The Road to Rose Bend, Naima Simone [jenna bush book club .TXT] 📗

companionship instead of love. I couldn’t. And in the process, I hurt a decent man.”

“He might’ve been decent, but he was also older. Jesus, Sydney, you were twenty when you met him. Still had milk on your breath when you married him. Of course you changed. No, not changed. You grew.”

She stared at him, then snickered, and the sound, after her heartbroken sobs only minutes ago, warmed him like the morning sun breaking through the elms surrounding his family’s inn. And when a small, but real smile curled the corners of her mouth, it required every bit of his control not to trace the edges of that smile with his lips.

“Milk on my breath? That’s disturbingly...specific.”

He snorted. “You understand what I’m saying, though. Your ex had already figured out who he was, what he wanted out of life and how to get there. He doesn’t get to penalize you or hold a grudge against you because you did, too. Or because it didn’t include him.” Since his hand already cradled her cheek, he gave in and caressed the blade of her cheekbone. Allowed himself that minimal touch. “The lawyer in me argues that you only owe him unfettered access to his child within the bounds of a custody agreement. The man who just held you while you cried your broken heart out wants to tell him that you two are divorced, relationships fail all the time, vagina the fuck up, be a father to his baby and move on.”

“Vagina. The fuck. Up. Seriously?” The grin slowly spread over her face, lighting her eyes until the dark brown glowed.

She chuckled, and damn if he didn’t feel like he’d won the election for mayor all over again. It’s because I hate to see women cry, he reasoned, glancing down to grant himself a break from the impact and power of her beauty. But unfortunately, his gaze landed on her mouth. That lush, sinful tease of a mouth. Jesus. He was in trouble.

He shrugged, pretending that he hadn’t just been envisioning her dragging her lips over every bare, hard and aching inch of him.

“Have you ever kicked a man in the nuts? He’s down in seconds flat, crying for his mama. A vagina is much stronger than a dick.”

Her shocked choke preceded a loud crack of laughter that rebounded off the walls of his office. He grinned in response. A gift. He’d given her that gift of laughter. And even if he was condemned to hell for his inappropriate lust, the husky sound of her hilarity would be well worth it.

Her chuckles softened, eventually ebbing away. She smiled up at him, covering the palm still cupping her face, and turned into it. Placed a sweet kiss in the center.

His gut clenched so hard the muscles twinged in protest. Heat swept through him like flames exposed to oxygen, culminating in a rock-hard erection that had him praying like he hadn’t since the doctors pushed him out of that delivery room. Praying that she didn’t shift the wrong way on his lap and find out just how much that kiss affected him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He didn’t ask for what; didn’t need to. “You’re welcome,” he said, just as softly.

He should’ve removed his hand at that point. Should’ve gently helped her stand and insert distance between them. Should’ve done anything but lift his free hand to cradle the other side of her face. Or rub his thumbs over the corners of her mouth where they still turned up a little with the residue of her smile.

Or lower his head, inhaling her breath. Tasting the sugary sweetness of some treat and her own unique flavor on his tongue. Her low gasp ghosted over his lips, and hunger roared in him to take that directly from the source.

Only a slight shift of his head and that almost negligible distance between their mouths would disappear. He would finally know if she would allow him to lead her in a wet, erotic dance. Or if she would seize control, demand what she wanted in a carnal tangle of lips, tongue and moans. Or maybe, she would fall somewhere in the middle. A hot give-and-take, a sexy exchange of power where they both dominated and surrendered.

Fuck, he wanted to find out. Needed to...

He slid his thumb so it rested beneath that plump bottom lip. He pressed the skin there so her lips parted wider for him, and he could glimpse the pink tip of her tongue...

“Cole.” The loud, firm knock on the door followed his name.

As if some celestial being with a screwed-up sense of humor dashed him with a frigid bucket of water, Cole stiffened then jerked away. Stunned. Horrified. And hard...aching.

Jesus Christ.

He’d been about to kiss Sydney.

What the fuck was he doing? His heart scrabbled for his throat, and it throbbed there, hindering his breath. Trapping any words he could’ve—should’ve—said.

The same shock that crackled through him flared in her eyes. Followed quickly by a flash of hurt that her lashes hid in the next second. She stood, and just as the next rap echoed on the door, she rounded the desk.

Joints as rigid as a wooden soldier’s, he rose as well, the imprint of her body still branded into his arms, chest and thighs. Her orchid scent still filling his nostrils. Her breath still teasing his lips.

Moving on autopilot, he strode past her and approached the door, pulling it open.

Caroline Jacobs, the town’s ballet school owner and a council member, smiled up at him. “Hi, Cole,” the pretty blonde greeted. “I was beginning to think I’d missed you. I’m heading downstairs for the meeting and thought we could go—oh, hi, Sydney.” Her smile dimmed as she glanced at the silent woman behind him. Then her gaze was back to Cole, curiosity gleaming in her brown eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re fine,” Cole assured her, reaching over to his coatrack and nabbing his suit jacket from the hanger. “I’m ready.”

He slipped into it, well aware that he