by Bromberg, K.
I freeze at the comment, eyes wide, and swallow loudly. Odd that the idea of stripping down naked with this ruggedly handsome man unnerves me, despite the fact he’s had his hands on me.
His perfection next to my ordinary.
Colton reaches out with his free hand and puts a finger under my chin, raising my head so that I can meet his gentle eyes. “Relax, Rylee. I’m not going to eat you alive. You said you wanted casual, so I’m giving you casual. I thought we could take advantage of the unusually warm weather,” he says, releasing my chin and handing me the brown bag so that he can lay a large Pendleton blanket on the sand. “Besides, when I get you naked, it’s going to be somewhere a lot more private so I can enjoy every slow and maddening second of it. So I can take my time and show you exactly what that sexy body of yours was made for.” He glances up, eyes flashing desire and mouth turning up in a wicked grin.
I sigh and shake my head, unsure of myself, of my reaction to him, and how I should proceed. The man can seduce me with words alone. That’s definitely not a good sign. If he keeps it up I’ll be handing over my panties to him in no time at all.
I fidget under the intensity of his stare and from the direction my thoughts have taken. “Take a seat, Rylee. I promise, I don’t bite.” He smirks.
“We’ll see about that.” I snort, but I oblige him and sit down on the blanket, distracting myself from my nerves by unzipping my ankle boots. I pull off my socks, free my feet, and wiggle my toes, which are painted fire-engine red. I pull my knees up, and wrap my arms around them, hugging them to my chest. “It’s beautiful out here. I’m so glad the cloud cover stayed away today.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he murmurs as he reaches into the brown bag from Fourth Street. “Are you hungry?” he asks, producing two packages wrapped in white deli paper, followed by a loaf of French bread, a bottle of wine, and two paper cups. “Voila,” he announces. “A very sophisticated dinner of salami, provolone cheese, French bread, and some wine.” The corners of his mouth turn up slightly as if he is testing me. As if he is checking to see if I really am okay with a casual, no-frills dinner in this land of Hollywood glitz, glamour, and pretension.
I eye him warily, not liking games or being tested, but I guess someone in his shoes is probably wary of others. Then again, he’s the one begging me for a date, although I’m still not sure why.
“Well, it’s not the Ritz,” I say dryly, rolling my eyes, “but it’ll have to do.”
He laughs loudly as he pulls the cork out of the wine, pours it in the paper cups, and hands one to me. “To simplicity!” he toasts good-humoredly.
“To simplicity,” I agree, tapping his cup and taking a sip of the sweet, flavorful wine. “Wow, a girl could get used to this.” When he eyes me with doubt, I continue, “What more could I ask for? Sun, sand, food—”
“A handsome date?” he jokes as he breaks off a piece of bread, layers it with provolone and thin-sliced salami, and hands it to me on a paper napkin. I accept it graciously, my stomach growling. I’ve forgotten how hungry I am.
“Thank you,” I say. “For the food, for the donation, for Zander …”
“What’s the story there?”
I relay the gist of it to him, his face remaining impassive. “And today, with you, is the first time he’s purposely interacted with anybody, so thank you. I’m more grateful than you will ever know,” I conclude, looking down sheepishly, a blush spreading across my cheeks as I’m suddenly uncomfortable again. I take a bite of the makeshift sandwich and moan appreciatively at the mixture of fresh bread and deli fare. “This is really good!”
He nods in agreement. “I’ve been going to that deli forever. It’s definitely better and more my speed than caviar.” He shrugs unapologetically. “So why Corporate Cares?” he asks, his mouth parting slightly as he watches me savor my food.
“So many reasons,” I say, finishing my bite. “The ability to make a difference, the chance to be part of a breakthrough such as Zander’s today, or the feeling I get when a child left behind is made to feel like he matters again …” I sigh, not having enough words to express the feelings I have. “There are so many things that I can’t even begin to explain.”
“You are very passionate about it. I admire you for that.” His tone is earnest and sincere.
