Drawn Through You Read online

  Tryst Books

  720 Bathurst Street, Suite 303

  Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M5S 2R4

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Sarina Rhoads

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (except brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of the author or publisher.

  Front cover design: Sarina Rhoads

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Rhoads, Sarina, 1977-, author

  Drawn Through You / Sarina Rhoads.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-0-9940297-6-8 (paperback). ISBN 978-0-9940297-4-4 (epub). ISBN 978-0-9940297-5-1 (mobi).

  I. Title.

  PS8605.U444M7 2015 C813'.6 C2015-902220-7/C2015-902221-5

  This is the original electronic edition of Drawn Through You.

  CHAPTER 1

  “So, tomorrow’s the big day, hot shot. How’s it feel?”

  Cole chuckled into his brand new BlackBerry, and dropped a ten dollar bill on the bar. He didn’t have the heart to tell Jake the truth, about how he’d contemplated hopping on the next bus back to Sweetwater every night since arriving in the city three days ago. But there were people back home pushing him to live the life they didn’t have the chance to, especially his best friend.

  Cole listened while Jake professed his jealousy at length, sipping at the Sam Adams the bartender had set down in front of him and growing more homesick by the second. The cool, bitter liquid flowed down his throat with each swallow, a balm to his growing anxiety about being hours away from everything that mattered to him and having no clue what awaited him. He clung to the sound of his friend’s voice as if those words were his last tether to all he’d ever known, having lived in a small, close-knit town for much of his life.

  “Hello! Are you still there?” A loud tapping sound came from the other end of the receiver.

  Cole cleared the lump of apprehension from his throat. He was definitely still there, far away from where his true heart resided. Still stuck in Mason, a trendy, up-and-coming city just east of Toledo. Still dreading the idea of starting a new job in the morning that he didn’t really want.

  “Yeah. Still here. For now.”

  Jake groaned his obvious disappointment at Cole’s lack of enthusiasm. “Goddamn it, Cole. I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat. I would kill to get the fuck up out of this small, pissant town, and the opportunity to leave is pretty much dropped in your lap.”

  More like forced down his throat, but Jake wouldn’t understand. He couldn’t. Having experienced a rougher slice of life in Sweetwater, he didn’t possess the same sentimental ties Cole had to home.

  “Sorry, man,” he mumbled, the persistent knot of guilt twisting in his gut. He should be grateful for the opportunity to work at a successful contracting firm. Any architecture graduate’s wet dream – a dream that, oddly enough, had never been his.

  “Dude, don’t be sorry, just enjoy the shit out of this chance enough for the both of us.” Jake called him out on his promise. The day Cole had left for college, his best friend, who had neither the means nor the grades to do the same, had made him promise to make the most of it. No regrets. No pity party. As he had then, Cole wished they could somehow switch places, giving Jake the opportunity that he knew in reality his best friend was too scared to take.

  Cole forced a smile even though his friend wasn’t there to see right through it. “So long as you keep an eye on my little sister while I’m gone. And I mean just an eye.” They both knew Lacey had a small crush on Jake, and she had often struggled to formulate coherent sentences when around him, so Cole’s idle threat managed to coax a laugh from the both of them. “All right, I’m gonna finish my beer and then get some sleep.”

  “No, wait! You still haven’t told me where you’re staying. Is it nice?” Jake asked.

  Cole chuckled at his friend’s obvious attempt to drag the phone call on further. “What, no date tonight? What happened to Candy?”

  “Carmella,” Jake corrected.

  “Wow, I’m surprised. You did remember her name.” Cole grinned, enjoying the chance to give his best friend shit regarding his inability to stay in a relationship for longer than it took to pull his zipper up. Carmella was a new waitress at Sweetwater’s popular hangout, Charlie’s, a burger and bar joint nowhere near the sophistication of Cole’s current surroundings. By the end of Carmella’s first night working, Jake had her number written on a Charlie’s napkin in apple red lipstick.

  “This call is not about me. Stop stalling and give me the deats on your new crash pad.”

  Cole gave in with a soft groan. “One of my uncle’s apartments. He’s renting it to me – he claims for half the cost, but I wouldn’t know.” He cringed, realizing his answer would only give his best friend more ammunition against his desire to haul ass back to Sweetwater. “Still more than what it’s worth, in my opinion. Nothing fancy. A shoebox with some furniture.”

  “Holy shit,” Jake snorted. “You truly are one lucky bastard. You know that, right?”

  “Right,” he agreed with a heap of sarcasm.

  Cole sure didn’t feel lucky. When Jacobson’s, his family’s lumber company, had run into trouble after his father’s unexpected death, Cole’s uncle Robert had swooped in to offer his mother financial aid, like a vulture arriving on the scent of fresh carrion. But not without reiterating the risk he took by getting involved. The price was Cole’s promise to return the favor someday, no questions asked. Cole didn’t have the heart to refuse – Jacobson’s meant too much to him. And too much to his mother, who had still been mourning the loss of her beloved husband. It was his father’s legacy, and to be honest, he wasn’t ready to let it go either. But now that his uncle was calling in the favor, the price seemed too damn high.

