Losing Control - By Robyn Grady Page 0,57

*

Despite today's heavy rain, Taryn had ventured out to collect some cat milk for Muffin and a bunch of roses from the corner store. She was arranging the flowers in her favorite vase, thinking about dicing some vitamin-rich food for the lactating mother, when a knock sounded on the door. She glanced up. She wasn't expecting her aunt. Her friends all had jobs during the week. Perhaps it was a delivery, only she wasn't expecting an order.

As she passed by Muffin and her litter, who were snuggled and asleep in a large bed-box in the living room, Taryn had a flash but quickly pushed the thought aside. Guthrie had accepted her resignation and she didn't regret the move. The CEO slash Executive Producer of Hunter Broadcasting had never liked her show's premise. Had never approved of her being hired without being consulted first. No doubt, when all was said and done, Cole would be grateful to be rid of that headache. She was relieved to have gotten rid of hers. She was more calm. Her usual cool self again.

Then Taryn fanned back the door and her heart leaped so high, she had to swallow to push the lump halfway back down. Cole stood on her porch, looking unhappy about being drenched because of the rain and, she supposed, being here. Well, he could simply turn around, jump in his sports car and go back to the office. She certainly hadn't invited him.

Cole set his monster black umbrella down, tapping the steel spike against the timber floorboards twice - to help shake off the water or make certain she was paying attention?

"What's this about you quitting?"

She feigned surprise. "You're only finding out now? I gave Guthrie my resignation two days ago."

"Did you think to consult me?"

"Consider yourself consulted." Her hand still on the doorknob, she stepped back. "Hope I don't sound rude, but I was in the middle of something important."

"Finding another job?"

"Feeding the cat."

Her face and neck hot, she moved to shut the door. One big black leather lace-up slid out, acting as a stop.

He said, "You don't have to leave."

"It was a choice, Cole. I don't have to go. I want to go." She slanted her head. "Why are you here? You never liked my idea. You've done everything you could to have me land flat on my backside." You've ignored me day after day.

"I'll come in and we'll discuss it."

"I'm not letting you in." Not ever again. "Give yourself until next week. You'll have forgotten all about this by then."

Setting his umbrella up against the outside wall, he dragged a hand down his face as if this were all too hard.

"Look, I'm sorry I had to make all those cuts."

"That's fine. All forgotten. Now please leave."

He cast an exasperated look back at the rain teeming down beyond her porch and exhaled.

"I can't help the way things are," he said. "You knew what my life was from the start."

When heat from frustration and anger threatened to overtake her, she closed her eyes and shook her head. If he felt guilty about the way he'd treated her, that was his bad luck. She only wanted him to vanish so she could go back to arranging flowers and forgetting that man ever existed.

"Let me in. We'll talk - "

As he moved forward, finished with games, she moved, too. And shut the door.

But Cole's barrier now was a thousand times more effective than the one he'd used earlier. He reached out and, without apology, hooked one arm around her waist then hauled her close until her breasts were pressed against his shirt and she felt the booming of his heartbeat too near her own.

She opened her mouth to tear him down. After what he'd done, how dare he handle her this way. But in one blinding heartbeat, his mouth had taken hers. With one palm supporting the small of her back, he kissed her long and hard and shockingly deep. Flames swirled through her blood, instantly melting her bones, causing her to become a rag doll in his arms.

But when his palm scooped lower and she felt him harden against her belly, her strength returned. Making fists, she pushed with both barrels against his chest. She might as well have tried to shift a mountain. He was on a mission. And, damn the man, he was winning.

As his head angled more and the rough of his beard rubbed a path against her cheek, gradually, bit by bit, her fight drained away. He