Page 63 of Stolen Summer

Finally, something he said made sense.

Cole didn’t wait for the driver to get out but opened the door for me. I brushed past him, climbing inside, grateful to be leaving. If I never saw the Mirrored Mansion again, it would be too soon.

I slid over the buttery-soft leather, cringing at the mess I was sure to leave. The most expensive outfit I owned was fucking ruined, caked with mud. Why did I give a shit about clothes? It wasn’t my money wasted. Did I hate to see something so beautiful destroyed at the hands of a pompous asshole? Yes.

Not that it was entirely Cole’s fault, but I shifted most of the blame on him.

His thigh brushed against mine and stayed there, pressing his heat into me. My stomach fluttered, sending a pulse of awareness inside me.

I squirmed.

I couldn’t take the wetness any longer. I had to get rid of these clothes. I’d choose comfort over modesty any day of the week. Cole would have to deal with it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already seen me in my full glory.

But if I’d been honest, it wasn’t only the clothes causing my discomfort.

Unbuttoning my pants, I worked on the zipper.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, brows furrowing.

“Calm down. This isn’t a ploy to seduce you. I need to get out of these wet pants. My kitty is going to wilt.”

“Kitty?” he smirked. “Cute, Killer, and we can’t have a wrinkly puss.”

“Funny. Just help me get them off.”

“That I can do.”

“Cole,” I scolded dryly, rolling my eyes as I attempted to shimmy the clinging material off my hips.

He grabbed my foot, slipped off my shoe, and dragged his thumb over my arch. I froze.

Why is that so damn attractive?

“Do that again,” I ordered.

“Do what?” he asked, his head angled to the side toward me. The limo lights dimmed as the driver pulled away from the house.

“Take off my other shoe,” I said.

“Do you have a kink, Killer?” he asked huskily, and I wished I’d kept my trap shut, but his hand moved to my other foot, removing the shoe. He let the ebony pump fall to the car floor, but his hand lingered, and I watched as those tattooed fingers glided up my ankle, massaging, and then skillfully worked back to my foot.

A zing traveled up my leg. I hated the way my body responded to anything related to Cole. His hands. His mouth. His scent. His voice. Everything about him got to me in ways that irritated and enticed me, causing a current of conflict to ebb and flow through my veins.

I groaned, my head falling back onto the seat and my pants only halfway down my hips.

A slow smirk full of temptation teased his mouth below the skull mask he still wore. Abandoning my task, I took off his mask, wanting to see his face.

“Lift your hips,” he commanded, angling his body so he faced me.

Pressing my back into the seat, I did as he asked. His hands flanked either side of my pants, tugging them down my legs. Once he got them to my knees, I lowered back to the seat as he worked the material that clung like a second skin off my body.

The wet pants thudded to the floor in a pile on top of the heels, leaving me sitting in the back of a limo in just my corset and a pair of practical panties. I’d gone for comfortable instead of sexy, not anticipating this situation. I was quickly learning when in Cole’s company I should always be prepared to find myself naked or nearly naked. It was becoming a bad habit I didn’t know how to feel about.

But right now, I was shaking with need.

His eyes never strayed from mine, and I waited to see what he would do next. Would he sit back in his seat? What did I want him to do? Kiss me?

This wasn’t part of our deal.