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

“That he does,” I agreed, joining her with a chuckle of my own.

“Hey Cole, what are you doing tomorrow?” Oaklee asked suddenly, her pretty face lighting up with mischief.

“Nothing, why?” I hedged, unsure yet what all her expressions meant, but fuck, I was looking forward to discovering each and every one of them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

OAKLEE

I was contemplating ringing Cole a dozen times this morning, telling him that coming today was a bad idea.

Did I?

Nope, instead, I dressed in my best and tightest jeans, pulled on a white singlet top, did a light makeup job and teased my long, black hair into a sexy, messy bun.

Inviting Cole to my place today had to be right up there with sleeping with a man while he was pissed as a fart and had little memory of doing it, but here I was standing out on the front curb out the front of my grandparent’s house watching the sexy man in question riding slowly down my street on a big, black Harley.

Desire pooled between my legs as I watched the rumbling machine motor slowly towards me, the rider dressed in black jeans and a black tee, much the same as he had been last night and pretty much every other time I saw Cole at the compound. After a deployment he always arrived in his camo greens but always changed into his black ensemble. The only extra additions were his black aviator sunglasses and the helmet covering his black hair.

Black eyes, black everything. Was his heart just as black?

Last night, he showed me a light in him—a kindness and gentleness. There was something more than pain in the depths of his inky black eyes, and it shone at me when he held my hand, tracing his fingers over my skin as he listened to my story. Telling me about Deke and bits and pieces of himself, I am sure only his team would know about him.

Cole wasn’t the first person I talked to about my battle with anorexia, and I wasn’t ashamed of what I went through, not by a long shot. He was, however, the first person I felt comfortable opening up so quickly to, though. Cole’s reaction surprised me, seeming more pissed off hearing of my parent’s treatment of me, even asking me about triggers, really genuinely interested in learning what I went through and was still to this day.

The closer the bike advanced, the clearer my idea formed in my mind. Hearing that Creed had warned Cole from coming near me surprised and shocked me. Why on earth would Creed tell his son to do such a thing? It made no sense to me; Cole was hardly around the compound when he came back from overseas or the base. I spent most of my time with Memphis and the bookstore. What made him think that our paths would cross enough that he asked his son to stay away from me?

For what reason? I swear the Stephens men were complicated, and maybe if they talked more and growled less, I might be about to get a handle on things better.

I knew one thing, I liked Cole … a lot. He said last night he believed there was something between us, something he felt strong enough about to defy his father and agree to come to me today.

Excitement trickled down my spine when the huge bike came to a stop, and Cole switched off the engine, his long legs planted on either side of the road, his thick thighs holding the bike in place.

“Mornin’, Temptress,” Cole drawled, his glasses hiding his eyes, but I felt them travelling down my body like a caress.

Fighting to control my body’s natural reaction to him, I dug deep for some sass and planted a smirk on my lips.

“Mornin’ Rambo, getting a good look?”

Kicking down the kickstand, Cole chuckled as he gracefully and very sexily climbed off the bike. I called him that silly nickname that night, and he had the same reaction, his own fault for not protesting because I kind of liked it now.

“I am indeed, baby. I am also wondering what you have in store for me today,” Cole wondered, taking off his sunnies and hooking them in the neckline of his tee.

My skin tingled with the endearment, just as much as his deep voice caused tingles elsewhere. What was it about his incredibly deep voice that made my core clench with need? During our night together, he used that voice like he used his cock to get me off, whispering in my ear, murmuring against my skin, rumbling deep, throaty moans into my pussy when he ate me.

Cole was a living, breathing, sensual weapon, and I was helpless against his power and he knew it, but I could give him a run for his money … at least try to before I drop to my knees and succumb to his devilish charm. Popping my hip, I smiled wide when his eyes zeroed in on the strip of belly showing between my top and waistband, his dark as dark eyes narrowed and hungry.

“How are your shovelling skills?” I asked, choking on my laughter when his eyes went from smouldering to confused.

“Say again?”

Giggling, I motion with a chin lift for him to follow me. “Shovel, spade … you know digging? How are you at that?” Looking over my shoulder, I catch Cole checking out my butt in my skin-tight, circulation-cutting off jeans. Adding an extra sway in my hips, I turn away from him, not missing the low growl coming from the man behind me.

Since my recovery, which was going to be ongoing for a long time yet, my body and my brain have become better friends, giving me a chance to stress less and have fun and own my body and inner self.

“I have dug a hole or two in my time. Why?” Cole replied cautiously.

“Well, Cole, today we are going to be clearing