“Thank you,” I reply, taking another sip of wine, meeting his eyes. “You were quite impressive yourself today. Almost as if you knew what to do despite me telling you to leave,” I admit sheepishly. “You were good with Zander.”
“Nah,” he denies, grabbing another piece of cheese and folding it in the bread. “I’m not good with kids at all. That’s why I’m never having them.” His statement is determined, his expression blank.
I’m taken aback. “That’s a bold statement for someone so young. I’m sure at some point you’ll change your mind,” I reply, my eyes narrowing as I watch him, wishing I still had the option to make a choice like his.
“Absolutely not,” he states emphatically before averting his eyes from my gaze for the first time since meeting him. I can sense his discomfort with this topic—an oddity for a man so confident and sure of himself in all other areas of life. He looks out toward the tumultuous ocean and is quiet for a few moments, an unreadable look on his rugged features.
I think that my questioning statement will go unanswered, until he breaks the silence. “Not really,” he says with what I sense is a resigned sadness in his voice. “I’m sure you experience it first hand every day, Rylee. People use kids as pawns in this world. Too many women try to trap men with them and then hate the kid when the man leaves. People foster kids just to get the monthly government stipend. It goes on and on.” He shrugs nonchalantly, belying how affected he is by the hidden truth behind his words. “It happens daily. Kids fucked up and abandoned because of their mothers’ selfish choices. I’d never put a child in that kind of position.” He shakes his head emphatically, still refusing to meet my eyes, his gaze following the surfer riding a wave in the distance. “Regardless, I’d probably fuck them up as much as I was as a kid.” He breathes deeply with his last statement and removes his cap with one hand while running his other hand through his hair.
“What do you mean? I don’t understand,” I falter as I start to ask without thinking. This conversation has unexpectedly gotten heavy quickly.
Annoyance flashes across his face before I watch him rein it in. “My past is public knowledge,” he states, my furrowed brow showing my confusion. “Fame makes people dig out ugly truths.”
“Sorry,” I say, raising my eyebrows, “I don’t make it a habit of researching my dates.” I hide the unease I feel with this conversation in the sarcasm of my tone.
His green eyes lock onto mine, his clenched jaw pulsing. “You really should, Rylee,” his steely voice warns. “You just never know who’s dangerous. Who’s going to hurt you when you least expect it.”
I’m taken aback. Is he warning me about him? Warning me away from him? I’m confused. Pursue me and then push me away? This is the second time today he’s issued a statement like this. What should I make of it?
And what the hell is with his comments about being messed up as a kid? His parents are practically Hollywood royalty. Is he saying that they did something to him? The fixer in me wants to probe, but I can tell how unwelcome that would be.
I cautiously glance over at him to see his attention turned back toward the surf. It is in this moment I can see the pictures painted by the media of him. Dark and brooding, a little rugged with the dark shadow of hair on his jaw, and an intensity to his eyes that makes you feel as if he’s unapproachable. Unpredictable. The broad shoulders and sexy swagger. The bad boy who is too handsome for his own good mixed with a whole lot of reckless. The rebel who women swoon over and swear they could tame—if they had the chance.
And he’s sitting here. With me. It’s mind-boggling.
I clear my throat, trying to dispel the awkwardness that has descended on our picnic. “So, how ’bout them
Lakers?” I deadpan.
He throws his head back and laughs loudly before turning back to me. All traces of Brooding Colton have been replaced by Relaxed Colton, with eyes full of humor and a megawatt smile. “A little heavy?”
I nod, pursing my lips, as I grab for another piece of cheese. Time for a change in topic. “I know it’s an unoriginal question, but what made you get into racing? I mean why hurl yourself around a track at close to two hundred miles an hour for fun?”
He sips from his Dixie cup. “My parents needed a way to channel my teenage rebellion.” He shrugs. “They figured why not give me all the safety equipment to go along with it instead of racing down the street and killing myself or someone else. Lucky for me, they had the means to follow through with it.”
“So you started as a teenager?”
“At eighteen.” He laughs, remembering.
“What’s so funny?”
