Ignited
Page 43
The attendant, who introduced herself as Jana, offered me a glass of wine before takeoff, which I gratefully took. Then, once we were airborne, she offered me another, and I downed that as well. By the time the plane had reached cruising altitude and I was allowed to stand up and move through the door that separated the two sections, I’d bolstered my courage enough to think that I just might survive the wrath of Cole.
I drew in a breath, then another, then slid the door open, stepped inside, and closed it behind me. I saw him immediately, of course, as he was the only person in the cabin. He was seated in one of the chairs that surrounded a small table. He was leaning back, a White Sox baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.
He hadn’t noticed me, and I took a moment to look around. I’d never been in a private jet before, and this small room seemed more like a hotel lobby than the interior of a plane.
There were three other chairs around the table at which Cole sat, making a small conversation area. On the opposite side of the cabin, a sofa sat beneath a row of cloud-filled windows. A small coffee table filled the space in front of it. Finally, two plush recliners filled the area in the rear.
The entire cabin positively gleamed with polished wood and bright metal trim. The upholstery managed to look both comfortable and expensive. Honestly, I could get used to this.
And, of course, I was stalling.
I took one step toward him, then another, then another after that until I was standing just a few feet away, my hand on the table for balance.
I started to say his name, but then he lifted his head. I couldn’t see his face because of the cap, but after a moment, it was clear that he was slowly letting his gaze travel up the length of my body, and when he reached my face, he pulled the cap off and tossed it onto the chair beside him.
“Kat,” he said, and though there was sadness in his voice, I thought that I heard hope, too.
“Hey,” I said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
His mouth quirked up into a quick, tight smile. “I heard the door, then your footsteps. I thought, dear god, that can’t be her, because that would be a miracle, and I don’t believe in miracles.”
He reached out a hand for me, and I took it, letting him tug me closer. His knees brushed my legs, and that connection—that spark of light and arousal that I always felt when I was with him—burst through me, making me feel warm and happy. Making me feel like I’d come home.
“I believe in miracles,” I said. “I believe in you, too. Cole, you shouldn’t have gone.”
“You’re right,” he said, and I felt as though wings had burst free on my heart. “I shouldn’t have left like that. But, Kat,” he added gently, “I was right to leave.”
The words hit me with the force of a slap, and I knew that I had let myself believe too quickly. That I’d let hope settle inside me, and it had gotten the better of me. Like Icarus, I’d allowed those damn wings to draw me higher and higher—and all I got for my reward was to come crashing back down to earth.
“You son of a bitch,” I said, my voice as tight as wire because right then it was me who was having to work to control my temper. “I never took you for a coward or a fool, but you’re both. I can’t fucking believe it, but you’re both.”
“Dammit, Kat, don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what? Don’t fall in love with you?” The minute the words were out of my mouth I wished I could suck them back in. “Dammit,” I said, then pushed away from him, needing space to think and to move.
I stalked to the couch at the back of the cabin and fell upon it, then bent over, my head in my hands. Goddamn him. Goddamn him to hell.
I felt the pressure of his hand on my shoulder, but I didn’t look up. I knew I couldn’t. Not yet. Not without crying. I’d shown too much of my heart, and I really wasn’t in the mood to have it trampled.
The cushion shifted as he sat next to me, then took my hand, twining his fingers through mine. “You’re missing your closing.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”
“Baby . . .”
I sighed. “I talked to Cyndee. The sellers will do their thing, and then I’ll do mine and eventually I’ll get the house.”
“That’s not the point,” he said gently. “It’s the ritual. The being there. In that tiny room scrawling your name on all that official-looking paperwork. Besides, don’t you have movers coming on Saturday?”
I turned my head so that I could look at him. “Some things are more important.”
He held my gaze for a moment, then ran his hands over his head. He stood up, paced to the end of the cabin, then turned around and came back again. I knew he was looking at me—I could feel the weight of his gaze—but I was focused on his hands. On the fists he made and released. On the battle he was waging.