  Pained by the memory of his father and Sweetwater, Cole couldn’t derail the call soon enough. “Take care of yourself, Jake.”

  “I always try.”

  “Night.”

  “Later.”

  Cole hit the end call button and set his phone down next to his half-empty beer bottle, tracking his finger through a ring of condensation and a small mound of discarded peanut shells. When Jacobson’s had first shown signs of concern, he had offered to turn down his full scholarship to the Ross County Institute of Technology and help get the struggling lumber business back on its feet. But Robert had always remarked on wanting Cole’s talent at his firm and had stressed the importance of a degree. Cole had suspected even then that his uncle was well aware the arrangement could one day work in his favor – that his investment in his brother’s company might actually pay off in the end. Not a horrible scenario in most cases, but Cole knew just how conniving his uncle really was and couldn’t expect Robert to have his well-being in mind.

  A tray of something grilled and delicious passed behind Cole, shifting gears on his depressing drive down Pity Lane. He turned to catch the platter of sizzling morsels disappear into a small group of people mingling with brightly colored drinks in their hands. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that all that waited in the studio’s cupboards was a deluxe package of ramen, a going-away present from Jake. Cole reached across the bar and grabbed the menu propped up against the peanut trough he’d been putting a dent in since his arrival. The short list of items listed in delicate script contrasted with the humble snack and appeared far too fancy for his taste buds.

  “The pork be
lly pinchos are my favorite.” A low, silken voice cut through the loud hum of the crowd.

  Not in the mood to make casual conversation, Cole ignored the unwanted suggestion and returned the menu to its rightful place. His stomach was far too knotted up to eat anyway.

  “Do you mind?” the voice continued.

  “Sorry, but I’m not interest–”

  Cole shot a derisive glance over his shoulder and found himself struck speechless. He felt his tongue swell up against his teeth, barricading the rest of the sentence from leaving his mouth. His unwanted company was a dark-haired beauty wearing a red silk dress that hugged her curves tighter than an Italian sports car at full throttle on the Autobahn. Plump lips a shade deeper than the dress rounded and opened slightly, revealing a set of perfect pearly whites. A dark, slender brow arched up, beckoning an answer from him. Breaking away from her entrancing eyes, the color undeterminable in the dim light, he finally noticed her finger pointing toward the bar.

  “Oh, uh no. Go ahead.” Cole cleared his throat and shifted slightly, almost knocking himself off his unsteady perch, unable to peel his eyes away from the woman who was sliding into the tight space between him and the next stool. One thing he knew for sure: they didn’t build women like her back in Sweetwater. As he inhaled the clean, sweet floral of her perfume, she summoned the bartender with the flick of a delicate hand tipped with short, jet-black nails. No wedding band. Although Cole wasn’t sure why he cared enough to notice.

  “Check,” she replied curtly to the bartender before the short, burly man could even ask the question.

  “Allow me,” Cole blurted out, not sure what the hell had possessed him to offer to pay her tab. But there was no way to take back the proposition, his words dripping with a fresh coat of asinine sauce.

  The woman laughed, obviously sharing his second thoughts on the matter. “Thanks, but you don’t want to do that. Trust me.” Her voice was warm, sultry, and laced with the bold assuredness of top-shelf bourbon.

  Cole attempted to insist, his ego stepping up to the plate to pinch-hit for stupidity, but he was interrupted by a second female voice on the opposite end of the pleasure spectrum.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Her bare, light brown shoulder brushing his, the woman turned, and Cole’s head followed. A lanky blonde stormed up, hands planted on her narrow hips. She bore a disturbing resemblance to some Victoria’s Secret model whose name Cole couldn’t access through the lingering fog of lust, and he blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t the actual model in the flesh. Maybe if she’d been standing there in only her bra and panties, like the models in the catalogs he sometimes swiped from Lacey, he could have been more sure.

  As if following his line of thinking, the blonde pinned Cole with a crystal blue glare before redirecting her frigid lasers back to the woman standing beside him. Not wanting to be caught in the middle of a catfight, Cole swiveled himself around to face front. The best views were from the sidelines for that kind of scuffle anyway.

  “I’m paying and leaving.” Cole’s attractive neighbor glanced sideways at him, visibly agitated by the other woman’s lack of discretion. He pretended not to listen.

  “That’s it? That’s how you want to end it?” Cole swore he heard the petulant smack of a heel on the wood floor littered with broken peanut shells.

  The woman beside him flipped open the folder the bartender had set down in front of her. “What I want doesn’t matter when it comes to you, Liv. You’ve made that terribly clear.” Cole couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the total, and he choked on his sip of beer. The woman glanced at him with a wry smile. “Told you,” she mouthed, punctuating the silent statement with a sexy wink. She pulled five crisp one hundred dollar bills from her handbag and closed them inside the folder for the bartender to scoop up. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Sam Adams.” Her eyes indicated the beer bottle seemingly glued to his palm, his knuckles white from the hold he had on the damn thing. Which, after seeing the price of the bottle of wine that had eaten up most of her insane tab, Cole couldn’t help feel was rather inadequate.

