Hot and Heavy (Some Like It Hot 2)

Now that she’d had Cole Sommers, how was she ever going to give him up?

CHAPTER TWELVE

Cole woke up the following morning alone in his bed. The covers next to him were rumpled, reminding him of how he’d spent the night, and with whom.

Oh, man, he thought with a groan.

He’d fucked Melodie. Not just once, not twice, but three incredible times. Hell, he still wanted her if the erection he was sporting this morning was any indication.

The realization stunned him and brought on a whole slew of complications he wasn’t prepared to deal with, such as what did she expect of him now that they’d crossed that line between friends and lovers? How would last night change their working relationship? And would Richard disown him if he ever discovered what he’d done with his daughter?

His gut twisted with uncertainties. He didn’t have any ready answers to those questions—at least none that reassured him.

Releasing a deep exhale, he scrubbed a hand along the stubble on his jaw, unable to believe that he’d allowed his attraction to Melodie to overrule his common sense. Yet there was no denying that being with her had felt good and right, like everything that had been missing from his life—a gentleness, understanding, and rare chemistry that blended sexual awareness with a sense of comfort and security.

Beyond physical pleasure, there had been an emotional connection between them unlike anything he’d ever experienced with another woman. There were intense, possessive feelings he’d always sworn he didn’t need or want in his life because he’d seen with his mother and father how much heartache it could cause.

Reaching out, he touched the vacant spot next to him, a foreign disappointment settling deep. The sheets were cool, indicating that Melodie must have slipped out a while ago, and the only way she could have left was by Uber, prompting him to recall the comment she’d made last night after the first time they’d had sex. Very quietly and without any ulterior motives attached, she’d suggested that since she wasn’t intoxicated as he’d originally assumed, he could take her back to Paxton’s so she could pick up her car and go home.

Part of him had appreciated the offer, since he didn’t make a habit of letting women stay the night because of all the expectations that came with such an intimate invitation. But he hadn’t wanted to treat Melodie like a cheap one-night stand. And if he was honest with himself, he’d wanted her to stay. Convincing her that his offer was genuine had been ridiculously easy and just a matter of kissing her, touching her and making her body come alive for him again. She was easily distracted, very willing to try anything he suggested, and more adventurous in bed than he ever would have imagined.

He shook his head, still amazed that she hadn’t pressured him for more than what he’d given her last night. There had been no after-sex expectations, and no smothering or emotional demands. She’d given him incredible, mind-blowing, guilt-free sex. So why did he feel so annoyed about waking up alone?

He sat up, intending to get out of bed, when a small piece of paper on the pillow next to his caught his attention. He picked up the note, recognized Melodie’s handwriting, and knew she’d written another fantasy for him.

Last night you satisfied me with your touch, yet I still want you just as much. I’ll never get enough of you.

Your scent still lingers on my skin, arousing my desire all over again, making me breathless for your caress. I’ll never get enough of you.

Your passionate embrace started a fire in my soul, one that still burns bright and hot. I’ll never get enough of you.

The letter was short, simple, and so very evocative, affecting him on a gut-deep level. He swallowed the lump in his throat and stilled the rapid beat of his heart, refusing to delve too deeply into the message behind her words. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to dismiss the echo of her declaration. I’ll never get enough of you.

The sound of soft footsteps padding up his stairs startled him and made him frown, especially since he’d thought he was alone. Setting the erotic letter on the nightstand, he sat up straighter and yanked the sheet over his lap and stiff erection. Seconds later, Melodie walked into his room with two mugs of steaming coffee in her hands and a sweet, dreamy smile on her lips.

Instead of the scrap of a dress she’d worn last night, she’d donned one of his button-up shirts from his closet, leaving her long, slender legs gloriously bare. Her hair was tousled around her head, her lips were red and puffy from their ardent kisses, and there were a few faint love bites on her neck that he’d given her in the throes of passion.

But what captured his attention the most was her face. She’d washed her skin free of the makeup she’d worn last night, giving her a girl-next-door kind of look that was soft and pretty and unassuming. While he had to admit her sexy persona was exciting as hell, she was a woman who truly didn’t need any artificial enhancements to attract a man. Her skin positively glowed, as did her deep brown eyes.

“Good morning,” she said shyly, and handed him one of the mugs of coffee, made with cream just the way he preferred.

Taking the hot drink, and still shocked by her presence, he blurted, “You’re still here.”

Her eyes widened with sudden uncertainty and she took a small step back. “You insisted that I stay last night,” she said, her tone and body language reserved. “But I can go anytime.”

He mentally kicked himself for handling the situation so poorly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I woke up alone and I assumed you’d left.”

A small, tentative smile curled the corner of her mouth. “There you go, making assumptions again.”

“I’m afraid it’s a bad habit I’m going to have to learn to break.” Propping pillows against the headboard to lean against and keeping the covers pulled to his waist, he patted the mattress next to him. “Sit down and enjoy your coffee with me.”

She climbed up on the bed and sat with her legs crossed. Taking a sip of her coffee, she studied him over the rim of her mug, then spoke. “I hope you’re not berating yourself for last night.”

He winced, wondering how in the hell she could read him so well. It was an unnerving feeling since he usually kept his emotions under lock and key. “About last night…”

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t you dare tell me it was a mistake, or that you regret what happened.” Her tone was light and playful, yet her soulful gaze told another story, that last night had been more than a frivolous tryst for her.

He sighed. No, he harbored no regrets, and that bothered him when he knew he ought to feel some kind of remorse for sleeping with her. “It won’t happen again,” he said softly.