Pocketful of Sand(24)

What. Is it. About. Cole?

I don’t know how many minutes have passed–ten, twenty, sixty?– when an insistent fist bangs on the door. Two sharp knocks. My heart is thumping heavily in my chest when I get up to go answer it. But that’s nothing compared to the wild galloping that commences when I open it to find Cole staring at me with hunger in his eyes.

Cole.

He came back.

And he’s going to kiss me.

I can feel it like static, stimulating every fine hair on my body.

And then he drags me into his arms and puts an end to my curiosity.

His lips. I knew they’d taste like heaven. And they do. They’re the perfect mixture of firm and soft, and they move over mine with a power I always knew him capable of. It prowls in him, just beneath the surface, like a caged animal. Right now, the animal is barely contained. I feel it in the way his lips urge mine apart, in the way his tongue tangles and dominates mine, sending shockwaves of thrill all the way through to my core. I feel it in the way his hand threads into my hair to hold me still for his plundering.

He’s capturing me.

And I’m captured.

He wants me.

And I’m all his.

And I love it. I love it all. More than I ever thought I could.

When we’re both panting breathlessly, Cole raises his head and spears me with a blue gaze hotter than the tip of a flame. As I watch, he licks his lips, as if savoring the taste of me. Saliva pours into my mouth, making me crave the fresh mint of his tongue more than ever. Now that I know what it’s like, I won’t be able to get enough.

“Eden,” he says in his incredible voice, staring down at me with his incredible eyes.

“Yes?” I all but sway, hypnotized by the spell he’s cast over me.

He could ask me anything right now, anything at all, and I’d agree to it. I’m putty in his hands.

“Get out of my head. Please. I don’t want you there.” His words are soft. Sincere. Heartbreaking.

But before devastation sets in, I realize exactly what he said. What it means. And I’m thrilled.

I’m in his head.





FOURTEEN


Eden



WHEN IT STARTED snowing this morning, I was braced for a foot of snow that would preclude us being able to dig out until spring. That’s the kind of thing I’d heard about Maine, but so far, that doesn’t seem very accurate. The big, fat, beautiful flakes have been falling all day, but the roads are still clear and it appears that life is going on as usual in Miller’s Pond.

I woke Emmy up early so we could take the car to Bailey’s and get some shut-in supplies–food, matches, some candles, two more blankets and a variety of fun-yet-not-necessary things like marshmallows and a board game. Now, I feel like all that was a bit premature. It seems that this snow is going to peter out before it can bombard us with two-foot snowdrifts that trap us inside.

“Can we go to the beach today, Momma? And then have hot chocolate when we come back? With extra marshmallows?”

“It’s too cold, Emmy. You’ll–”

“Pleeease! I’ll bundle up. I promise. I wanna build a snowman on the beach!”

“There’s not enough snow yet to build a good snowman, sweetpea.”

“Then a little snowman. Pleeease!”

I bought her a snowsuit and boots when I sent the lease back to Jason. Living up north, I knew the lure of building a snowman would be too much for Emmy to resist without driving me completely insane.

“Thermals first. Two pairs of socks and–” She’s racing toward her bedroom before I can even finish. “And a toboggan, young lady!” I yell so she can hear me above her excited thumping and bumping.

Ten minutes later, she runs, albeit slower, back out into the living room, looking like the Michelin Man’s firstborn. All I can see is her eyes, nose and mouth. Everything else is covered.

She stops in front of me for inspection, her emerald eyes flashing brightly from the flushed oval of her face. I peek into the neck of her jacket to make sure the thermals are there, which they are. Then I pull down one sock to make sure another elastic band is hiding underneath, which it is.

“Good girl,” I tell her with a pat to her padded butt. “Let me get my boots and jacket.”

She’s all but dancing from foot to foot by the time I get her feet in boots and then get my coat and boots on. We strike out across the street and down toward the beach. When we pass the cabin I know now to be Cole’s, a little chill races down my spine that has nothing to do with the temperature or the falling snow. It’s a beautiful place, really. Not too big, but nicely appointed. The logs are dark brown and the front is mostly stone except for the six tall windows that surround the front door. There’s a big wraparound porch with rockers on one side of it and a swing on the other. It looks like there are blue cushions on them, but all the seats are now piled with a few inches of puffy, white snow.