And f.u.c.k they did. Well, he did. f.u.c.k her. Repeatedly.

Afterward he got up, got dressed, and left without uttering a word. As she watched him leave, her throat clutched, but she couldn't get herself to stop him. This wasn't what she wanted, but he hadn't given her too many options. He didn't want a relationship.

Once alone, she took a deep breath. She would just have to get used to the new state of affairs. Besides, in the long run it was better this way. Safer. But why did it feel so wrong?

Cole got off the treadmill. Not voluntarily, but the d.a.m.n machine was so hot it was going to explode if he kept going at it at that speed. He needed something less high-tech and more old school. The punching bag. That at least wouldn't die on him anytime soon.

Someone greeted him, but he didn't even lift his head, just grunted back.

He was in a foul mood and had been for days. Since Christy had "dumped" him actually. Not that she'd severed all contact, but he didn't get to see her as often as before. He didn't get to go out with her, or talk to her whenever he wanted. Or have breakfast with her. He snorted, annoyed with himself. He was a f.u.c.king moron. Missing the c.r.a.ppy breakfasts he used to have at her place. The sugar-free yogurt, the no-coffee zone. Not to mention the diet sodas, the cherry lollipops, and the headache-inducing gangsta rap.

He didn't miss the s.e.x because they were still f.u.c.king, a lot, but it felt different. Not bad, of course-s.e.x with Christy was always mind-blowing, that hadn't changed. But something was wrong. He needed...more, like the connection and intimacy they'd shared before. He wanted to sleep with her in his arms and wake up to her soft, sleep-rumpled body against his. He craved her company. Her sweetness. The way she made him laugh. h.e.l.l, the way she picked on him too.

For the first time in his life s.e.x wasn't enough. And he didn't like it one d.a.m.n bit.

But she'd laid down the law: no more socializing, no more spending time together, no more staying over. Just f.u.c.king. And with condoms at that.

Those d.a.m.n rubbers were nothing but an unnatural barrier she was erecting between them, and he f.u.c.king hated it. But it was her show, and if she wanted to use condoms, he wouldn't ask her not to. It would be stupid to-suicidal really. They could both see whomever they wanted, in theory of course. His c.o.c.k was as interested in nailing other women as in spending quality time in a rattlesnake nest, not to mention that the mere thought of her with someone else had him seeing red. But again, he didn't have the right to demand anything. They weren't dating, not even pretending to. So he'd sheathed himself and been trying to f.u.c.k her with the same detachment he'd achieved with other girls in the past: no kissing, no cuddling, just hard-core f.u.c.king. Keeping his distance.

Jesus, it was difficult. He couldn't pull it off.

He fought it, but he found himself reaching for her during s.e.x many times, needing to caress her. To kiss her.

Man, was he f.u.c.ked. He did have feelings for her. He didn't want to, but he did, and no amount of bulls.h.i.tting himself and denying it was going to change that. What the h.e.l.l was he going to do about it? He sure as s.h.i.t couldn't afford the luxury of giving in to his feelings. It'd take what little power he had left, and he wasn't ready to head down that road. Having the upper hand in any given situation was a basic requisite, an imperative. Without that power, he was at others' mercy, at their whims, and that was not acceptable.

He should count his blessings he'd skirted disaster on that one, that she had the presence of mind to put a halt to things before sinking deeper into relationship quicksand. He was lucky, really.

Yeah, well, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, he didn't feel lucky; he felt f.u.c.king miserable. Out of control. Raw, on edge. His detachment a distant thing of the past. Wanting things he shouldn't want. His muscles literally itching with the need to hold her.

He punished the punching bag some more, sweat pouring off him. Diving into physical exertion always worked for him. Not now. Hours exercising and he was still as p.i.s.sed as h.e.l.l. He wasn't clear yet if he was p.i.s.sed at himself or at her. h.e.l.l, at both probably. At her for changing the rules, and at himself for not being able to not give a d.a.m.n.

The good thing about snapping at everyone and growling all the time was that not a single woman had dared to come close. It looked like going feral had been the solution to the problem all along, since even Rose had toned down her act. It was funny because this gruff, harsh man with the rough edges was the real Cole. The motherf.u.c.ker who was difficult to live with, the uncompromising control freak. Christy wasn't afraid of him. She could handle him. She just chose not to.

A part of him insisted this was what he'd wanted all along-s.e.x and no emotional entanglements. Another part of him, a very big one, wanted to go to her. Give her all the promises and rea.s.surances she needed. Bury himself deep in her and stay there, her soft body soothing him. Forever.

Right. He'd better continue killing the punching bag. If he was dead from exertion, he couldn't make an a.s.s of himself and go begging her for G.o.d only knew what.

"You look like you've been at this all day."

He looked up to find James standing beside him.

"Just a couple of hours." Five actually, not that he was ready to split hairs now. He'd been down on a demolition site. Making huge buildings fall down with perfect precision, without moving an extra inch from his estimate, always gave him a huge rush and a sense of accomplishment like nothing could. It relaxed him too. But not this time. It was amazing how he could make skysc.r.a.pers do as he wanted, but he couldn't figure out how to do the same with Christy. "You here to spar with me?"

