“No, you’re not my usual type,” he agreed. However, a heat sprung up in his eyes when he added, “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever dated. But I don’t think I’m going to have any problems convincing others that I’d be more than willing to take you on as a lover.”
His clipped words actually felt like a compliment. A rather sexy one, but Sunny forced herself to stay on her original course. “That’s great,” she said. “But the problem is you’re not my type, either. The people in my circle—including Nora—might find it hard to believe I’m really with you. Like not just a fling, but seriously into you with the possibility of getting married.”
The heat drained out of his gaze. “What exactly is your type, Sunny?” he asked and she felt a chill go up her back.
“Well, my last serious boyfriend ran a homeless shelter. We met while he was asking people to sign up to volunteer there, outside of Trader Joe’s.”
Cole crooked his head, like the whole idea of actually doing good in the world was a completely foreign concept to him.
Maybe it was, Sunny thought unkindly, wondering, not for the first time how she’d ever gotten herself into this mess.
“You’re saying you’d prefer that I’d be more charitable,” Cole concluded. “Fine. Tell me what charity you like, and I’ll have Agnes make a donation.”
She gave him a leveled look. “I was actually thinking more charitable, like doing. Like if people saw us doing charitable things together, maybe they wouldn’t have such a hard time buying my story.”
Cole crinkled his forehead. “So you want us to spend time together, helping people. Fine, I can do that? Tell me how.”
“I guess you could come with me to my community dance class tomorrow. It’s all girls, and we’re always looking for guys to help us with lifts.”
“What time?”
“Seven—I know that’s early. But a lot of my girls are Catholic, and have to be done in time for second Mass at St. Peter’s.”
Cole brought his phone back out and started typing. “It’s not early for me. I’ll have Agnes clear my schedule.”
Now it was her turn to shake her head. “You work on Sunday mornings, too?”
“Of course I do,” he answered, like she was the odd one because she didn’t.
Sunday morning, Cole woke up way earlier than usual, and in a foul mood. He’d tossed and turned the entire night, a certain part of his anatomy reminding him with increasing insistence that Sunny was now living in the penthouse apartment he kept at the top of The Benton. Living with him. She was right there, in the very next bedroom, her soft, curvaceous body lying underneath a couple of sheets and a thin blanket, which he’d only have to pull back to...
He’d been forced to take care of himself around 3:00 a.m. like a high school boy, and even that hadn’t been enough. Now he was wide-awake with a mind that didn’t want to shut back down.
With an aggrieved grunt, he got out of bed. His master bedroom, and the rest of his penthouse were done up like his office downstairs, with white floors and walls, and sleek black furniture. However, the chessboard feel of the place didn’t give him his usual satisfaction, because whatever was going on with Sunny, it didn’t feel like he was currently winning. Even though the house was always supposed to win, and he was the CEO of the house.
He went into his home office, which was located right across the hallway from his bedroom to get a head start on the work he’d normally be doing on a Sunday morning, if he hadn’t agreed to accompany Sunny to her silly dance class.
* * *
“Are you seriously working at five-thirty on a Sunday morning?” he heard her ask behind him a couple of hours later.
He turned around to give her a peevish answer about the difference in income levels between him and the guys who didn’t work on Sunday mornings, but the words got stuck in his mouth as he studied her appearance in his office doorway.
He was used to the type of women who slipped out of bed before he did to fix their hair and make-up. Sometimes they even spritzed on a little perfume.
But Sunny looked as if she’d just climbed out of a tumble dryer, rumpled clothes, glossy curls going every which way, including up. However, that combined with her bountiful curves, barely contained by the drawstring pants and tank top she’d worn to bed sent a lightning bolt of lust straight through him.
Instead of putting her in her place, he had to work hard to keep the physical strain out of his voice. “Did you need something?” Other than him inside of her, right now?
“Coffee,” she all but groaned. “I can’t even think about a shower until I’ve had at least one cup.”
He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had even dared to approach him for anything other than morning sex without having taken a shower first—and often not even that. No, Sunny was definitely not his usual type. Not even remotely.
Yet, he had to turn around in his swivel chair for fear of what his smaller brain would compel him to do if he had to look at her another second.
“In the kitchen. It’s an automatic pot. The housekeeper sets it up every day.”
“Thanks,” she said to his back. “Can I bring you back a cup—”
“No,” he answered, before she could even finish asking the question.
“Okay,” she said carefully. Then she mercifully walked away, giving him the time he needed to get himself back under control.
* * *
He was still in a bad mood when he followed Sunny into the Balzar Community Center, which was located in an area of Las Vegas he’d only visited how many times? Oh, wait, that would be never, because he’d never had any reason to test out the fallibility of his Lo Jack system.
“Your car will be fine,” Sunny teased, apparently reading his mind as they walked through the building’s front door.
She’d had the nerve to come out to the living room dressed in a pink leotard, tights and leg warmers. She was either better at hiding her intentions than he’d originally given her credit for, or she honestly had no idea what the sight of someone with her kind of curves dressed in an outfit like that could do to a man.
Either way, he took a moment to resent the hell out of her for making it so he could barely look at her, because he was working so hard at keeping himself from tenting his pants. It didn’t help that she looked happy and in good spirits, like she’d gotten the best sleep of her life, while he’d tossed and turned all night.
And now she was teasing him about worrying about his Bentley, which probably cost more than this entire building.
Time to teach his pawn a lesson and put himself back in control of the chessboard, he decided.
“We’re early,” he pointed out as Sunny led him down a narrow hallway with paint peeling off the walls. “Is there a reason for that?”
Sunny shook her head, “No, it just worked out that way—”
She broke off with a squeak when he took her by the waist and pressed her back into the one area of wall where the paint was still smooth. He let his body settle into hers, reveling in her softness, as he breathed in her scent. Shower gel and the apple she’d eaten for breakfast.
“What—what are you doing?” she asked him, her voice breathless with confusion...and something else.
He liked the something