  Holy fuck, he’d never seen anything quite as hot as a woman who looked the way she did, dropping a huge chunk of change without a hint of hesitation. The bill equated to a week’s pay at Jacobson’s for most of the upper management on staff.

  The woman strode toward the exit without another word to her friend, who stalked off in the opposite direction, cursing loud enough for the whole bar to hear. How about that, Cole thought, finishing the rest of his warm beer and watching the stranger’s elegant departure. If his assessment of what had transpired was right, those two were more than just friends. Or at least had been. Nope, he was definitely not in Sweetwater anymore.

  “Yeah, they’re together together.” The bartender tossed a damp towel over his shoulder, a huge grin painted from ear to ear. He held a hand up to his mouth, attempting an obscene diagram of what the two women might do in private. Although in the minimal light, Cole couldn’t make out the exact gesture. “Well, I guess not no more.”

  “Yeah, it would seem so.” Cole chuckled.

  “That blonde is always making some sort of scene.”

  “Really?” Cole attempted a casual indifference. “How about the other one?” he asked, finding himself intrigued enough to stop wallowing in his own despair. For a few salacious minutes, anyhow.

  The bartender’s grin grew wider, if that was even possible. “Usually quiet and usually pays.”

  “Interesting.” Cole noticed he had hunched himself over the bar, far too eager to learn more about the mystery woman, and sat back.

  “Yeah, guess we know who wears the pants in that relationship.” The bartender laughed at his own joke and then wandered off to serve another customer, leaving Cole to decipher his meaning.

  Done with his beer and his need for distraction, Cole stood and pulled on his jacket, unable to shake the alluring beauty from his mind or an image of those two sumptuous women touching each other in ways that would cause his jeans to get uncomfortable if he didn’t stop. With a final nod to the bartender, he headed in the direction of the door, following the soft, sweet perfume that was still lingering in the air, or maybe just in the back of his mind. Making his way through the banished-smoker crowd outside, he shoved his hands into his pockets and trekked the several blocks to his new temporary home. The next day would be his first at the firm, and he would need all the sleep he could get. If he could clear his mind enough to sleep at all.

  “Are you following me, Sam Adams?”

  Cole skidded to a halt and found the alluring woman from the bar waiting a few steps ahead. He glanced around to make sure her question was in fact directed toward him. She crooked a delicate finger and ducked down the dark alley next to his apartment building. How did she know he lived here? Could it just be a damned coincidence? With slight hesitation, Cole followed, eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips in that red dress, backlit by the moonlight cascading down. He wondered if she felt the chill in the night air and considered offering her his canvas Carhartt jacket. When she stopped, she pressed her back against the brownstone, her mesmerizing eyes challenging him to step closer. Cage her in.

  “Come, now. I won’t bite.” The unsaid “yet” bounced around in his brain as his feet parked themselves between her fuck-me heels. She reached a palm out, and fire skated up and down the length of his body. Her hand closed around his t-shirt, yanking him toward her. Soft, commanding lips took control of his mouth. Cole groaned into the hungry kiss, his hands doing a little exploring of their own. Her body melted into his touch, gentle curves begging to be caressed. She sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, and Cole saw stars at the feel of her teeth.

  “Christ,” he exhaled, his palms gliding up tight thighs in search of more. He waited for a tug on his wrists, a palm across his face, or some sort of indication that he had the wrong idea about what she wanted, but it never came. Maybe she intended to mug him after seducing hi
m into compliance. He was in Mason, after all.

  “You started without me?” Cole heard another sultry voice behind him and turned with reluctance. Wearing a pout much like the one she’d had in the bar, the blonde sidled up behind him, molding her lithe body to his back. A hand moved to the raging erection in his jeans. The slow tick of his zipper opening was music to his ears. Cole cursed in disbelief, eyes pointed skyward, as teeth grazed a sensitive spot on his throat. If in fact these two women planned to mug him, he wouldn’t put up a fight so long as they allowed him to revel in the fantasy a moment longer.

  “Tell me yours names, so I know what to say when I come,” he pleaded, caught up in the ride of his life.

  The woman in front of him tugged his face down by his chin and smiled, eyes at half-mast. “My name is–”

  Cole shot upwards at the sound of his alarm, and then slammed down the snooze button in painful disappointment.

  CHAPTER 2

  After only a few hours of shut-eye, Cole stood at the entrance to his uncle’s office building and glanced up. The structure of glass and brushed steel possessed a cool and menacing presence, not unlike Robert himself. Cole, like his father, had always preferred the warmth and comfort of wood. Unsure if his love was a result of helping out at the lumber company since he learned to talk or just his genetic makeup. Regardless, he had always known that whatever he did in life would entail shaping one of nature’s most abundant materials with his work-worn hands.

  After downing the last sip of his overpriced coffee and nursing a freshly burned tongue, Cole tossed the cup and the remains of a half-eaten blueberry muffin into the trash and walked up to the front doors. With a whoosh, the hustle of suits getting to where they needed to be came alive, the well-dressed worker ants maneuvering through the marble tunnels of their anthill. Feeling significantly out of place, Cole walked up to the front desk, where a poised strawberry blonde was talking into a slender microphone that wrapped over her ear.