He grunted and pushed the thought aside. The last thing he needed to do was replay that day in the office when he’d felt something suspiciously close to jealousy.

Cole didn’t do jealous.

Certainly not over a woman who’d all but drawn a line in the sand and labeled it platonic.

He returned his attention to her closet, pulling out a bright blue halter top that was sort of silky.

“What about this?”

She eyed it skeptically. “What would I wear it with?”

Cole rolled his eyes, turned back toward the closet, and pulled out a pair of jeans. “Put these on.”

“But—”

Cole pointed a finger at her face. “Get dressed. If you want my help, you have to trust me.”

She glowered at him for several seconds before relenting with a sigh. “Fine.”

Then, to his utter shock, she pulled off her robe and threw it onto the bed.

He whirled around to face away from her, but not before he’d gotten an eyeful of Penelope Pope in a strapless bra and panties.

“Jesus.”

“Oh, stop,” she said. “It’s not like there’s a whole lot going on here.”

He sucked in a breath. His raging hard-on said otherwise.

How the hell had that happened? Usually it took more than an accidental sneak peek of a woman in bra and panties to turn him on.

But no doubt about it. He was turned on.

He tried to block out the sound of her jeans sliding up over her slim hips, tried to block out the urge to pull them back down again.

“All right,” she said a few moments later. “You can turn around. I’m dressed, so no more threats to your virtue.”

He gave a skeptical glance over his shoulder, confirmed that she was clothed, and then turned to face her more fully.

She held her hands out to the side. “Well? Are you overwhelmed?”

He turned back toward her closet, located her shoe rack, and pulled off a pair of standard black high heels.

“Unh-uh,” she said, looking at them like they were a dead rat. “Remember what happened last time I wore high heels? It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“That’s where I come in handy,” he said. “You can hold my arm.”

“Oh yeah, because that’ll make them more comfortable,” she said. “Plus it’s supposed to snow tonight.”

Cole threw his arms in the air. “Damn it, woman. Wear your sneakers for all I care.”

She pursed her lips. “Nah. Boots.”

“Fine. Can we go now?”

“No! What about makeup? I’ve mastered mascara, mostly, but I could use some help on what eye shadow would look good.”

Cole stared at her, waiting to see if she was joking, then shook his head. “No. Hell no.”

He moved toward the door and she followed him. “But I don’t know—”

Cole pulled her small purse off a hook by the door. “This what you’re bringing?”

“Yes, but—”

He looped the strap unceremoniously over her shoulder. “Get your cellphone or whatever else you need and then we’re out of here.”

She opened her mouth. “But—”

He sighed and took a step forward. Her words broke off as his hands lifted to her head. Very slowly, his fingers pushed into her hair, trying to ignore how silky it felt against his fingers as he sought out the rubber band that held it in place.

Gently, he tugged, sliding the band inch by inch until her dark hair spilled all over her shoulders. All over his hands.

“There,” he said, his voice just slightly rough. “Now you’re ready.”

She was looking up at him, her expression unreadable, and he felt a sudden surge of tenderness for this woman he barely knew and yet somehow knew completely.

Cole cleared his throat and took a step back. “You don’t need makeup to look good, Penelope.”

“That’s what guys always say the second before they give themselves whiplash looking at some gussied-up Victoria’s Secret model,” she grumbled lightly as she pulled on her boots.

“Sure,” he agreed amiably. “But just because we want to sleep with the Victoria’s Secret model doesn’t mean we want to wake up beside her in the morning.”

“Well, that’s very comforting, Sharpe,” she said primly as she locked her door. “But save it for someone who isn’t alone every night and every morning.”

Cole wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he said nothing as they made their way down the hall to her elevator.

Penelope looked thoughtful as she punched the down button. “Hey, did Cassidy or Jake mention if Lincoln would be there tonight?”

He gave her a startled look. “Do you want him to be?”

She didn’t respond as she stepped into the elevator.

Cole followed her a little surprised—and annoyed—by how desperately he wanted her to answer.

Chapter 9

It took all of five minutes of being at the Malones’ gorgeous high-rise apartment for Penelope to realize what was happening: She was hanging out with the beautiful people.

Those people you saw in TV or movies. The ones you watched while wearing sweats and shoving popcorn in your face and thinking that real people couldn’t possibly look like that. And surely people didn’t really throw dinner parties where there’s a color scheme to the table linens and fresh flowers all over the place.

But they did exist, and she was one of them. Sort of.