Page 4 of Falling for Cocky Cole (Shared by the Carter Brothers #2)

COLE

T he morning flies by faster than I expected, each minute at the Walker's stall more enjoyable than the last. I catch Mrs. Walker—Maggie—almost smiling at me when I correctly explain to a customer why Honeycrisps cost more.

Not a full smile, mind you, but the permanent crease between her eyebrows has softened. Progress.

Tom's been treating me like an old friend, calling me "son" once when I helped him rearrange the display, and talking about the orchard like I might actually visit.

But Ivy—Ivy's the puzzle. She won't look at me when I'm looking at her, but I feel her eyes on me constantly.

Every time I catch her watching, she glances away, but not before I glimpse something in her expression I can't quite read.

I didn't plan this morning to go so well.

I figured I'd show up, maybe buy some apples, try to get five minutes alone with Ivy.

I didn't expect to spend hours helping her family, learning more about apples than I ever thought I'd want to know, or actually enjoying myself.

But here I am, feeling oddly at home under this worn canvas tent, surrounded by the fruits of the Walker family's labor.

Around noon, the crowd thins out. Most market-goers have wandered toward the food trucks and picnic tables at the far end of the square. Tom wipes his hands on his jeans and looks around at our group.

"I'm thinking burgers," he announces. "Anyone else hungry? What'll you have, Cole?"

I hesitate, glancing at Ivy who's focused on restacking a pile of apple chip bags. "Thanks, Mr. Walker, but I should probably head back to Carter Ridge. I've taken up enough of your morning."

"Nonsense," Tom starts, but Maggie cuts him off.

"Tom, let's go grab those burgers," she says, reaching for her purse. Then, to my complete surprise, she turns to me. "Cole, would you mind staying a moment? Help Ivy with the stall?"

Ivy's head snaps up, her blue eyes wide with shock. I'm sure my expression matches hers.

"It's obvious you two have things to sort out," Maggie continues, giving her daughter a pointed look. "And I think we all know you didn't come here just to buy apples or sell cider."

I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. "Thank you, Mrs. Walker."

"Mom!" Ivy protests, a flush crawling up her neck.

Maggie simply raises an eyebrow at her daughter, then takes Tom's arm and leads him away. Tom looks confused but follows willingly, calling over his shoulder that they'll be back in twenty minutes.

The moment they're out of earshot, the air between Ivy and me grows thick with unspoken words. She turns away, busying herself with sorting apples that are already perfectly arranged.

I clear my throat, suddenly nervous in a way I rarely am around women. "So," I say, trying for humor, "you prefer sorting apples to sorting things out between us?"

Ivy snorts but doesn't turn around.

"Come on, Ivy," I press, leaning against the table. "What happened to your sharp tongue? You're supposed to say something biting."

She sighs, finally setting down the apple in her hand and turning to face me. "What good would it do? Would it stop you from showing up in my life?"

Her question hangs in the air between us. I step closer, searching her face. "Is that what you want? For me to stay away from you?"

She doesn't answer, her eyes dropping to the ground.

"Ivy." I take another step toward her, close enough now to smell the faint apple-cinnamon scent that clings to her hair. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

Still no answer. Her breathing has quickened; I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"Was Wednesday night nothing to you?" I ask, my voice dropping lower. "Just a casual hookup? Because it wasn't for me." I pause, gathering courage to be more honest than I usually am. "It was something special. I've always liked you, Ivy. Always wanted you."

A tremor runs through her, and she finally meets my eyes. "How do I know you're not lying?" The vulnerability in her voice catches me off guard.

I narrow my eyes, feeling stung by the accusation. "Because I never lie. Not about this." I step even closer, our bodies almost touching now. "Everything I've done, everything I've said to you has been real."

I reach out, unable to stop myself from touching her. My thumb brushes across her bottom lip, and I feel her shiver. "You want to know what I want, Ivy?"

Her eyes have turned dreamy, unfocused. "What?" she whispers.

"I want to kiss these lips that have been haunting my dreams since Wednesday night." My voice is rough with desire. "I want to make love to you again, right here."

She gasps, eyes widening. "You can't. We're in public."

I shrug, not taking my eyes from hers. "I don't give a damn. I'd like to show the entire town of Silvercreek that Ivy Walker is mine."

