Irresistibly Yours (Oxford #1)(27)

“Oh yeah, because that’ll make them more comfortable,” she said. “Plus it’s supposed to snow tonight.”

Cole threw his arms in the air. “Damn it, woman. Wear your sneakers for all I care.”

She pursed her lips. “Nah. Boots.”

“Fine. Can we go now?”

“No! What about makeup? I’ve mastered mascara, mostly, but I could use some help on what eye shadow would look good.”

Cole stared at her, waiting to see if she was joking, then shook his head. “No. Hell no.”

He moved toward the door and she followed him. “But I don’t know—”

Cole pulled her small purse off a hook by the door. “This what you’re bringing?”

“Yes, but—”

He looped the strap unceremoniously over her shoulder. “Get your cellphone or whatever else you need and then we’re out of here.”

She opened her mouth. “But—”

He sighed and took a step forward. Her words broke off as his hands lifted to her head. Very slowly, his fingers pushed into her hair, trying to ignore how silky it felt against his fingers as he sought out the rubber band that held it in place.

Gently, he tugged, sliding the band inch by inch until her dark hair spilled all over her shoulders. All over his hands.

“There,” he said, his voice just slightly rough. “Now you’re ready.”

She was looking up at him, her expression unreadable, and he felt a sudden surge of tenderness for this woman he barely knew and yet somehow knew completely.

Cole cleared his throat and took a step back. “You don’t need makeup to look good, Penelope.”

“That’s what guys always say the second before they give themselves whiplash looking at some gussied-up Victoria’s Secret model,” she grumbled lightly as she pulled on her boots.

“Sure,” he agreed amiably. “But just because we want to sleep with the Victoria’s Secret model doesn’t mean we want to wake up beside her in the morning.”

“Well, that’s very comforting, Sharpe,” she said primly as she locked her door. “But save it for someone who isn’t alone every night and every morning.”

Cole wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he said nothing as they made their way down the hall to her elevator.

Penelope looked thoughtful as she punched the down button. “Hey, did Cassidy or Jake mention if Lincoln would be there tonight?”

He gave her a startled look. “Do you want him to be?”

She didn’t respond as she stepped into the elevator.

Cole followed her a little surprised—and annoyed—by how desperately he wanted her to answer.





Chapter 9


It took all of five minutes of being at the Malones’ gorgeous high-rise apartment for Penelope to realize what was happening: She was hanging out with the beautiful people.

Those people you saw in TV or movies. The ones you watched while wearing sweats and shoving popcorn in your face and thinking that real people couldn’t possibly look like that. And surely people didn’t really throw dinner parties where there’s a color scheme to the table linens and fresh flowers all over the place.

But they did exist, and she was one of them. Sort of.

For tonight anyway.

And Penelope had been only half right about her stress over what to wear.

On one hand, as expected, the women of the group were all perfectly put together. But on the other hand, they were so freaking nice that she was pretty sure she could have worn one of her jerseys and rattiest jeans, and they wouldn’t have even blinked.

“So, Penelope, tell us honestly now,” said Riley McKenna, as the gorgeous brunette hooked her arm through Penelope’s and guided her toward the couch. “How is it working in the testosterone cage?”

It took Penelope a minute to understand what Riley meant. “The Oxford offices? Is that what it’s called?”

“No,” Emma said with a dismissive wave of her hand as she came to join them in the living room. “That’s not a thing, ignore Riley.”

“Yes, but there is a lot of testosterone up there,” Riley argued. “Am I right?”

“Yes, dear, but unless we want them to start calling Stiletto the estrogen cave, I suggest we—”

“Estrogen cave sounds like a name for vagina,” Riley said.

Penelope choked on the white wine she’d been sipping, and Emma gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry about Riley. She forgets that names for genitalia aren’t appropriate dinner party conversation.”

“They are in this group,” Riley said.

Emma ignored her friend and leaned forward with an eager smile for Penelope. “Okay, but do tell us…how is it really working with Cole and Lincoln? Which one’s hotter? I mean, they’re both hot, but which one makes you all panty?”

“Wait!” a feminine voice called out.

Julie Greene grabbed a wine bottle, filled up her glass, and then made a beeline for them. “How dare you talk about the good stuff while I was helping make dinner?”

“You weren’t helping, Jules!” Grace called from the kitchen. “You massacred the bread!”

“Julie can’t cook,” Riley said, patting her friend on the knee.