Page 12 of Unbreakable Bonds (The Boston Romance #2)

All three of them groan in perfect drunk harmony.

"Girl." Bella leans forward, almost falling off her seat. "The man looks at you like you're water in the desert. And he's clearly thirsty."

"So thirsty," Amanda agrees, nodding enthusiastically. "Like, Sahara Desert thirsty."

"Death Valley thirsty," Emma adds, giggling.

"You're all drunk," I accuse, pointing at each of them in turn and missing slightly.

"And you're in denial," they chorus back.

"I am not in..." I trail off, remembering how Cole's eyes darkened when he had me against the wall this morning. How his breath caught when I bit my lip. How his hands trembled slightly when he adjusted my stance. "Oh fuck."

"There it is!" Amanda crows triumphantly. "Now, what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to..." I reach for my wine glass, missing it twice before succeeding, "...drink more wine and hope these feelings go away."

"Wrong answer!" Bella sing-songs, her head bobbing like one of those dashboard dogs. "You're going to march up to his penthouse and—"

"And what?" I snort, almost choking on my wine. "Jump his bones?"

"Yes!” Amanda and Bella shout in unison, making Emma jump and spill her water.

"Oh god." Emma struggles to stand up from the couch, her pregnant belly making it a three-attempt process. "I need to go home before you convince her to do something crazy. Talking about desirable men makes me hot, and I need to cuddle with my sexy husband. He's fabulous at putting out my fire."

"Oh god, not again." Amanda covers her ears dramatically, almost poking herself in the eye. "You two are like horny rabbits."

Emma's laugh is pure evil as she grabs her coat.

"You're just jealous because I'm having the best sex of everyone here while you ladies have to do with wet dreams and vibrators.

" She winks at me, the designated Uber driver already on his way.

"Though that might change if someone gets her act together. "

I try to stand to walk them out and stumble, catching myself on the armrest. "Shit, when did the floor get so wobbly?"

The goodbye hugs are more like drunk penguin waddles, with Emma trying to keep us all upright.

When it's Amanda's turn, she grabs my shoulders, missing on the first try, and whispers with her wine-heavy tongue, "You s-should visit Cole, right now, and jump his bones.

Don't do what I'm doing with Mr. Brainy-Fucking-Hot Brian. "

I giggle, the room spinning pleasantly. "You should follow your own advice." Amanda's answering moan is half frustration, half desire.

Sober Emma offers both of us her arms like some sort of pregnancy-powered designated walker. After they leave, I stumble back to my favorite seat, almost missing it entirely, and empty the last of the wine into my glass. Oh god, this pinot is fine. Or am I fine? We're both fine.

My fuzzy brain drifts back to Mr. Walker. The way he looks at me during training, like he's fighting some internal battle. The way his hands feel when he corrects my stance, strong but so gentle. The chemical attraction between us that makes the air crack with electricity.

I recall the girls' wine-soaked advice: kiss him or jump his bones. The old Alisha would have already done it. Hell, the old Alisha would have climbed him like a jungle gym weeks ago. But now...

My eyes land on my phone, lying innocently next to the empty bottle of wine. Bad idea. Terrible idea. The worst idea ever.

"Fuck it." I grab the phone, dropping it twice before successfully unlocking it. "I need an answer, and I need it now."

I squint at my phone screen, the letters doing a little dance as I scroll through my contacts. When did Cole's name get so hard to find? After three attempts, I finally manage to type: Cole?

I stare at the screen, my alcohol-soaked brain conjuring various scenarios. Maybe he's asleep. Maybe he's busy. Maybe he's... Oh, dots! Moving dots! My heart does a drunken somersault as I watch those three little dots bounce.

Alisha?

Just my name, but god—even his texts sound sexy. Get it together, McQueen. I let myself fall back onto the loveseat, almost sliding off. How should I respond? I'm still staring at the ceiling, watching it spin slightly, when my phone rings.

The sound makes me jump so hard I nearly drop it. With fumbling fingers and my heart threatening to escape my chest, I manage to hit the green button.

"Hey. Is everything alright?" His voice, deep and slightly concerned, makes warmth bloom in my chest.

"Oh, yeaaah." I try to sound casual but my wine-loosened tongue betrays me. "Just enjoying my very, very tasty wine."

He chuckles, a low, sexy sound that makes my toes curl. "Are you drunk?"

"Drunk? Nooo." I wave my hand dismissively at my empty apartment. "Tipsy? Maybe. Possibly. Probably. I called for an emergency girls' night at my place."