The possessiveness in my voice surprises even me. I didn't plan to say that—didn't even know I felt that way until the words were out. But seeing her reaction—the way her pupils dilate, the quick intake of breath—tells me it was exactly the right thing to say.

I've always been good with women. I know what they want to hear, know how to make them feel special for a night or two.

But this is different. I'm not playing a game with Ivy.

I'm not even sure I know how to play this game.

All I know is that I need her to understand that Wednesday night wasn't just another conquest. That she isn't just another woman.

That she might be the woman.

The thought terrifies me more than I care to admit. Cole Carter doesn't do relationships. Cole Carter doesn't get attached. At least, that's what everyone in Silvercreek thinks—including, apparently, Ivy and her mother.

But as I stand here, inches from her, watching the conflict play out in those clear blue eyes, I realize I'm willing to prove them all wrong. If that's what it takes to have her, I'll rewrite my entire reputation. I'll be the man she needs me to be.

Because the alternative—walking away, letting her believe I'm the heartbreaker everyone thinks I am—is suddenly unthinkable.

Ivy starts to say she isn't mine, but I can't wait another second.

I pull her against me and press my lips to hers, swallowing her protest. For one terrible moment, she's stiff in my arms, and I think I've made a massive mistake.

Then she melts, her body softening as her arms slide around my neck.

She kisses me back with an intensity that makes my head spin, pressing herself against me until I feel the hard outline of my desire against her hip.

I groan into her mouth, my hands finding the small of her back, drawing her closer still.

Her lips part, inviting me deeper, and I accept the invitation eagerly.

She tastes like fresh apples—sweet with a hint of tartness, just like her personality.

Her fingers thread through my hair, tugging slightly in a way that sends electricity down my spine.

For a wild moment, I consider what I said about taking her right here. The tent provides minimal privacy, but I'm far enough gone that I'm calculating the risk versus reward. I could back her against the table, lift her onto it, push aside whatever stands between us...

The thought of someone walking in—of her parents returning early—is what finally breaks through the haze of desire. That, and the memory that I'm here to change her mind about me, not confirm every bad thing she's heard. I'm here to show her I'm more than just the town playboy.

With every ounce of willpower I possess, I break the kiss. We're both breathing hard, her cheeks flushed pink, her blue eyes dark with wanting. I reach up and tuck a strand of golden hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against the soft skin of her cheek.

"Are you okay?" I ask softly.

She shakes her head slightly. "No. I'm disoriented." Her voice is breathy, unfamiliar. "It's your fault."

"I'm sorry," I say, though we both know I'm not.

"What do you want from me, Cole?" The question holds no accusation, just genuine confusion.

I take a small step back, needing the distance to think clearly. "I want a chance to prove I'm not who everyone thinks I am. That I'm just as worthy as my brothers."

Her eyebrows draw together. "It's not the right time. I—" She hesitates, looking down. "I ended a serious relationship in Portland just a few months ago. I'm not ready for anything real yet."

The admission surprises me, though it probably shouldn't. "Is that why you're home? I thought you didn’t like your job over there."

She nods. "That too. And guess what? My ex was also my boss.” She lets out a bitter laugh.

I raise an eyebrow. "No wonder."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Her eyes narrow slightly.

"Nothing," I say quickly. "It just makes more sense now."

I keep to myself what I'm really thinking—that it explains the change in her.

The Ivy Walker I knew growing up had fire in her eyes and a ready comeback for everything.

This Ivy still has the fire, but it's banked, controlled.

Like she's learned to hold back, to protect herself.

I want to ask what this ex did to her, want to drive to Portland and find the guy who made her doubt herself, but I know it's not my place. Not yet, anyway.

"I'm not asking for anything serious," I tell her, though it's only half-true. "I just want to keep seeing you. We could be friends with benefits, if that's what you want."

The term feels wrong in my mouth, inadequate for what I'm actually feeling, but I'll take what I can get. If "friends with benefits" is the door that lets me into her life, I'll walk through it and worry about upgrading my status later.

She's considering my words, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip in a way that makes me want to kiss her again, when a voice breaks into our bubble.

"Excuse me? Are you still open?"