Page 123 of Shelter
But in the next instant he plucked something from the head of the bed and turned back to me. He held his gray shirt, now more than a little wrinkled and missing its bottom button.
With the shirt in one hand, he took my right wrist in the other. When he tugged at it, I held firm, keeping my arm tight against me. I was trying to stay covered, after all. With a frustrated sigh, he released me.
“It’s ironic,” he said again, gathering his shirt in both hands until he rolled up one of the sleeves. “That I’ve always felt safest with you…” He took the wadded-up armhole and worked it over my uncooperative hand. My arm disappeared in the shelter of his sleeve, and his shirt front draped over my chest. “But you’ve always felt at risk with me.”
Cole slid his hands under my back and lifted me to sitting. And all I could do was gape as he drew the shirt around my shoulders. The garment swallowed me, and I watched in bemused silence as he stuck his hand through the empty left cuff and groped up the hollow sleeve until he snagged my elbow.
I let him move me this time, his hand blindly finding mine under the fabric before drawing it through the cuff.
I mastered my voice when his fingers met at the top button. “You… you felt safe with me?” The words were barely a rasp.
I wanted to touch him now, hold his hands, but they were busy buttoning me into his shirt.
Cole shook his head slowly, his focus never leaving his work. “Not just safe,” he said. “Safest.”
“With me.” It wasn’t a question, but we both heard my disbelief.
Cole raised his chin, leaned forward, and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. He settled back. “Elise, I was always safest when I was with you.” His gaze sobered. “And not just because my father would never hit me when you were around — though I was always grateful for that.”
With an ache in my chest, I remembered the first time I’d seen the marks his father had given him. And the second time. And the third. I’d lost count after that.
Cole reached the last surviving button and fastened it before tugging on the bottom of the shirt and smoothing it over me. It was only then I felt its expensive softness and realized I was blanketed in Cole’s clean, male scent.
He put his hand to my cheek, teasing my skin with the gentle glide of his thumb. “I was safest when I was with you because you always had my back. You looked out for me. You protected me. You kept my secrets.” He looked at me with something like awe, a frown playing on his brow. “I never had to pretend with you.”
I swallowed, my heart now pounding almost painfully. I watched him force a grin that didn’t meet his eyes. “Even when we were kids and you hated my guts.”
“I never hated you,” I whispered, suddenly aware of the unwieldy love I’d carried for him since what had to be the beginning of time. The lifelong desire for him to love me back.
At my claim, Cole’s brow lifted in a sardonic arch. I rolled my eyes.
“You drove me crazy, and sometimes I was mad at you, but I always—” I stopped before I could tell him the whole truth. Cole shifted his gaze on me, watching me closely.
“You always what?”
I gulped and then took the coward’s way out. “Cared about you,” I supplied. “Even when you drove me crazy.”
Those crystal blue eyes narrowed on me with a look I didn’t quite recognize. It was like Cole knew a secret. He looked both startled and smug. He threw his legs off the side of the bed.
“C’mon.” He grabbed my hand and tugged.
At his urging, I slid from the mattress. “Where are we going?”
We were halfway across the room before he answered. “To the bathroom, of course.”
A seductive vision of sharing a shower with Cole invaded my mind. “Wh-what are we going to do there?”
Still walking, Cole threw me a bemused glance over his shoulder. “We’re going to brush our teeth and get ready for bed. What else?”
I clamped my mouth shut and shrugged like an idiot. We stepped into his bathroom — a place of gleaming white tile and a cast iron tub — and stopped at the vanity. Pursing his lips, Cole gave me a scrutinizing look.
“Hmm…” he muttered.
“Hmmwhat?” I asked.
He crossed his arms over his chest and stroked his chin. It was a great chin. Strong. Virile. It paired beautifully with the smirk he now wore.
“I’m just trying to figure out whether or not you’re a germaphobe.”
