Do you take this rebel - By Sherryl Woods Page 0,63

hope at all. Despite Cole’s cold attitude, she could tell that he still wanted her. From time to time she caught him watching her, his gaze hooded. On occasion he reached out, as if to touch her, only to withdraw without making contact. It was evident that the embers of their passion hadn’t entirely cooled.

Even without Karen’s advice still ringing in her ears, she knew she had a choice to make. She could endure this marriage and keep her pride, or she could risk her heart to change it. She had opted for pride once and nearly lost everything. This time she wouldn’t make the same mistake.

Sex wasn’t love, but it was a means of communication, an undeniable form of intimacy, of sharing. Slowly she would turn Cole’s desire into need.

And over time she prayed she could turn it into love.

Chapter Fourteen

Cassie was driving Cole crazy. First there had been the constant hurt in her eyes, which left him filled with guilt.

Then there’d been unmistakable signs of anger. That had stiffened his resolve, prepared him for a battle that hadn’t come.

Now lately she had been doing everything in her power to seduce him. The changes were keeping him dizzy and off balance, wavering between guilt and yearning.

He’d tried telling himself that this last, sly attempt to seduce was merely wishful thinking on his part, but there was no mistaking the intent of her glancing touches, the subtle perfume, the suddenly provocative attire on a woman who’d always preferred denim to lace. She wanted him and she intended to get him, by fair means or foul.

And he, blast it all, was losing the battle. How could he hold out against a woman he’d spent the past ten years wanting?

“Cole?”

“Hmm?” he responded distractedly. When she stroked his cheek with a lingering caress, his gaze shot up. Where had she come from? She rarely entered his room without knocking, but here she was, lips moist, color high. He eyed her suspiciously. “What?”

“Do you have a minute?” she asked, her expression all innocence as her hand fell away.

She was wearing white shorts and some skimpy little triangle of fabric that pretended to be a blouse. Aside from a few bows holding it all together, her back was bare, as were her feet. Rather than her usual pale-pink, she had painted her toenails a kick-ass-red. Staring down at those erotic little toes, he lost his train of thought completely.

“Cole, do you have a minute?” she repeated, amusement threading through her voice.

“I suppose,” he said uneasily. “Is there a problem with Jake?”

“No. He’s fine. He’s spending the night with my mother. He won’t be back till after lunchtime tomorrow.”

Uh-oh, he thought. They were alone. She was in his room, not her own, and she was wearing that sexy scent again, the one that made his pulse pound.

“The house?” he asked, sounding a little desperate even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. “Is there a problem with the house? I, um, I could call the contractor.” He reached for the phone, clung to it as if it were a lifeline.

She smiled. “Nope. It’s coming along right on schedule.”

That left what? he wondered, battling panic as he reluctantly set the phone aside. What the dickens did she want? Besides him, of course. Oh, she definitely wanted him, he concluded, meeting her gaze and discovering the heat there.

“Then what’s on your mind?” he asked, resigned to a really tough test of his willpower.

She edged closer, sat on the corner of his desk, her gaze locked with his, her very bare thigh nudging his. Even through his own jeans, he could feel the temperature of her skin soar. His body reacted predictably with a rush of blood straight to his groin.

This was a dangerous game she was playing. He wondered if she realized it. One glance into her smoldering eyes answered that. She knew, all right. And she was enjoying every single second of making him sweat, of watching him struggle with himself to do the right thing. She was deliberately trying to blast his conscience right out of the water.

“Cassie?” he prodded, a hitch in his voice.

A purely female smile came and went. “I’m not making you nervous, am I?”

Nervous? Hell, no. He was coming unglued. He was about to go up in flames.

“This…” He cleared his throat yet again. “This isn’t wise.”

He sounded like a cranky, sixty-year-old prude. Evidently she thought so, too, because she chuckled, a low, throaty sound that danced down his spine like