Finally, he stopped in front of me. “I sat in that room at The Drake and listened to your father praise me for taking care of you. And what a goddamn load of bullshit that was.”
“Cole—”
“No. I practically forced you in that ladies’ room. Pinched you. Hurt you. And then at your house I almost ripped your hair out, and then I fucking made you cry. I was so wrapped up in what I wanted, what I needed—in my own fucking need to just shoot my goddamn load—that I didn’t even realize I was hurting you. Choking you. Jesus, Kat, do you know how much it killed me to see you like that? Sprawled on the floor, tears streaming down your face? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself?”
Now I really was crying, and I brushed the tears away and then stood in front of him. I pressed my hands to the sides of his face, then brushed the softest of kisses over his lips. “For a man who is so smart—who has made so much of himself—you’re a damn idiot, Cole August.”
“Catalina . . .”
I pressed my finger to his lips. “My turn,” I said, then brushed away a fresh spill of tears. “Forced me in the ladies’ room? Are you kidding me? I was so hot I’m almost embarrassed to admit it. That was an incredible moment, Cole, don’t you get that? Naughty and sensual, and just public enough to be a bad girl turn-on. I mean, come on. It was like acting out a fantasy, and it was amazing.”
He started to speak, but I just shook my head. “No. Not finished. Did you mention pinching me? Did you say that it hurt? Well, guess what, mister, I have a secret to tell you.”
I pressed a hand to his shoulder for balance as I leaned in close to his ear. I felt a tremor go through him, and a corresponding wash of heat shot through me, brought on by nothing more than a simple touch and our proximity.
“It did hurt,” I said, as his body tensed beneath my hand. “It hurt, and then it felt amazing, and dammit, Cole, it made me so fucking wet. You hurt me? Maybe you did, but I loved it. Hurts so good, right? Isn’t that what they say? That’s how you made me feel.”
“Kat. Oh, baby.”
I eased back so that I could face him again. “You keep interrupting me. Stop that.” I pointed to the couch. “Sit. Before we hit an air pocket or get lectured by Jana for not wearing our seat belts.”
He sat, and to my relief I saw that some of the pain on his face had been replaced by humor.
I perched on the table in front of him, my eyes trained on his face.
I drew in a breath, then another, then slid the door open, stepped inside, and closed it behind me. I saw him immediately, of course, as he was the only person in the cabin. He was seated in one of the chairs that surrounded a small table. He was leaning back, a White Sox baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.
He hadn’t noticed me, and I took a moment to look around. I’d never been in a private jet before, and this small room seemed more like a hotel lobby than the interior of a plane.
There were three other chairs around the table at which Cole sat, making a small conversation area. On the opposite side of the cabin, a sofa sat beneath a row of cloud-filled windows. A small coffee table filled the space in front of it. Finally, two plush recliners filled the area in the rear.
The entire cabin positively gleamed with polished wood and bright metal trim. The upholstery managed to look both comfortable and expensive. Honestly, I could get used to this.
And, of course, I was stalling.
I took one step toward him, then another, then another after that until I was standing just a few feet away, my hand on the table for balance.
I started to say his name, but then he lifted his head. I couldn’t see his face because of the cap, but after a moment, it was clear that he was slowly letting his gaze travel up the length of my body, and when he reached my face, he pulled the cap off and tossed it onto the chair beside him.
“Kat,” he said, and though there was sadness in his voice, I thought that I heard hope, too.
“Hey,” I said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
His mouth quirked up into a quick, tight smile. “I heard the door, then your footsteps. I thought, dear god, that can’t be her, because that would be a miracle, and I don’t believe in miracles.”
He reached out a hand for me, and I took it, letting him tug me closer. His knees brushed my legs, and that connection—that spark of light and arousal that I always felt when I was with him—burst through me, making me feel warm and happy. Making me feel like I’d come home.
“I believe in miracles,” I said. “I believe in you, too. Cole, you shouldn’t have gone.”
“You’re right,” he said, and I felt as though wings had burst free on my heart. “I shouldn’t have left like that. But, Kat,” he added gently, “I was right to leave.”
