Page 62

It dawned on me that Piper had my book on her shelf and I corrupted Cole’s golden child.

“Oh, shit. I mean… yes, but like… it’s not like anything… intense. And I didn’t want to add it, but my editor swore by it. No one would ever do that.”

“Why not?” Cole crossed his arms.

I cocked my head. “Cole, it’s a tack room. Some have mice. It’s dirty. Like, what man would get down on his knees and eat a woman out in here?”

“First of all, this tack room is immaculate. You could eat off the floor. Second, fictional tack rooms never have mice, right?”

I blushed, “Okay, maybe not.”

“Well, then it doesn’t sound fictionally implausible.”

He continued sorting through medicine boots in the corner, then turned. “So, you were just up there writing a sex scene?”

I nodded.

“Does it ever get you… wet?” Cole whispered.

If I told him that wasn’t the point, then I’d end this conversation. Normally, I’d tell someone they crossed the line, but I secretly wanted to see how far he would take it. The man hadn’t blanched at flirting earlier, had he? And after all, we were alone.

“If I told you it did, would you believe me?”

Cole closed the door, locked it, and approached, eyes glued to mine. “I don’t know.”

He pulled my hips to his and kissed me. His hands wandered, sinking into my back jean pockets. I felt everything from my head to my toes. I tingled in all the right places.

“Maybe you should find out,” I tempted him with waggling eyebrows.

Cole stared deep into my eyes as he undid the button of my jeans and unzipped them. I watched defiantly as he slid his hand inside my panties and swirled his finger over my aching clit. Fuck! He slowly dipped two fingers within me. I shivered, wanting more as he withdrew in a torturingly long way.

“Am I wet, Cole?” I asked.

He raised his fingers to his mouth and sucked my taste from them.

This was far hotter than it should have been.

“But the question is, would you get down on your knees and go down on me while I sit on that tack box over there?”

“Did I not say I would?” Cole asked, not flinching.

“No. Not quite.” I didn’t drop his gaze, wanting him to want me.

He shrugged, “Well, I would.”

Lanie’s wild insistence that I write another tack room scene finally paid off for me. As ridiculous as this was, I was about to go there in a tack room for the first time in my life—and probably the last.

“So is that what happens in this scene,” he asked as I pulled my jeans off.

“No,” I said. “That was my first book. My second book—the one I’m finishing—they just fuck on the tack box.”

“Well, I could do that, too,” Cole said.

I bit my lip. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I work for you, baby. Tell me where you want me,” Cole said, voice a low growl.

“Then take me—on the tack box. Just pull my panties aside and have me.” I hopped up, almost on a dare, sitting atop the tack box that Jerry labeled The Island of Misfit Toys because it was every piece of tack that didn’t have a horse or owner. It was our box of bits and bobs for a rainy day or new project horse.