Page 70 of Ten Day Affair
My hand closes around the back of the barstool before I think better of it. “You can. But you don’t have to.”
“What exactly are we doing, Cole?”
I don’t answer. I could lie. Say something about enjoying the moment or not needing to define it. But she deserves more than that.
She shakes her head when I stay quiet. “Exactly.”
I take a step closer. “We’re doing whatever this is. Whatever you want it to be tonight.”
Her brow lifts. “That doesn’t sound like a man who wants to fight for anything.”
I take another step. I'm close enough to smell the wine on her breath and see the conflict behind her eyes.
“I want to fight for this moment. I want you here. But I don’t want to lie to you to do it.”
That softens something, barely. It shows in the drop of her shoulders, in the split-second she doesn’t move.
“I hate that I like you.”
“I know.”
“I hate that you’re part of something I should be fighting against.”
“You are fighting. And I respect that. What we're doing, here, tonight, last night, none of that has to do with what's going on with the hospital. Please don't make the two part of the same thing.”
She exhales sharply, like the pressure’s too much. And still, she doesn’t walk away. I reach for her then. Slowly. Give her time to stop me.
She doesn’t.
My hands land on her waist. She closes her eyes for half a second, then opens them again and steps into me. I pull her body tight against mine.
Her voice drops. “This doesn’t mean I trust you. I just happen to think you're good in bed.”
“I'll take the win where I can get it.”
“I’m still going to try to stop what’s happening.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
That earns a tiny scoff. “You’re so damn confusing.”
She’s not wrong. I've confused myself. I want this restructure to happen, it's my business. But I also hate the thought of hurting her in the process. I want her like I’ve never wanted anyone, so badly it scrambles my logic. But I’m also still the one driving the very thing she’s fighting to stop.
Every time I touch her, I’m lying. Not by omission, by intent.
I’m the architect of the deal that could gut her legacy, and I haven’t just kept that from her. I’ve worked to keep it quiet.
For my gain.
But it’s not personal, it’s business. It was in play long before I ever knew Samantha Taylor, or even bought the house that would make us neighbors and land me on her patio.
She kisses me then, fiercely, angrily. It's like she’s mad at herself for wanting it, and mad at me for letting her.
We hit the bedroom a minute later.
And when she pulls me down with her, I don’t pretend this fixes anything.
But I also don’t stop it.