“I got a ticket for reckless driving. I was speeding … out of control really … racing some preppy punk.” He glances over at me to see if I have any reaction. I just look at him and raise my eyebrows, prompting him to continue. “I was spared being hauled off to juvie because of my dad’s name. Man, was he pissed. The next day he thought he’d teach me a lesson. Dropped me off at the track with one of the stunt drivers he knew. Thought he’d have the guy drive me around the track at mach ten and scare the shit out of me.”
“Obviously it didn’t work,” I say dryly.
“No. He scared me some, but afterward I asked him if he could show me some of the stunt moves.” He shrugs, a half smirk on his lips, as he looks out toward the water. “He finally agreed, let me drive his car around the track a couple of times. For some reason one of his friends had come with him to the track that day. The guy’s name was Beckett. He worked for a local race crew who’d just lost their driver. He asked if I’d ever thought about racing. I laughed at him. First of all, he was my age so how could he be part of a race team, and secondly, how could he watch me take a couple of laps and know that I could drive? When I asked, he said he thought I could handle a car pretty well, and would I like to come back the next day and talk to him some more?”
“Talk about being at the right place at the right moment,” I murmur, happy to learn something about him that I couldn’t read about by looking on the Internet.
“You’re telling me!” He shakes his head. “So I met up with him. Tried out the car on the track, did pretty well and got along with the guys. They asked me to drive the next race. I was decent at it so I kept doing it. Got noticed. Stayed out of trouble.” He grins a mischievous grin, raising his eyebrows. “For the most part.”
“And after all this time, you still enjoy it?”
“I’m good at it,” he says.
“That’s not what I asked.”
He chews his food, carefully mulling over my question. “Yes, I suppose so. There’s no other feeling like it. I’m part of a team, and yet it’s just me out there. I have no one to depend on, to blame, but myself if something goes wrong.” I can sense the passion in his voice. The reverence he still has for his sport. “On the track, I can escape the paparazzi, the groupies … my demons. The only fear I have is that which I’ve created for myself, that I can control with a swerve of the wheel or a press of the pedal … not any inflicted on me by someone else.”
The startled look on his face tells me that he has revealed more than he expected in an answer. That he’s surprised by his unanticipated honesty with me. I brush aside his unease at feeling vulnerable, by propping my arms out behind me and raising my face to the sky.
“It’s so beautiful here,” I say, breathing in the fresh air and digging my toes in the cool sand.
“More wine?” he asks as he shifts to sit closer to me. The brush of his bare arm against mine leaves my senses humming.
I murmur in assent as warning bells go off in my head. I know that I need to create some distance between us, but he’s just too damn attractive. Irresistible. Nothing like I expected and yet everything I anticipated. I know that I need to clear my head because he is clouding my judgement.
“So is this what you imagined, Ace, when you spent all that money for a date with me?” I turn my head and come face to face with him— hair mussed, lips full, eyes blazing. I hold my breath, frozen in the moment, for all it would take is for me to lean in to feel his lips on mine again. To taste his carnal hunger as I did earlier on the porch.
He flashes a grin at me. “Not exactly,” he admits, but I can sense our proximity is affecting him too. I can see the pulse in his throat accelerate. His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. I bring my eyes back up to his, unspoken words flowing between us. “You really have the most unusually magnificent eyes,” he whispers.
It’s not as if I haven’t heard this before about my unique, violet-colored eyes, but for some reason, hearing it from him has desire spiraling through me. Warning bells clang inside my head.
“Rylee?”
I raise my eyes to meet his, trepidation in my heart. “I’m only going to ask this one time. Do you have a boyfriend?” The gravity in his tone as well as the question itself take me off guard. I didn’t expect this. I thought he’d already know the answer after the backstage ministrations from the other night. More surprising than the question itself, is the way he asks it. His demanding tone.
I shake my head “no,” swallowing loudly.
“No one you are seeing casually?”
“You just asked twice,” I joke, trying to shake the nerves skittering up my spine. When he doesn’t smile but rather holds my stare in question, I shake my head again. “No, why?” I respond breathlessly.
