a little harder, burrowing his face into her neck.
“Oh, goodness, you’re probably hungry. You missed dinner last night, too.” Leaving the bedroom, she carried him to the kitchen and set him in his highchair. “How about some applesauce?”
She took his gurgle as a sign of approval. After retrieving a jar from the pantry, she pulled a spoon out of the drawer and scooted a chair closer. “Yum. Is this what you wanted?”
Half-way through the meal, Miranda’s neck tingled. Glancing over her shoulder, she jerked. The spoon poked Jackson in the cheek. She turned away from Cole’s intent stare and wiped the baby’s face with a napkin. “Sorry to disturb you. I was trying to keep him quiet.”
“No problem. Is everything okay?”
“He woke up crying, but I think he’s just hungry.” When Jackson smacked his lips, she chuckled. “This little guy doesn’t like skipping meals.”
“We have that in common.” He walked around the table and sat.
His eyes deepened to the color of dark chocolate as his gaze strayed downward. Cheeks flaming, she tugged the T-shirt lower across her thighs and tried not to stare at his bare chest above faded jeans. Muscle rippled beneath smooth skin as he slouched lower in the chair. At least he’d had the decency to pull on his pants.
“You can go back to bed.”
“I wasn’t having much luck sleeping, anyway.”
Scraping the jar, she slid the last bite into Jackson’s mouth. “Why’s that?”
“Worried, I guess.”
“No sign of concussion, so you can relax.” Miranda lifted Jackson from the chair and patted his back. When his eyelids drooped, she smiled. “I think he’ll rest soundly, now.”
“That’s a relief.” Standing, he trailed after her and waited inside the doorway while she put the baby in the crib. “Miranda, can I ask you—”
“Hush, he’s almost asleep.” Walking toward him, she held the T-shirt down with one hand and motioned toward the hall with the other.
He caught her fingers and pulled her out of the room behind him. Turning, he wrapped his arms around her waist. The warmth of his skin burned through the thin cotton, and her nipples pearled. When his breath fanned her face, her knees wobbled.
Grabbing the doorframe, she held on tight. “No, Cole. I’m not going to—”
His lips closed over hers, the taste of him so familiar she moaned. One hand crept up to touch the base of his neck where wisps of hair tickled the backs of her fingers. The other released the doorframe to glide across the smooth skin of his side. With need overriding common sense, she kissed him back. Damp heat melded them together from chest to thighs.
A hard prod against her stomach pulled her out of passion induced stupidity, and she gave him a shove. Gasping for breath, she closed her eyes. “We can’t.”
He waited until she raised her gaze to meet his, then glanced down at the bulge in his jeans. “Can’t isn’t an issue. More like, you won’t.”
Heat flared through her as waning desire mixed with a healthy dose of irritation. “You’ve got that right. I’m not going to let you talk me into bed.”
“Jesus, Miranda, I ache with wanting you.” He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the wall. “No one else makes me feel like this.”
The irritation edged toward bitterness. “Bet that hasn’t stopped you from trying.”
Her anger dissolved. Of course he’d pursued other women. Just because she hadn’t been able to bring herself to sleep with another man didn’t mean he—
“I think you’d be surprised.” He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you, not when you’ve made your feelings clear.” He straightened with arms crossed over his bare chest. “Friends is better than nothing, so will you give me a second chance?”
Her heart thumped painfully as she stared into warm, brown eyes. “A second chance at what, exactly?”
“I’ve barely seen you in the last six months. Can’t we still
Learning to Kill: Stories