Page 54 of Cole

A sound from behind me had me spinning around.

Cole was there, his phone still at his ear.

“Maddox, I’ve gotta go,” he cut in. “We’ll sort it out later. I have something more important to do,” he murmured and then smirked. “I mean, someone.”

He hung up, and excitement raced down my spine.

“I wasn’t snooping,” I started, backing up into the counter.

Cole chuckled. “Yeah, right. Third time’s the charm. Maybe I’ll believe it this time.”

“I’m serious. I was just looking around and I saw the carvings,” I said.

“Looking around is snooping.”

I shook my head adamantly, but then Cole was there, catching my chin with a firm grip.

“Yes, it is. But it’s ok, Goldilocks. I have nothing to hide here.”

An interesting use of the word here.

“Not exactly true,” I disagreed. He was so close now, pressing me into the table. His body was solid, and his skin was hot. I wanted him to touch me with those burning hands. I wanted another few precious hours of escaping to a place where I felt good, and accepted and wanted.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You are hiding something here,” I murmured. He ran his other hand through my tangled hair, twisting it into a knot that he used to bend my head back. It was tender force, and my body tingled. There was something about his brutal gentleness that really did it for me.

“You’re an artist,” I said at last.

Cole paused. He even seemed to stop breathing. His eyes bore into mine, a pinch creasing between his brows.

“A what?” he asked after a moment.

I wet my lips. His intensity was burning me up all over.

“An artist. I mean, your talent is all over this place. From the inside of the cabin, to these pieces⁠—”

His chuckle cut me off. “No one has ever called anything of mine a ‘piece’ unless they were talking about guns. That’s not my world, Isabelle.”

I frowned at his words. “Why not? You’re talented. Art is art. The world isn’t so cut-and-dried as you’re making it out to be.”

He surprised me by leaning in and pressing his forehead against mine.

“Don’t.” His quiet word stopped my heart.

“Don’t show me the world through your eyes, Issy.”

Issy. My stopped heart started to beat madly against my chest. I’d thought I imagined him calling me it last night, but now, it was confirmed.

“Why not?” I murmured back.

“Because I won’t want to leave it. Hope is deadly to a man like me.”

“What kind of man are you?” I asked, desperate not to break this spell, to better understand this complicated man.

“Forsaken. Damned. Hope is a luxury I can’t afford. It’s too late for me. My old man’s inside, and the apple never falls far from the tree,” he said, his mouth twisting in a sad smile.

The complete acceptance in his eyes broke my heart. I barely knew this man, and yet, I felt closer to him than any other man in my life. The thought that he’d already resigned himself to a life of crime, violence, and jail was horrifying.