Cole: The Wounded Sons, Leah Sharelle [the reading list .TXT] 📗

my career. My mates may have managed to make Special Ops work with their relationships, but me?

Using every ounce of my self-control, I changed the direction my mind was taking; instead, I compartmentalised and focused on the here and now.

“Why move? I have no problems staying here all night.” Caressing a path down her breasts and belly, I reached where we were still intimately connected.

“How does round three sound, my sexy Temptress?”

Her hips ground down, her muscles clenched. “Only if you are on top this time, you can do all the work while I get to trace my hands all over your body.”

Chuckling, I smacked my hand down on the top of her arse, groaning when the flesh jiggled enticingly.

“Up and at ‘em, baby, time for me to get to work.”

I jumped in my seat when the sound of the lone trumpet started to play the haunting melody of the Last Post, my mind a rush of memories I barely made any sense of since last night.

“You okay, Cole?” Gabe leaned over and whispered to me.

“Yeah mate, just … ghosts, you know,” I told him as an uneasy feeling settling deep in my chest. Familiar voices played around in my mind, my mother’s, and another one I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I know I have heard it before, calling out my name, wailing for me to keep fucking her. A niggle hounded at me, there was another time I had heard that voice saying my name, just not with a sensual edge to it.

Those eyes. Those pretty bright green eyes, I knew them. The room might have been dark last night, and yeah, I woke up alone early in the morning, but I remembered those green orbs looking at me before.

The sudden silence signalled that the last sign of respect to our fallen brother was done. The time to put Deke to rest for good had me moving off the stiff plastic chair.

Walking forward, I filed down the aisle with my team towards the front of the church, to the coffin that held Deke.

What the fuck did my mum’s voice have to do with my mystery Temptress?

Annoyed at myself for not giving the funeral my full concentration, I tried to push last night’s event out of my mind.

“Cole, oh fuck yes, Cole, I dreamed of this.” That breathy voice, that sexy husky laugh and the sweet giggle. I knew it, I fucking knew it somehow …

Taking one end of the coffin at the back, I hooked one arm over Grill’s shoulder for support as we lifted the coffin up at Gabe’s command.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, it hit me harder than a freight train racing out of control.

Green eyes, long midnight black hair, long enough to tickle my thighs while she rode me. A giggle sweet and innocent but a mouth that could bring a man to his knees.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

God help me! I fucked my mother’s personal assistant, Oaklee.

My mum’s young assistant, Oaklee. The same Oaklee whose eyes followed me around the compound whenever I was home. The Oaklee, I swore to my mother I would never touch when Dad told her Oaklee had a crush on me.

Yeah, that Oaklee.

Fuck my life.

CHAPTER FOUR

OAKLEE

The book shop was packed with people vying for a chance to get an autograph and photo taken with Willow Rose, local international best-selling romance writer.

My job as Memphis’s, aka Willow Rose, assistant had both creative and in-depth tasks and duties. According to my boss’s very scary, very intimidating husband, number one and the most important was to keep Memphis at a safe distance from her fans. And judging by the crowd gathering already, I was going to be earning my wage.

“Excuse me, ladies!” I shouted over the loud humming and excited jabbering, “can I have your attention please!” Climbing onto a seat, thanking my morning decision to wear jeans and not the tight skirt I initially chose to wear, I clapped my hands above my head and waited for the noise to die down. This was a part of the job I didn’t enjoy, being a PA for a famous writer, I was usually in the background, and more comfortable that way. Standing in front of a crowd of people without the main attraction to take the notice off me—yeah, not an enjoyment for me.

“Thank you for your attention and for everyone lining up to see Willow Rose.” I started smiling at the crowd of eighty women I observed, then looked down at the chart in my hands, holding it down low in front of my stomach.

Eighty bodies in this little shop, dear God Creed is going to kill me! After he gives me his narrowed black eyes and that chin lift I didn’t understand at first.

“Please remember this is a small shop, so be aware of the people behind and in front of you. Also, you all know by now Willow Rose is blind, so I ask you to please not rush the signing table, and though she is more than happy to take photos with her fans, please listen to the rules on how this is to be done.”

Pointing behind me, I motioned to the long table where Memphis was to take her place very shortly. “At the end of the table is the spot for fan photos, Willow will sign your book, chat, and whatnot, then if you want a picture, stand on the yellow cross on the carpet and she will stand up next to you. Please refrain from moving her seat to get closer or have a friend in the shot with you. This is set up so Willow doesn’t have to move too far from her seat.”

“I’m sure you can appreciate the noise in such a small room, and with so many people, can be quite daunting and confusing for a vision-impaired person. So, unless you want a big pissed-off biker coming in here, swinging his wife up into