Dirty Rich Cinderella Story by Lisa Renee Jones
“What did you do?” I demand and I’m so angry, I’m now standing in front of him and once again I don’t remember how I got here.
“Which time, Lori? Because apparently I did a lot wrong.”
“Don’t turn this around on me. You can’t pay my bills. You paid the hospital bill.”
“Yes. Yes, I did. Because I wanted you out of that godforsaken apartment. I wanted to take care of you. If that makes me an asshole, then I’m gladly an asshole.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me. I can take care of me.”
“Do you think I go around paying random people’s bills? I don’t. I did that for you, just you.”
“Again. I can take care of me.”
“But you don’t have to. I’m in love with you, woman. That’s why I did this. That’s why I had to do this.”
I blanch, emotion welling in my chest, my eyes prickling. He’s said what I didn’t know I needed to hear, the words that change everything. “Can you say that again?”
“I will say it over and over for the rest of our lives if you let me. I love you. So damn much it’s killing me right now. But I get it. I need to pull you all the way into my life, I need to take care of you and you just can’t trust me enough to do it. But damn it, I have given you no reason not to trust me, and at some point you have to take a risk. At some point—”
“I love you, too,” I rasp out on a ball of emotion.
“What?”
“You know I do, Cole. You know I do.”
He shackles my arm and pulls me to him. “Then why are we apart? Why are we doing this?”
“I am scared. There. I said it. You could, you can, hurt me.”
“Sweetheart, I’m right there with you,” he kisses me, a fiery intense kiss, that has me clinging to him, until he tears his mouth from mine and says, “Marry me. Be my wife.”
“What? What?”
“You heard me. Marry me.”
“I —what about my job and your job and—”
“You don’t need that scholarship. You have me. You have to just let go of the money thing. It’s our money if you marry me anyways. But we can go to the board. Or we can wait until you graduate. Whatever it is we do, we will decide together. Just say yes. Lori. To us. To all of it. We’ll work out the details.” He turns me and sits me down on the couch and then he’s on his knee, a blue box in his hand. He opens it and inside is this stunning round, sparkling diamond. “Marry me.”
Tears start to stream down my face. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”
“You aren’t supposed to cry, sweetheart,” he says, reaching up and stroking away the dampness on my cheeks.
“I know. I just—it’s beautiful and we’re—I can’t help it.”
He sits down next to me and kisses me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Cole slips the ring on my finger and I stare down at it. He brings my finger to his lips and kisses it. “It looks good on you.”
“I can’t believe you bought a ring.”
“I couldn’t either,” he says. “I thought you’d turn me down. I wasn’t even sure you’d give me the chance to ask.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For pushing you away. For being too afraid to give you the trust you deserve. Cole, you—”
He kisses me, a deep, drugging kiss, and whispers against my lips, “All that matters is what comes next. Ask me what comes next.”
“What comes next?”
“Everything,” he says, and this time when our lips come together, we are wild, we are hungry, we are without limits. And that’s where I know we are headed right now, pleasure with no limits.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Lori
Cole pulls my shirt off, and my bra follows. His arm is around me, holding me up, the way he’s held me up since the day we met, his fingers splayed between my shoulder blades. His mouth on my shoulder, my collar bone, my nipple. He suckles and licks. He teases. I don’t want it to end. I want to go slow. I want to go fast. I want and want and want.
I need.
He lays me on the couch, the heavy weight of his body brutal and arousing, his lips touching my lips again. His teeth, nipping, caressing. His cheek by my cheek when he says, “Now I really do own you.”
I don’t deny him this. He does. And I’m no longer afraid of being owned. Not by Cole. “Say it.”
I’m also no fool. “You’ll have to make me.”
He laughs, a low, rumble of warmth and masculinity that clenches my sex in a brutal promise, he will, indeed, make me. He kisses me, drugs me, taunts me. His mouth warming my belly, my hip, back to my belly. He caresses my sweats down my hips, kissing a path behind them. He strips everything I’m wearing away, the same as he stripped, all of my reserve away.
When his mouth is back on my belly, my fingers are slicing into his hair, silently pleading for his mouth to be in that intimate place that we both know will ensure he gets his admission.
“Okay already,” I hiss, when he blows on my clit, but refuses to lick. “You own me.”
Then in true Cole fashion, he makes that okay. He looks up at me and says, “You own me, too, or I wouldn’t want to hear that so damn badly.” He seals that erotic, and yet tender reply with his tongue licking my clit.
I gasp and grab the cushion next to me, my hand slipping away from the leather as his mouth closes down on me. He suckles and licks, strokes and kisses. His fingers slide along the wet swell of my sex, and two fingers slip inside me. I gasp. I moan. I fight to make it last, but I cannot control anything. There is just the sensation and his mouth, his fingers, his hand. I drift into that dark perfect place that leaves no room for anything but him, us, this. And then I am there, tumbling into release, quaking with his touch, trembling inside and out.