"Oh?" His tone turns teasing, playful even. "Why did you need that?"

"Because I've got a gigantic problem..." I bite my bottom lip, the wine dissolving what's left of my filter. Don't say it, don't say it, don't— "Oh, fuck it. You, Bulldozer, are my problem."

"What did I do?"

The genuine confusion in his voice makes me roll my eyes so hard I get dizzy.

"What did you do? What did you DO?" My voice rises with each word.

"You took off your t-shirt in front of a woman who hasn't had sex in ages.

You can't fucking do that!" The words pour out now, unstoppable.

"Do you have any idea what seeing you like that does to me?

How many cold showers I've had to take?"

"Alisha, stop."

"Oh, no, you will listen." The wine has me on a roll now. "You, Cole Walker, with your stupid perfect abs and your stupid gentle hands and your stupid sexy voice—you affect me in ways I never thought possible, and it's driving me absolutely crazy."

"Huh? What?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." I throw my free hand up in exasperation. "Are men actually this dense? Fine, I'll use small words: I. Get. So. Fucking. Horny. Around. You."

The grunt he lets out is almost animal. "Were you aroused this morning, against the wall?"

His voice has dropped an octave, and suddenly my mouth is dry. "Yes..."

The sound he makes sends liquid heat straight through me.

"Sorry," I mumble, my wine-soaked brain catching up with my mouth.

"I know you and I don't fit together. We're so different.

I don't fucking understand why this happens, but I can't help it.

" I take another breath, might as well empty the whole bottle of truth.

"God, I'm even having wet dreams about you. "

His cough sounds strangled. When he speaks again, his voice is rough, strained. "What happened in your dream?"

The question sends heat spiraling through me. Is he...is he actually interested? "We kissed," I admit, my drunk honesty making me bold.

I hear him inhale sharply, followed by the sound of his hand dragging through his beard. My fuzzy brain imagines how his lips would feel against mine, how his beard would scratch against my skin.

"How good was it?" His voice has dropped even lower, the gravelly tone setting my nerves on fire.

"Fucking fantastic," I breathe out. "But how is that possible when it wasn't even real?"

"With a mouth like yours, it can only be magnificent."

The raw desire in his voice makes me press my thighs together. "Are you saying you've got a weak spot for my lips, Grumpy?"

"Oh, you and your sassy mouth have invaded my mind many times."

My alcohol-addled brain short circuits. He thinks about my mouth? He thinks about ME? Before I can stop myself, I'm on my feet, swaying slightly but determined. "I need to see you."

I end the call before he can respond, before common sense can kick in. The room spins a little as I grab my keys, but I manage to make it to the elevator. This is such a bad idea. But for once, I don't care.

The ride up to his penthouse is a blur of anticipation and pinot noir courage. When I reach his floor, I find myself leaning against the wall opposite his door, trying to steady my racing heart. What am I doing?

Before I can answer that question, before I can talk myself out of it, I knock. The sound seems too loud in the quiet hallway.

The door opens and— oh sweet baby Jesus —he's standing there in low-slung sweatpants and nothing else. My eyes drink in the sight of him: broad shoulders, sculpted chest, those abs that have starred in my dreams. When I finally drag my gaze up to his face, his eyes are midnight dark.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" His voice is gravel and silk.

I push myself away from the wall, swaying slightly as I move toward him. My eyes are locked on his chest, watching the way his muscles tense as I approach. The wine makes me bold, makes me want.

"I need an answer, Cole," I purr, my voice coming out sultry despite my spinning head. My hand reaches out, trailing over his abdomen. The contact makes us both inhale sharply. His skin is hot, like touching a live wire.

He lets out a rough sound—half groan, half warning—as my fingers explore higher, tracing each defined muscle. When I reach his chest, I can feel his heart hammering under my palm.

"Alisha..." My name sounds like a prayer and a curse on his lips.

I push up on my toes, my balance slightly off but my determination strong. "Stop thinking so much," I whisper, my lips inches from his. His scent—citrus and pure male—makes my head spin more than the wine. Or maybe it's both. Maybe it's everything about him.

His hands grip the doorframe, knuckles white with restraint. "You're drunk."

"Tipsy," I correct, my fingers finding the nape of his neck. His hair is soft against my skin. "But I've wanted to do this since before the first glass of wine."

I watch his control crack, see the moment his resistance crumbles in his eyes. Like a predator finally unleashed, he pulls me against him. The heat of his bare chest burns through my thin top.