”