I sink into a sated, limp bliss, and yet, I need more. I need him. “Cole, I—”
He kisses me, the taste of him salty, the taste of him me, before he says, “Me too,” as if I’ve told him what I want, but he knows. His pulls off his shirt and stands up. I watch him undress, and for the first time, I let myself appreciate every inch of muscle and man, with the understanding that I’m going to marry him. He’s mine and I’m his.
He comes back to me, his erection thick, pulsing, arousing me all over again. I’m wet, I’m hot, I’m ready and when he settles on top of me, sinks deeply inside me, I can no longer breathe alone. I’m breathing with him, moving with him. Everything is with Cole. We kiss. We touch. We shatter together.
A long time later, we order food, and talk. We make love again. We lay naked and we talk. Over and over, throughout the day, I am naked with the man that will be my husband and we make plans, our plans, together. Forever. Cole listens. He offers suggestions. We find ways to make the next few months work, and every moment, every sentence, Cole considers my goals, not just his. He makes everything about us. And when I fall asleep that night, it’s with Cole wrapped around me, his big body protecting me, the way he always wants to protect me. It feels good. It feels right. And once again I'm a Cinderella who found her Prince Charming.
EPILOGUE
Lori
Sunday morning, Cole and I show up at Cat and Reese’s house. Cat opens the door and I hold out my hand. She squeals and hugs me. When she looks at Cole, she laughs. “You were such an ass here yesterday, I thought you were going to blow this, Cole Brooks.”
He laughs. “You and me both, Cat.”
A few minutes later, we are standing at the kitchen island with Reese and Cat, talking about our options. “We could just say fuck it, tell everyone this is how it is, and just move on,” Cole says.
“You could,” Reese says. “She’s with us. Her performance is what matters.”
“But,” Cat says. “If her scholarship is pulled, it looks bad and it will feel bad.”
“I do feel bad about taking money someone else needs,” I say. “I despe
“I have an idea,” Cole says, looking at Reese. “You know a higher-up on the committee. What about proposing she keeps her status in the program, but we, me specifically, fund her scholarship.”
“What do you think?” Cat asks, looking at Reese.
“They like being behind superstars,” he says. “I don’t think we should tell them that you’re getting married. We want to keep her at the firm, so we feel we should fund her scholarship to honor the program. However, she doesn’t want to lose it and she’s willing to move to another firm in the program, with us still paying.”
“Move?” I ask. “I really don’t want to move.” I look at Cole. “What do you think?”
“This is your career,” he says. “You really want this honor and deserve it. You can come back.”
“Oh God,” I breathe out. “This is so real now. I just need to know how this is going to happen.” I look around the room. “How do we do this? How soon can we find out?”
“I can call my guy now,” Reese says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’ll be right back.”
I press my hands to my face. Cole turns me to face him. “If you go elsewhere, you can come back,” he repeats. “Or not. Where you work is not what matters.”
“I like working with you. We work well together.”
“We can still work well together. We’ll always have each other to game plan with.”
“He’s right,” Cat says. “It works for me and Reese.”
Reese walks back into the room. “He says he knows we can work it out. We’re paying after all. Or Cole’s paying.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“He said they’ll get back to us.”
Cole slides his arm around my waist. “And so, we wait.”
“What about the engagement?” Cat says. “Secret or not?”
“Cole and I have been talking about this for hours on end,” I say. “I’m afraid if we keep it a secret and then suddenly say, ‘Surprise, we’re getting married’ it hurts the trust with the staff, and not just with me, but with Cole. But what can we do? It feels like we’ll make a public service announcement if we speak up.”
“Well, hell,” Reese says. “Just leave the ring at home, keep it out of the office, and send everyone a wedding announcement when she has her degree or right before the wedding or whenever it feels right. If someone figures it out, they do.”
His phone rings and he glances at the number. “It’s him again.” He answers the call, listens and says, “I’ll find out what they want to do.” He disconnects. “They called the firm next in line. They want Lori if she wants to come. Or she can stay here.”
My stomach knots. “I have to go.”
“What?” Cole turns me to face him. “No. You don’t.”
“I do. I don’t want to take my ring off or hide. I want to have lunch with you. I want to kiss you when I want to kiss you and I just want to be free. I can come back. I will come back if you both will have me. And then it won’t matter. I will have proven myself outside of the office.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “Okay. Okay then, that’s what we’ll do.” He pulls back and looks at Reese. “Tell them.”
Reese makes the call. “You can come back,” he says. “You damn sure better come back. Our competition doesn’t get to keep you.”
“I will,” I say, and I turn to Cole. “I will. Now, let’s go see my mother and talk about that wedding date.”
Hours later, we sit with my mother and Joe at the hospital coffee shop, laughing and life is good. A new adventure is ahead of us all. Better times have arrived. I feel it. I know it and when I look at Cole, I see that he does, too.
***
Four months later…
I walk out of the firm where I’ve been working at to finish my program, to find Cole leaning on his BMW, looking like a sex god in one of his three-piece suits, his ankles crossed, his hands on the black hood. He smiles when he sees me, and God, I love his smile. I smile, too. I rush toward him and he grabs me and twirls me around. “You did it, sweetheart,” he whispers, because I’m now a real attorney.
