I hadn’t kissed someone in three years. The last person was Scott, and look how that turned out. For Cole to just grab me and do that, in front of Ben… I let out a hot breath of anger. And then, his laugh. Scornful and mean. As if it had been nothing. Worse than nothing. Bad.
I hadn’t kissed a lot of men in my life, but for me, it hadn’t been nothing. And it certainly hadn’t been bad. He probably kissed a different girl every day. I’d seen him, onscreen, kissing women so beautiful they’d make your eyes hurt. He’d been married—or technically still was—to Nadia Smith. Why was I not surprised that my kiss didn’t compare? I shouldn’t have felt hurt; I should have felt mad. I had been. Mad enough to push him off and inflict pain while doing so. I was not Cole Masten’s to take. I was certainly not Cole Masten’s to ridicule and push aside with a laugh.
Tears burning the edge of my eyes, I stepped to the picket fence at the edge of the Kirklands’ lawn, undid the latch, and stepped down into the first open lane of cotton. Crossing my hands over my chest, my flip-flops soft in the dirt, I headed home.
CHAPTER 40
Cole rested his hands on the sink and leaned forward, looking out the kitchen’s window, watching Summer’s hair picked up and pulled by the wind. “Where’s she going?”
“Home,” Ben said from behind him. He stepped forward, joining Cole at the sink and pointed, a manicured nail tapping on the glass. “That big house back there is the Holden plantation. Her house is the little one, to the right.”
“That’s her house? Right there?” Cole squinted, surprised. “It’s so close.”
“They’re neighboring estates,” Ben said with some importance.
“How pissed is she?” Cole nodded toward Summer, who was smaller now, her red dress barely visible, her steps quick.
“You should go after her,” Ben said. “She’s pissed… but I also think she’s hurt.”
Hurt. It had been a long time since Cole had cared whether anyone was hurt. He pushed off the sink and turned away, stepping toward the living room. “Show me the rest of this place, Ben,” he called out, moving farther from the window, from her, from weakness. “And if I see a fucking chicken in the bedroom I will rip it apart myself.”
He couldn’t go after her. Even if it was the right thing to do. Even if it would make their relationship smoother, the movie better. Because he knew himself. And right now, if he chased her down that dirt row and pulled her around, apologizing would be the last thing on his mind.
CHAPTER 41
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brad DeLuca’s voice boomed through the cell phone’s speaker, Cole wincing and pulling it away from his ear. Cole hadn’t had a clear call since he set foot in Quincy, yet DeLuca’s voice was crystal. A crystal hammer.
“What?” Cole sat up in bed and looked for a clock, his eyes landing on a small silver timepiece, quite possibly the only thing in this damn house that didn’t have a rooster on it. “It’s eight in the morning,” he mumbled.
“I’m well aware of that. And my wife has come three times so far this morning, so get your ass out of bed and be productive.”
“I’m on California time,” Cole mumbled, his eyes closing. Anything to break the view. If he saw one more rooster, he would go insane.
“I was very clear in my instructions to you. You were to go to Quincy and behave. Not run around grabbing the first single woman you find. And then you made her your costar?” The man growled out the last word, and Cole sat up.
“How do you know that? Deadline? Who reported it?” He kicked at the covers to get his legs free. It was probably Perez. That prick had informants coming out of his freshly bleached ass.
“It hasn’t hit any press. But it will. And Nadia’s attorneys will crucify you with it. You can’t put your new girlfriend in the movie that we’re—”
“She’s not my new girlfriend,” he interrupted.
“Sorry. Your new fuck—”
“No,” Cole stopped him. “She’s nothing. I didn’t cast her because I’m fucking her or dating her. I cast her because she is Ida Pinkerton. She’s perfect for the movie; she was born for this role. And she’s cheap. It’s a good decision all around.”
“Perfect for the movie or your cock?”
Cole closed his eyes. “The movie. I listened to you. I’m behaving and focusing on the movie. I haven’t even thought about Nadia since I got here. Everything has been about the movie.”
“Then why, with all of that said, did you kiss her?” DeLuca’s voice was softer, a cushion ready for a confession, soothing undertones hiding the blades he held beneath.
“What?” Cole stood. “Who told you that?”
“That scout told me. We hired him.” Of course they did. Nice to know he had a babysitter.
“The kiss was nothing.” The lie fell easily, so authentic that he believed it himself.
There was enough silence, before DeLuca’s response, that Cole almost doubted his performance. Then the man sighed. “Okay. Good. Keep it that way.”
“Can I go back to bed now?”
The man chuckled. “Sure, pretty boy. At least when you’re sleeping I don’t have to worry about you. But check your email when you wake up. I sent over the response we filed against Nadia. It’s brutal; I’m just going to warn you. We aren’t a cupcake firm… we rip the throats out of our opponents and eat them for breakfast.”
“I don’t want to punish her, I just—”
“We’re only being aggressive about The Fortune Bottle. The response rolls over on the other items, though I think you’re being a fucking saint about it.”
“No, that’s good.” Cole closed his eyes. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Welcome to Team DeLuca.”
Cole smiled. “Talk to you later.”
The call ended, and he dropped the phone against the pillow. The man was the right fit, even if he was a freaking bulldozer. And he was right, Cole shouldn’t have kissed Summer. But he didn’t need DeLuca to tell him that. He’d jacked off three times since yesterday. Couldn’t get the taste of her out of his mouth, no matter how many times he brushed his teeth. Couldn’t get the feel of her waist, the cotton of her dress, off his hands. Last night he had wrapped a T-shirt around his cock and jerked off around it, his mind on the hug of the red fabric to her breasts, the float of the hem when she spun around. If he’d have run his hands up her thighs, it would have lifted up and shown him what she wore beneath.
He closed his eyes. He had to get her out of his mind. He had to stay away from her. At least until filming started and their union was forced. He rolled over on the sheets and vowed to avoid Summer Jenkins at all costs.
Tap.
He lifted a hand and dragged a pillow closer, hugged it to his chest.
Tap.
His eyes opened at the thin, metallic sound.
Tap.
He sat up and looked toward the window, his eyes squinting against the morning sun. The sound repeated, and he confirmed the source, his feet finding the floor and stepping to the window. He pulled aside the curtain and held up a hand against the glare. Another pebble hit the glass, and he fumbled with the latch.