"Nope. Sorry, dude, I've been drafted. I'm teaching the kickboxing cla.s.s for Max. Something came up."

"Something came up? Like what, a skirt?" Cole joked without much humor.

James chuckled. "Probably." His all too seeing stare made Cole squirm. "What's with you?"

He didn't answer.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Cole didn't bother answering that one either. He just growled.

James braced his legs, crossed his arms. Cole knew how stubborn his brother could be. He wasn't going to budge.

Cole clenched his teeth. "Christy wanted more." Like his bleeding heart on a f.u.c.king platter. A heart he strongly suspected he'd lost already.

"And I guess you set her straight. You don't want or need anything from a woman. That's why you've been jumping for joy ever since."

"f.u.c.k off."

He so didn't want to talk about it, so when he saw Jack Copeland approaching, he felt like kissing the guy. Jack, a good friend of James's, was the owner of a hard-core biker bar in the outskirts of Boston and an ex-military, tough son of a b.i.t.c.h.

James turned his attention to his friend. "Hey, Jack, what are you doing here? Weren't we supposed to meet later at Rosita's?"

Cole greeted him with a sharp nod of his head and then resumed punching the bag.

"I'm busy tonight. Can't make it to Rosita's. I was pa.s.sing by Alden, so I thought I could pick up the new security hardware we talked about."

"I have it at home." James looked at the clock. "I have a cla.s.s in four minutes. Can you wait until I'm done? I'd give you the keys for you to get it yourself, but I want to run several things by you."

"How long until you're done?"

"A couple of hours. You could work out while you wait. Or you could come to help me wipe the floor with the rookies in the kickboxing cla.s.s."

"I have my gym bag in the car. Although I'll pa.s.s on the offer of wiping the floor with your rookies."

"Your choice," James said, heading toward the ring. Then he suddenly turned. "How come you can't make it tonight to Rosita's? Anything to do with the fact that Elle will be there pitching in tonight?"

Jack answered in a clipped tone, his poker face betraying nothing. "Your sister-in-law is annoying. She talks too much."

"Sure," James said with a mocking grin on his face. "I don't think it's her talking that annoys you so much."

"You'd better head to your rookies before I f.u.c.k up that pretty face of yours three days from your bachelor party."

"Yeah, yeah." James turned to leave, laughing, and then warned him, "And about the party. Don't even think about bailing out, my friend."

"Don't know how you put up with him," Jack grunted to Cole when James was gone.

"Don't have an option. He's my brother, so I can't kill him. My dad and aunt would take offense. And Tate. Tate would whop my a.s.s," he said, concentrating on the punching bag.

Arms crossed, Jack studied him. "Something wrong?"

Cole snorted inwardly. "You could say so."

Jack remained silent for long seconds. He didn't ask for specifics, and Cole knew he wouldn't. Cole liked him. Jack was primarily his brother's friend, but he was his kind of person too. Private, reliable. Ex-military and loyal to a fault. Not to mention cold and deadly dangerous when crossed.

"Are you done killing that bag?"

"Nope. Why?"

Jack shrugged. "Just wondering if you'd be interested in an opponent that could hit back."

"Sure. Bring it on."

Getting worked up and pounded on by someone like Jack for the next couple of hours would be a welcome distraction. Besides, he had nowhere to go. Tonight there was some karaoke thing scheduled in the town's park. Christy would be there with her friends, smiling and having a great time. He didn't want to waste his time there pretending he wasn't p.i.s.sed that she was keeping her distance from him, and he couldn't go to her and call her on it. No, thank you; he couldn't go through that tonight.

Chapter Twelve.

Christy leaned against the wall, high heels in hand, and waited for Tate to open the front door to Rosita's. She seemed to have trouble getting the key into the lock, but who could blame her? Christy herself had had difficulties sticking a straw in her mouth. A key in a lock? Ha!

As far as Christy was concerned, there was no way to survive any bachelorette party with dignity, especially one where you were forced to wear a pink, bunny-number-six, ready-to-party, skintight, t.i.ts-popping shirt along with bunny ears. And an extremely short black skirt and high heels to match. Thank G.o.d the constant flow of alcohol had kept her anesthetized against embarra.s.sment. Although more than thanking G.o.d for that, she should probably thank the text on her back. Buy this poor, all-dried-up bunny a shot, and she'll give you a smile. She wasn't complaining; poor Tate had had it worse. Putting Elle in charge hadn't been one of Tate's finest ideas. Not that Elle couldn't throw a kick-a.s.s party, because she obviously could, but being able to live through it in one piece was another matter.

Holly had helped too, but it'd been Elle calling the shots. c.o.c.ktail drinks and supper at a very "in" restaurant in downtown Boston. How she'd managed to get them in dressed as they were was a mystery. After causing a ruckus there, they'd moved on to a new club, where Elle had apparently known someone, since they had been led inside right away, the men in the queue whistling and all but offering themselves for the girls' enjoyment.