He sits me down and he cups my face, kissing me. “Everyone is excited to have you back at the office. And with the trial delays, you’re just in time to help me get our professor off.”
“Did you get a new date?”
“A month from now, and I think I should open and you should close.”
“You want me to do the closing statement?”
“We need to end with a woman and you wrote the closing statement that just won that firm a massive case.” He kisses me again. “Let’s get to work. We have a case to win and when it’s over, we’re getting married.”
***
Cole
Six months later…
I sit at the courtroom table watching Lori as she works the jury and the courtroom. She is beautiful, but she has this quality, this girl next door vibe, that everyone can trust. The girl next door that is passionate not just in the bedroom, but in everything she does. In everyone she defends. “I leave you with this,” she says. “How will you sleep at night if you do what the prosecution asks of you? If you ignore the lack of evidence and convict our client? If you give—no, bless—law enforcement with permission to quit looking for the real rapist and killer? If someone else is brutalized, raped, and killed? How will you live with yourself? I know I can’t. I pray that I have convinced you to make them keep looking. Please tell law enforcement they don’t get to quit. Tell them they have to keep looking and you do that by ruling Edward Sullivan not guilty.”
She rests her closing and walks back to the table and pride swells inside me. We’re going to win, and that closing did it.
A few minutes later, we stand outside the courtroom and Lori paces. “Was I good enough?”
“Sweetheart, you were brilliant. If I was up against that, I’d be shitting my pants.”
Her cell phone buzzes and she pulls it from her pocket to read the text out loud: You’re brilliant. I just saw you on TV. I’m writing about you in my column and I don’t care that we’re connected. Everyone else is going to say the same thing. You made it, honey. All on your own.
She looks up at me, her eyes brimming with appreciation. “Not on my own. You have helped me every step of the way.”
“You just helped me win this case,” I say, not about to let her downplay what she’s done. “Who helped who?”
My phone buzzes and my lips curve. “Look at that. The jury is back in twenty minutes.”
She pales. “Oh God. We lost.”
I laugh. “We won. I’ve never been so sure.”
A few minutes later, I prove I’m right and so is Cat. Lori is brilliant. The verdict is not guilty.
***
Two weeks later…
Lori is wearing a stunning pink gown and I’m in a tuxedo as we exit the church with confetti being thrown at us. A private car waits a few feet away and it’s not long until I have her in the backseat, kissing her. “Mrs. Brooks,” I whisper.
“I can’t believe we did it.”
“I can’t believe we finally did it. Now, we go on our honeymoon.”
“You still haven’t told me where. Is it Italy, Paris, or Germany?”
“All of the above,” I say. “I want to see it all with you, Lori.”
“What about work?”
“Work can wait. We cannot. Not ever again.”
I kiss her, one of the many kisses I plan to give her for the rest of our lives, every wall dividing us now gone, forever.
THE END
***
Stay tuned to my newsletter for more upcoming books
http://lisareneejones.com/newsletter-sign-up/
***
Have you read Cat and Reese's story yet? Check out Dirty Rich One Night Stand! Turn the page for a sexy excerpt!
***
Already finished with th
EXCERPT FROM
DIRTY RICH ONE NIGHT STAND
“You’re as perfect as I knew you would be,” he says, his voice managing to be both sandpaper and silk on my nerve endings, as he adds, “and almost as naked as I want you to be.”
The idea that he has wanted me as much as I have wanted him does funny things to my stomach, but more so, delivers an unexpected wave of illogical vulnerability. This is sex. The end. I don’t want or need to feel anything more. I want and need him naked and fucking me now, fast, hard. That’s safe. Desperate to find that safe place, to shift the control from him to me, I push to my toes, my breasts molding to his chest, and press my lips to his lips. They are warm, and he is hard everywhere I am soft.
And his response to my kiss, the answering moan I am rewarded with, is white-hot fire in my blood that he ignites further with a deep, sizzling stroke of his tongue. He slants his mouth over mine, deepening the connection, kissing me with a fierceness no other man ever has, but then some part of me has known from moment one that he is like no man I have ever known. Which explains why he is everything I want. And nothing about this night is what I expected, any more than this man is anything I can control.
But there is something intensely arousing about the idea of trying.
As if claiming I am reaching for the impossible, he molds me closer, his hand between my shoulder blades, his tongue playing wickedly with mine, but I meet him stroke for stroke, arching into him. He cups my ass and pulls me solidly against his erection. He wins this one. Now I am the one moaning, arching into him, and I welcome the intimate connection. I burn for the moment he will be inside me.
But I also want him to burn for this just as much as I do, and I need to touch this man. Really, really, need to touch him. My hand presses between us, and I stroke the hard line of his shaft. Reese tears his mouth from mine, pressing me hard against the pillar supporting the window again, and when his hands leave my body, when his palms press to the concrete above me again, I sense his withdrawal is about control. I was winning. I confirm that as reality when our eyes lock, and the dash of fire in his eyes is lit by one part passion and one part challenge.