The words hit me with the force of a slap, and I knew that I had let myself believe too quickly. That I’d let hope settle inside me, and it had gotten the better of me. Like Icarus, I’d allowed those damn wings to draw me higher and higher—and all I got for my reward was to come crashing back down to earth.
“You son of a bitch,” I said, my voice as tight as wire because right then it was me who was having to work to control my temper. “I never took you for a coward or a fool, but you’re both. I can’t fucking believe it, but you’re both.”
“Dammit, Kat, don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what? Don’t fall in love with you?” The minute the words were out of my mouth I wished I could suck them back in. “Dammit,” I said, then pushed away from him, needing space to think and to move.
I stalked to the couch at the back of the cabin and fell upon it, then bent over, my head in my hands. Goddamn him. Goddamn him to hell.
I felt the pressure of his hand on my shoulder, but I didn’t look up. I knew I couldn’t. Not yet. Not without crying. I’d shown too much of my heart, and I really wasn’t in the mood to have it trampled.
The cushion shifted as he sat next to me, then took my hand, twining his fingers through mine. “You’re missing your closing.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”
“Baby . . .”
I sighed. “I talked to Cyndee. The sellers will do their thing, and then I’ll do mine and eventually I’ll get the house.”
“That’s not the point,” he said gently. “It’s the ritual. The being there. In that tiny room scrawling your name on all that official-looking paperwork. Besides, don’t you have movers coming on Saturday?”
I turned my head so that I could look at him. “Some things are more important.”
He held my gaze for a moment, then ran his hands over his head. He stood up, paced to the end of the cabin, then turned around and came back again. I knew he was looking at me—I could feel the weight of his gaze—but I was focused on his hands. On the fists he made and released. On the battle he was waging.
Finally, he stopped in front of me. “I sat in that room at The Drake and listened to your father praise me for taking care of you. And what a goddamn load of bullshit that was.”
“Cole—”
“No. I practically forced you in that ladies’ room. Pinched you. Hurt you. And then at your house I almost ripped your hair out, and then I fucking made you cry. I was so wrapped up in what I wanted, what I needed—in my own fucking need to just shoot my goddamn load—that I didn’t even realize I was hurting you. Choking you. Jesus, Kat, do you know how much it killed me to see you like that? Sprawled on the floor, tears streaming down your face? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself?”
Now I really was crying, and I brushed the tears away and then stood in front of him. I pressed my hands to the sides of his face, then brushed the softest of kisses over his lips. “For a man who is so smart—who has made so much of himself—you’re a damn idiot, Cole August.”
“Catalina . . .”
I pressed my finger to his lips. “My turn,” I said, then brushed away a fresh spill of tears. “Forced me in the ladies’ room? Are you kidding me? I was so hot I’m almost embarrassed to admit it. That was an incredible moment, Cole, don’t you get that? Naughty and sensual, and just public enough to be a bad girl turn-on. I mean, come on. It was like acting out a fantasy, and it was amazing.”
He started to speak, but I just shook my head. “No. Not finished. Did you mention pinching me? Did you say that it hurt? Well, guess what, mister, I have a secret to tell you.”
I pressed a hand to his shoulder for balance as I leaned in close to his ear. I felt a tremor go through him, and a corresponding wash of heat shot through me, brought on by nothing more than a simple touch and our proximity.
“It did hurt,” I said, as his body tensed beneath my hand. “It hurt, and then it felt amazing, and dammit, Cole, it made me so fucking wet. You hurt me? Maybe you did, but I loved it. Hurts so good, right? Isn’t that what they say? That’s how you made me feel.”
“Kat. Oh, baby.”
I eased back so that I could face him again. “You keep interrupting me. Stop that.” I pointed to the couch. “Sit. Before we hit an air pocket or get lectured by Jana for not wearing our seat belts.”
He sat, and to my relief I saw that some of the pain on his face had been replaced by humor.
I perched on the table in front of him, my eyes trained on his face.