True to her word, Elle hadn't bought any strippers for Tate, but hey, the night was young, right? Besides, two guys had decided to give them a show at the bar before the bouncers had taken them down. Men. Ugh.

"Come on in, ladies." Elle gestured as Tate finally got the front door to Rosita's open, where they had come for a nightcap. Twenty tired, drunk, pink bunnies marched in, most of them barefoot with their shoes in hand.

Sophie went to the nearest booth and sat down. "I'm beat."

"Me too," Annie said. "I'm too old for this heavy partying."

Holly looked incredulously at her. "Says the girl who bagged a gigolo. For free on top of that."

Annie blushed. "It didn't go like that. I didn't plan for it. Luigi was sitting beside me during dinner. So s.e.xy, so...Italian. We struck up a conversation, danced a bit, and one thing led to another. You know how these things are."

Sophie snorted. "No, I don't, sweetie."

As the girls argued, Christy watched the other bunnies occupying the other booths. Thank G.o.d Aunt Maggie wasn't in attendance this time. It had been bad enough to have her sitting near Christy during the pleasure party Elle had organized for Tate the other day, surrounded by d.i.l.d.os and other more colorful and less recognizable stuff.

"When are you coming to my next barbecue?" Aunt Maggie had asked as the pleasure party consultant finished with the basics and began discussing remote-control panties and something called vibrating eggs.

Never, probably?

Before she'd had time to come up with an answer that wouldn't lead to more questions, Aunt Maggie continued, "Cole is mighty grumpy these days. Would you happen to know why?"

"Ah...no. You'd have to talk to Cole about that."

She wasn't sure why he was p.i.s.sed. And it'd be useless for her to ask him because he barely talked to her nowadays. He'd closed down totally on her.

In bed he was even more dominant than before, as if a.s.serting his control-his power. The s.e.x was still good-h.e.l.l, it was better than good. Anything Cole did worked for her, but when it was over, it left her with a dull ache in the pit of her stomach. This new Cole made her feel...alone. And used. As if he was punishing her with her own body and she wasn't smart enough to stop coming.

"Talk to him? There's no talking to him nowadays. He mostly snarls," Aunt Maggie had said while she took the vibrating egg being held out to her. She turned it on. "Oh, my dear." She'd giggled. Then she turned to Christy again. "You don't seem to be spending so much time together as you used to. Why?"

"And for all you daring ladies, we have harnesses for strap-on d.i.l.d.os, furry cuffs, and nipple suckers."

Talking to Cole's aunt while having that kind of conversation going on in the background hadn't been very conducive to maintaining her state of mind. Or soothing. Aunt Maggie hadn't been bothered by any of that, though, because her gaze never wavered from Christy.

She had searched for an appropriate response. "Cole has been busy and-"

"Doing what? Sweating himself to death in Mike's gym?"

Christy shrugged. "We weren't seriously dating. We just went out together a few times."

"A few times is a h.e.l.l of a lot for someone like Cole. I love him, but he can be extremely difficult. Cole is terrified of giving himself to anyone, of being vulnerable. Please be patient. He'll come around. Just don't give up on him."

"I-" She hadn't known how to answer to that.

"Cole needs someone like you. Someone real. He was relaxed around you and enjoyed himself. I've never seen him like that with a woman."

But he doesn't want me around him. Not unless it's with my legs up in the air.

"And you don't fool me," the old lady had continued. "You care about him."

Care about Cole? Unfortunately what she felt for Cole had already gone past "care." She'd already lost a big chunk of her heart to him, no matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise.

What an idiot she was.

In the beginning she hadn't wanted to get involved with him because physically he'd intimidated her, which was d.a.m.n ironic, because the real threat had lain on the emotional plane all along. She should have been scared of the potential damage he would inflict on her heart, not of the physical boundaries he would smash on his way to it.

It'd be smarter to sever all contact with him, even the intimate kind, but glutton for punishment that she was, Christy didn't want to lose that last connection she had with him. She didn't want to cut his access to her body. And hers to his. Cole had turned out to be a drug, and she craved him, his touch, his presence. If s.e.x was the only thing she could have from him, then she'd take it, never mind how conflicted this new Cole made her feel. Although truth be told, she didn't seem the only one conflicted about the current state of affairs.

A couple of days ago she'd been spending the evening with the girls, singing karaoke songs and laughing themselves silly in the town's park, when she'd noticed Cole there. She didn't know how long he'd been there, watching her from afar, his arms crossed, his stance hard. When it was time to go home, he'd approached her, and she noticed the left side of his face was a bit worse for wear, a b.u.mp on his cheekbone and a nasty cut over his brow.

"Cole, what on earth-"

"Your place," he said, grabbing her hand and dragging her out of the park.

"I thought we weren't seeing each other today."

"We are."

He didn't say a word on the way home, and once there, he took her to her bedroom and began unceremoniously undressing her.