He took another step closer, even as he wondered what the hell he was doing. He shouldn’t play games with her. She was too good for that.

And yet it didn’t feel like a game. It felt…

Well, hell. He had no idea how to explain what was going on here. If anything was going on.

“I was laughing at my own stupidity,” he explained quietly. “I should have known they’d be up to something.”

She smiled slightly, and even through the thickening snowfall he saw that she didn’t believe him.

What the hell had happened to this smiling, lovely woman to convince her that she was undesirable? That the prospect of a guy having any sort of sexual interest in her was laughable?

Sure, she wasn’t overtly sexy. But Cole was beginning to think that had more to do with the fact that Penelope herself never seemed to be thinking about sex, rather than the fact that men didn’t think about sex with her.

Cole definitely wasn’t finding it a stretch to think of Penelope in a not so platonic fashion. Something about her big eyes and petite body and—

Her gloved hands reached out to wrap lightly around his forearms as she went on her toes and kissed his cheek.

Cole wasn’t terribly tall—six feet, give or take—but Penelope was so short that he had to move his head down, just slightly, so that she could reach.

“Thanks for a nice evening, Cole.” Her fingers squeezed lightly as she took a step back, and the gesture was friendly to the point of being sisterly.

Which didn’t explain why Cole found himself, just slightly, stunned by the contact.

She lifted her hand with another of those happy grins and started to turn away, and something in Cole snapped, and he wanted to prove…something.

To her? To himself?

Hell, he didn’t know. Didn’t bother to think. “Hey, Penelope.”

She turned back around. “Yeah?”

His eyes locked on hers. “You never answered Lincoln’s question.”

She looked at him in confusion. “What question?”

“About the type of kiss you prefer.”

Her lips parted slightly, and damned if he wasn’t getting to know this woman, because he spotted the flicker of wariness on her face even as she pushed it away with a smile. “Oh, well…we really only tried the one, you know?”

“Did you like it?”

What the hell, Sharpe? What are you doing?

The snow had eased up, just a few flakes floating around them now. “Um, I guess so?”

Her voice was straight-up nervous now, and if he had any decency, he’d let it drop. Instead he moved toward her again.

“You don’t sound convinced. Head-holding kisses aren’t your thing, then?”

Her laugh was breathy. Nervous. “Well, it wasn’t the most romantic of situations. It was hard to really, um, gauge.”

“Huh,” he said, stopping when there were just a few inches separating them. She didn’t back away from him, but her eyes were cautious, her body language telling him to back off.

He didn’t.

“When was the last time you’ve been decently kissed, Penelope?”

She licked her lips. The gesture was more nervous than it was seductive, but damned if Cole wasn’t seduced all the same.

This was madness.

She was his co-worker. They spent eight to five together, Monday through Friday. Did he really want to go and complicate that?

No. He didn’t.

Especially considering the little pep talk she’d given him a couple weeks ago about how they were going to be friends. Just friends.

Tell her good night. Go home and take a cold shower. Or better yet, go home and call one of the dozen of willing, uncomplicated women in your black book who will know the score.

But then he saw it. Saw that she saw the moment he’d decided to walk away. That she’d been expecting it.

Cole didn’t have a temper, wasn’t prone to bursts of anger. But he was good and pissed. Pissed at whomever had taught her that she didn’t deserve a hot good-night kiss on a New York City sidewalk.

Cole tugged off his glove, then slipped his hand around the back of her neck, his thumb running along her jawline, as he slid his other arm around her back, the bulk of her puffy winter coat doing nothing to disguise how small she was.

“Cole—”

He bent his knees slightly as he used his thumb to hook under her chin, tilting her face up to his. He paused for the briefest of moments—giving her the opportunity to pull away…to protest if she didn’t want this.

She didn’t protest.

He kissed her.

He kissed Penelope Pope in the snow like his life depended on it.

His lips moved against hers insistently, swallowing the sweet breathy noises she made, his arm bringing them even more firmly together.

And when she molded herself against him, her snowy gloved hands coming up to cup his face, Cole forgot all about the reasons they shouldn’t be doing this. Forgot about the fact that this was going to make Monday morning a hell of a lot more complicated.

He thought only of her. Of them. His tongue nudged her lips apart, and she surprised him by slipping her own tongue into his mouth, tangling with his in teasing yet urgent strokes.

For someone who claimed to not have much kissing experience, she sure as hell seemed to know precisely what he liked.

He shifted them even closer, the hand on her neck sliding back so that her head was cradled in the crook of his elbow, as he held her small frame against him and devoured her mouth.

A car door slammed, and Penelope jumped, her hands pushing against his shoulders as she moved away.

It was on the tip of Cole’s tongue to protest the end of the kiss, when he saw the panicked look on her face.

She was freaked out.

Abruptly he released her and stepped back.

Penelope gave a painfully awkward smile to the elderly couple who’d just exited the cab and given them an indulgent look.

Cole was still trying to gather his thoughts—hell, was still waiting for the world to stop spinning—when she closed the distance between them once again, her hand coming up as she jabbed a finger in his face.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Cole’s mouth dropped open.

Not exactly the response he’d been expecting. Or hoping for.

“Hey, hold on now—” he said.

He reached for her, but she stepped back. “Don’t you dare, Cole Sharpe.”

Her voice was firm and unwavering, but her lips shook, just a little, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on here.

Talk about mixed signals. She looked mad and scared and aroused, all at the same time.

“Penelope—”

She shook her head. “No. I told you we weren’t doing this. That day at the Irish bar, remember?”

“Sure, but—”

“I don’t want this, Cole. I don’t want you, not like this.”

Well…hell. What did a man say to that?

He wanted to snap that her kiss had said otherwise. That a woman didn’t kiss the hell out of a man she doesn’t want.

“You’re telling me you didn’t feel anything with that kiss?” he asked, hating what the question revealed—that he’d felt something—but he threw it out there anyway.

She looked away, and his eyes narrowed. “Of course I did. You’re very…skilled.”

He felt a little thrill of victory, and started to reach for her again, but her next words stopped him cold.

“But so was Lincoln. Skilled, I mean. And don’t get me wrong, it’s flattering to have all you gorgeous guys kissing girls like me all willy-nilly, but I don’t— Don’t do it again. Please.”

It was that last word. The please uttered with just the tiniest bit of pleading that had his hands dropping to his sides once more.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

He felt defeated. And rejected. Neither was a familiar sensation, and neither was pleasant.

But what could he do?

He’d been in her shoes dozens of times. It was never easy telling a woman that she wanted more than he had to give.