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Pinching her zipper pull between his thumb and finger just like he’d done at their table, loving moments like these—when through whatever trick of fate or destiny or luck, fantasies became realities—he lowered her zipper one tooth at a time. Slowly, drawing the experience out for as long as possible, he exposed the canvas of her back, fine black lines swirling across her spine, musical notes dotting her skin.
He traced the ink decorating her body, sliding his fingertip between her shoulder blades to the swoop of her low back, the design disappearing into her underwear until he hooked his finger under black lace and pulled just enough to see it all, and maybe a little more. “It’s a song.”
“The first one Ian ever wrote,” she said, her head falling forward, her forehead resting against the rack.
Releasing her underwear, he traced his fingertip back up her spine, following the notes while her shoulders tensed, her back arching under his light touch. Studying the tattoo from top to bottom, he hummed the melody the notes played out on her skin.
“You can hear the song? Only from looking at it?”
“I can,” he replied. “It’s beautiful.”
“Cole,” she whispered as he ghosted his lips over her neck, zipping her back up as slowly as he’d unzipped her, hating her zipper for every inch of her skin it hid from him. Just to spite it, he didn’t pull it all the way up, not yet. When he was done, she spun around to face him, her hands fisting in his shirt.
Feeling the heat radiating from her skin, the need in the way she grabbed him, he said, “Kiss me, Mira. Right here,” pointing to the corner of his mouth. Because if she kissed his lips, if he tasted her mouth, if he felt the softness of her tongue against his, they wouldn’t leave this freezer all night, maybe not even the next day. And as real as this moment with her felt right now, as fast as his heart was beating, as hard as his blood thundered through his veins, his need so hot and demanding it made him leak, this wasn’t about him. This wasn’tforhim. This was for her. This was to wipe away that torn, confused look in her eyes when Paul had kissed Chrissy on the dance floor. Mira would leave this freezer looking well served, even if it ruined him for the rest of the night.
Her tongue slipping out to wet her red lips, she leaned toward him, cupped his neck, and kissed him. At first, she only kissed the corner of his mouth like he’d asked. But he must have turned his head, or maybe she turned hers. Either way, as their lips slid dangerously close to perfect alignment, his hands dangerously close to grabbing her hips and pulling her body against his, her zipper dangerously close to being slid back down, he knew he had to stop, for his own sake if for no one else’s.
He pulled away, a herculean feat, because not kissing her was like choosing not to sail on a perfect blue-sky day, and he almost laughed at how awful it felt.
While she looked him up and down, her full red lips curled into a smile. “You’re kind of a mess.”
He reached down for his suit coat, slinging it over his arm. “All a part of my grand plan.” Messing up his hair again, he took a fortifying breath and said, “I’ll leave first, give you some time to…get yourself together.” His gaze dropped to her breasts, which looked one heave away from freeing themselves from her dress, and more than a small part of him wished he was still young and reckless and willing to take everything too far. “If you know what I mean.”
She looked like she wanted to say something, her mouth opening for a brief moment before closing again. Instead, she reached out and pulled on one side of his tie, leaving the ends slightly uneven. “Thank you, Cole. Thank you for tonight. For everything.”
“My pleasure.”Understatement. “But you still owe me a dance.”
When she nodded, he turned away from her and opened the freezer door, squinting against the bright kitchen lights. He waited until he was back in the dining hall, until he found Paul sitting at their table again, until he had the man’s undivided attention, before he ran a hand through his hair, tucked his shirt back into his pants, and brushed his thumb over his lips, looking down at the hint of her red lipstick he’d swiped away.Nice.
He’d barely sat down at their table again when Mira emerged from the kitchen, looking far more put together than he had, except for that one secret part of her he’d kept undone. When she took her seat next to him, her cheeks indecently flushed, Cole reached behind her, said, “Oops. Must have missed this,” and tugged her zipper the rest of the way up while Paul crumpled his cocktail napkin into a tiny ball and dropped it onto his plate.
* * *
“I’ll be right back!”Cole shouted over the music, angling his head toward the bathrooms. After dancing with Mira for the last two hours, his feet aching in the best way even though he was pretty sure he had a blister on both big toes, he needed a minute.
“’Kay!” she shouted back. Some of her hair had come loose from its updo, wispy strands brushing over her shoulders and sticking to her neck. “I’m gonna go get us some water.”
“Yes, please.” When she turned toward the bar, Cole took a moment to watch her go, missing her already. On his way to the bathroom, he stopped mid stride as Madigan and Ashley tumbled out of her office, laughing like children who’d just gotten away with something very, very naughty. If Cole had thought he’d left Mira looking disheveled in the walk-in, he was getting schooled, hard. Ashley was barely in her dress, and Madigan’s shirt fell open while he hopped on one foot, trying to put on one of his shoes, the other shoe nowhere in sight.
Their laughter petered out once they noticed him noticing them, and Ashley blanched as Madigan snapped, “Not a word, Cole.”
Cole raised his hands. “Hey, I’m just glad the drought is over.”
“Where’s your other shoe?” Ashley asked, squinting down at Madigan’s socked foot.
“I must have left it in there.”
Grabbing his shirt and pushing him back toward her office door, she said, “I guess we need to go find it.”
With a body-wide smile, Cole pushed the bathroom door open. But when his phone buzzed, his smile faded.
Nancy: How’s the wedding? I still can’t believe Madigan is getting married. Are you coming into the studio next week?
Sliding his phone back into his pocket without answering the text, he stared at himself in the mirror. Even though their relationship was amicable these days, he didn’t want to see Nancy next week. He didn’t even want to go into the studio. He didn’t want to keep doing all the things he’d been doing in his life that kept him busy but weren’t making him happy. For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to go back to Seattle.
CHAPTERTWELVE
MIRA
