switchblade I found in the back of Cole’s dresser drawer. I doubt he even knew it was there. His things are that untidy.
As I witness Randolph fray at the seams into a pile of tangled knots, I flinch but don’t make a sound when a big hand wraps around my mouth.
I grip my knife and ignore the pain, whipping around only to come nose to nose with the man who’s supposed to stay far, far away but can’t seem to stick with the plan. He isn’t careful or gentle when his other arm wraps around me like a band of steel, pressing his front into mine, gluing me to the end cap of the lockers. We’re out of sight but definitely not out of earshot. If he blows this for me, I might stab him with his own knife.
His hand slides off my mouth and his index finger presses against my blood red lips. Shaking his head, he tips it toward the entrance of the coat room as he slides his thick thigh between mine.
I put my arms on his biceps and push but he’s having none of it. Instead he does something he’s yet to do since I arrived in the States.
He touches me.
He really touches me, like we haven’t had a half a world separating us, or our careers, or his loyalty and love for Abbott, or Red, or even my fucked-up situation all keeping us apart.
This is not like his touch while I was in the hospital or in his bed, supporting my weight so I’m comfortable to rest.
No.
He touches me.
The way he did back when we were an us and we couldn’t get enough of the other.
Even with Randolph on the other side of the lockers, pacing more holes into the mossy carpet, Cole slides his hand down, hot on my skin, and over my gold necklace. He rips at the garment tape and pushes the material to the side, exposing my breast.
Palming me—or pawing at me—I can’t tell what mood he’s in right now besides completely and irritatingly exasperating.
My eyes widen and I mouth, “What are you doing?”
And do you know what the arse does?
He smiles.
He bloody smiles as he pinches my nipple.
I have to clamp my jaw shut to not scream in his face or moan from the electric current shooting between my legs.
“I don’t appreciate you summoning me, Charles. If you want to reconsider my offer so badly, come to me next time.”
I freeze but Cole does not.
He’s so close I can taste his breath when I wet my lips, exhaling when his hand slides down my body leaving my breast exposed.
“I don’t have time for you or your bullshit, Marie. We’re done and we’ve been done for months.”
“This is not about us and you know it. I told you what I want.”
Cole tips his head and hikes a brow as if we’re taking in a film, and a mildly interesting twist was thrown into the mediocre plot. But instead of asking me to pass the popcorn, he reaches between us and yanks my dress up by the slit.
I shake my head. We cannot do this, especially not here. Cole Carson is incorrigible, even while on assignment. He always was and it seems nothing has changed.
With the weight of his wide chest pressing me to the lockers, I bite my lip when he fully cups me between my legs.
My adrenaline skyrockets and my skin zings at his touch.
Marie goes on. “You have two choices and I suggest you pick the smart one—I want twenty-five percent of your cut.”
Cole’s hand tightens on my sex and his eyes widen at the current development happening on the other side of the room.
That is, right before he dips a finger into the gusset of my thong, swiping a finger through me.
Bloody, Cole.
“If you don’t pay up, guess who’ll be the lead story on every news network from here to the South Pole?”
I squeeze my eyes when he slides a finger inside me, followed by another. Damn, I’ve missed him.
“You have no proof,” Randolph argues.
“Try me,” Marie dares. From the sound of her voice, I wouldn’t take her up on that. “I figured it all out. So either I get rich off your little side hustle or I get a slew of job offers from national networks. Either way, I win. The choice is yours—go to jail or give up a quarter of your kickbacks.”
Blackmail. But it’s not enough. I need to know why he’s getting kickbacks.