Close Enough to Touch (Jackson Hole 1)

She laughed again, bright, genuine amusement edged with bitterness. “Hmm. I wonder.” When she leaned closer, Cole’s skin prickled with awareness. “You know that honesty thing I mentioned? Why don’t you try it out? What are you doing over here buying me drinks, stud?”

What was he doing? Trying to distract himself, certainly. Trying to add something good to this fucked-up day. But with what? Her body?

His own body answered that question with a surge of blood that left his cock feeling heavy. He hadn’t had sex in a long time. A really long time. Nearly a year and a half. And something about her pushed his buttons. Buttons he’d forgotten about since he’d come back to Wyoming. That kind of attraction was best left alone, especially considering his current problems.

But his bad mood was making his lust sharper. More aggressive. And she was challenging him. Goading him. All she saw was a charming cowboy. But if she wanted honesty, he was in the mood to give it to her.

“All right,” he murmured, leaning closer until he was only a few inches from her ear. Her smile faded a little. “You want honesty? You don’t know anything about what my type is. But you’re right about something. You’re not pretty or cute or sweet.”

She snapped back a little at that. She tried to keep her smile in place, as if she didn’t care, but two bright spots of pink appeared in her cheeks and they had nothing to do with makeup. “Sure,” she said quickly. “Glad to know I’ve got some things right.”

“You’re something different from that.” He caught a strand of purple hair between his fingers. “You’re fascinating. And interesting. And hot.”

The pink in her cheeks deepened. The smile wavered.

Maybe she didn’t like that. Maybe he’d said the wrong thing. But surely any woman wanted to know she was fascinating and hot. And if she didn’t like that, well, she’d asked for it.

“Interesting, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Because I have purple hair?”

He cocked his head and watched her smile fade. “Maybe. There must be a reason you do it. Isn’t it because you want people to notice you? To wonder?”

“No. It’s because I want people to know I’m not like them.”

“Well, that’s pretty interesting. But that’s not what I meant, anyway. I meant that you’re strong. And dark. And I want to know what made you that way. And I want to know what’s underneath it.”

“And you think you’ll find out by fucking me?” she countered.

Cole flinched a little

at the hard word, but he’d said he’d be honest, so… “Maybe. I figure it can’t hurt.”

“Can’t hurt? Maybe you’re not doing it right.”

Oh, shit. Lust shot through him so sharply he almost groaned. Her eyes were dark and hard again, but her mouth had softened into a smile. A smile with a secret. Damn, he wanted to do it right. With her. Tonight.

But she was standing up, scooting off her barstool and away from him.

“Pardon me,” she said with such politeness that he knew she was mocking him. “I’ve got to go to the little girls’ room. See if I can make myself pretty.”

Yeah, she was definitely his type.

* * *

GRACE KNEW SHE was drunk, but she wasn’t stupid drunk. She was just very pleasantly, in-a-good-mood drunk. So why the hell was she thinking about sleeping with Cole Rawlins? It was a stupid idea from any angle.

Oh, she liked a one-night stand as much as the next damaged girl, but not with a man who lived next door. And not when she was still stinging from her last relationship. And not with a damn cowboy, of all things.

And definitely not with a man who didn’t think she was pretty.

“Idiot,” she sneered at herself in the mirror. She knew she wasn’t pretty. Hell, she’d dared him to say she wasn’t pretty. So why did it sting?

Without her makeup, she was fairly plain. A small girl with a pointy chin and dark eyes and pale skin. Her natural hair color was dishwater brown, as her mom used to call it. As plain as the rest of her. But she’d learned how to transform herself at a young age. To make herself look unapproachable and tough without veering into the pitiable, obvious outward hurt of the goth look. To make herself stand out just enough. Maybe even be striking on occasion. But not pretty.

Not that she couldn’t force it. She was damn good at what she did, after all. She could pull off pretty, even for herself. In fact, for a while there, she’d been styling herself to fit in. She’d felt almost comfortable with it. Then Scott had started pushing her to be nicer. To kiss ass. To make herself into part of the Hollywood crowd. For him. And her one small rebellion had been going back to purple hair and black shadow. But she knew how to create the illusion that she was pretty.