Irresistibly Yours (Oxford #1)(33)

He thought only of her. Of them. His tongue nudged her lips apart, and she surprised him by slipping her own tongue into his mouth, tangling with his in teasing yet urgent strokes.

For someone who claimed to not have much kissing experience, she sure as hell seemed to know precisely what he liked.

He shifted them even closer, the hand on her neck sliding back so that her head was cradled in the crook of his elbow, as he held her small frame against him and devoured her mouth.

A car door slammed, and Penelope jumped, her hands pushing against his shoulders as she moved away.

It was on the tip of Cole’s tongue to protest the end of the kiss, when he saw the panicked look on her face.

She was freaked out.

Abruptly he released her and stepped back.

Penelope gave a painfully awkward smile to the elderly couple who’d just exited the cab and given them an indulgent look.

Cole was still trying to gather his thoughts—hell, was still waiting for the world to stop spinning—when she closed the distance between them once again, her hand coming up as she jabbed a finger in his face.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Cole’s mouth dropped open.

Not exactly the response he’d been expecting. Or hoping for.

“Hey, hold on now—” he said.

He reached for her, but she stepped back. “Don’t you dare, Cole Sharpe.”

Her voice was firm and unwavering, but her lips shook, just a little, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on here.

Talk about mixed signals. She looked mad and scared and aroused, all at the same time.

“Penelope—”

She shook her head. “No. I told you we weren’t doing this. That day at the Irish bar, remember?”

“Sure, but—”

“I don’t want this, Cole. I don’t want you, not like this.”

Well…hell. What did a man say to that?

He wanted to snap that her kiss had said otherwise. That a woman didn’t kiss the hell out of a man she doesn’t want.

“You’re telling me you didn’t feel anything with that kiss?” he asked, hating what the question revealed—that he’d felt something—but he threw it out there anyway.

She looked away, and his eyes narrowed. “Of course I did. You’re very…skilled.”

He felt a little thrill of victory, and started to reach for her again, but her next words stopped him cold.

“But so was Lincoln. Skilled, I mean. And don’t get me wrong, it’s flattering to have all you gorgeous guys kissing girls like me all willy-nilly, but I don’t— Don’t do it again. Please.”

It was that last word. The please uttered with just the tiniest bit of pleading that had his hands dropping to his sides once more.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

He felt defeated. And rejected. Neither was a familiar sensation, and neither was pleasant.

But what could he do?

He’d been in her shoes dozens of times. It was never easy telling a woman that she wanted more than he had to give.

Somehow he’d never pictured how it would be on the other side, and…

It sucked.

He started to turn away, when she called his name.

Cole turned around, found her watching him with a nervous expression. “We’ll be okay, right? On Monday?”

He forced a grin. “Absolutely, Tiny.”

It wasn’t until he’d put several blocks between the two of them that he let his forced smile slip.

But as he trudged home through the snow, Cole knew one thing for sure. Penelope Pope would never find out just how much that kiss had rocked him.

Or how much that rejection had burned.





Chapter 11


True to Cole’s word, he hadn’t let Monday get awkward.

Nor Tuesday. Or Wednesday…or any of the days that followed. Nearly two weeks had passed, and to say that it was like the kiss had never happened was the ultimate in understatements.

Which was good. Really good.

Or so Penelope had told herself twice a day, every day since it had happened.

“Yo, Tiny—you coming to lunch?” Cole asked, knocking on her doorframe.

Lincoln appeared behind Cole. “Yes, come with.”

She chewed her lip. “I shouldn’t. I brought a sandwich.”

Cole made a thumbs-down motion. “Boo. We’re going to Roadie’s.”

“Onion rings,” Penelope breathed reverently.

Cole lifted an eyebrow in challenge. The man was getting to know her all too well. He understood that her appetite ran more toward battered and fried onions than it did the turkey on whole wheat sandwich that was waiting for her in the fridge.

Then she glanced down at the article she was working on. “I have to finish this before my meeting with Cassidy.”

“Need help?” Cole asked. “I can stay.”

Cole didn’t see the surprised, thoughtful look Lincoln shot him? but Penelope did. Lincoln shifted his gaze to hers, wiggling his eyebrows, and she gave him a Knock it off look.

“No, I’m good,” she told Cole, not wanting Lincoln to get the wrong idea. Or heck, not wanting Cole to get the wrong idea.

Although she doubted she needed to worry about that. Any vibes she’d gotten the night of The Kiss that he’d seen her as a woman rather than a colleague hadn’t made even the briefest reappearance.