“Because I want to know who’s standing in my way.” He tilts his head and stares at me as my lips part in response. My mouth is suddenly very dry. “Whose ass I have to kick before I can make it official.”
“Make what official?” My mind flickers trying to figure out what I’m missing.
“That you’re mine.” Colton’s breath flutters over my face as the look in his eyes swallows me whole. “Once I fuck you, Rylee—it’s official, you’re mine and only mine.”
Oh. Fucking. My. How can those words, so possessive, so dominantly male, make me want him that much more? I’m an independent, self-assured woman, and yet hearing that this man—yes, Colton Donavan—inform me that he is going to have me without asking, without giving me a choice, makes me weak in the knees.
“It might not be tonight, Rylee. It might not be tomorrow night,” he promises, the rumbling timbre of his voice vibrating through my body, “but it will happen.” My breath hitches as he pauses to allow me to absorb his words before he continues. “Don’t you feel it, Rylee? This...” he gestures a hand between him and me “...this charge we have here? The electricity we have when we’re together is way too strong to ignore.” I lower my eyes, uncomfortable with his overconfidence yet turned on by his words. He takes a hand and reaches out, the spark he’s referring to igniting when his index finger trails up the underside of my neck to my chin. He pushes up to lift my chin so I’m forced to stare into the depths of his eyes. “Aren’t you the least bit curious how good it will be? If it’s this electrifying with just the brush of our skin against each other, can you imagine what it will be like when I’m buried inside of you?”
The confidence in his words and the intensity of his stare nonpluses me, and I avert my eyes down again to focus on the ring I’m worrying around my right ring finger. The rational part of me knows that once Colton has his way with me, he’ll move on. And even though I’d know this going into it, I’d still be devastated in the end.
I just don’t want to go through it again. I’m afraid to feel again. Afraid to take a chance, afraid that the consequences will be life-altering for me again. I use my fear to fuel my obstinance; no matter how wild the ride, the inevitable fallout isn’t worth it.
“You’re so sure of yourself, do I even need to show up for the event?” I ask haughtily, hoping my words cover the
deep ache he’s responsible for creating in my body. His only response to my question is a heart-stopping smirk. I shake my head at him. “Thanks for the warning, Ace, but no thanks.”
“Oh, Rylee,” he says with a laugh. “There’s that smart mouth that I find so intriguing and sexy. It disappeared for a little while with your nerves. I was getting worried.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Oh, and Ryles, just so you know, that wasn’t a warning, sweetheart. That was a promise.”
And with that he leans back on his elbows, a cocky grin on his face and challenge in his eyes as he stares at me. I travel the length of his lean body with my eyes. My thoughts running through how I should resist this over-the-top, reckless, troubled, and unpredictable man whose continual verbal sparring makes me uncomfortable. Makes me desire. Churns up feelings and thoughts that died that day two years ago. And yet, rather then head the other way as I should, all I want to do is straddle him right here on that blanket, run my hands up the firm muscles of his chest, fist my hands in his hair, and take until I surrender all my rational thoughts.
I brave meeting his eyes again for I know he is watching me appraise his body. I make sure that my eyes reflect none of the desire I’m feeling. “So, what about you, Colton?” I question, turning the tables on him. “You said you don’t do the girlfriend thing, and yet you always seem to have a lady on your arm?”
He arches his eyebrows at me. “And how would you know what I always have on my arm?”
How do I know that? Do I admit to him that I occasionally glance through Haddie’s subscription of People and roll my eyes at the ridiculous commentary? Do I confess that I peruse Perezhilton.com as a distraction when I’m in the office sometimes and that I usually skip over the gossip about self-absorbed Hollywood brat-packers like him, who think they’re better than everyone else? “Well, I do stand at the checkout lines in the grocery store,” I admit. “And you know how true all of those tabloids are.”
“According to them I’m dating an alien with three heads and my photoshopped picture is right next to the caption stating a chupacabra was found in a movie theater in Norman, Oklahoma,” he says, animating his expression, eyes wide in a mock stare of horror.