The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  “Rylee, my dear, you are—”

  “Excuse us ladies, would you mind if we joined you?” I turn to see two attractive gentlemen behind me.

  Haddie raises her eyebrows at me in question and looks back at the taller one who’d spoken. “By all means, gentlemen,” she answers, a slow, sexy smile growing on her lips. “I’m Haddie and my friend here is Rylee.” She nods at me as they slide into the booth with us. The tall, dark haired one sits next to Haddie and the other, a blond haired surfer type, sits next to me in the open-ended booth. He has a kind, nervous smile and takes a long sip of his drink.

  “Hi, Rylee, my name’s Sam.” He holds out his hand to mine, and I shake it, giving him a shy smile. I glance over to see Haddie engaged in conversation with his pal, her giggly, flirty face on. “So uh, I would offer to buy you a drink, but I can see your glass is already full.”

  “Thanks.” I lower my gaze from his and bring my glass to my mouth to take a timid sip through my straw.

  “Crazy crowded here tonight.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I shout over the noise.

  He says something else to me, but I’m not sure what because a loud cheer erupts from the booth next to us. I hold my hand to my ear, indicating that I can’t hear him. He scoots closer, placing his arm behind me on the booth and leans in. “I said that you seem to be having a good time and that I noticed you earlier and am glad I—”

  “The lady’s with me.” I suck in my breath at the sound of Colton’s steely voice, the threat in his words clear. My eyes snap up to meet Haddie’s, and I see delight flash in them before she gives me a careful, reassuring look. My heart is beating at a frantic pace, my skin laced with goose bumps, and all because I am so damn attuned to him and his body’s proximity.

  I slowly turn to face him, effectively turning my back to press into Sam’s chest, his arm across the back of the booth brushing over my shoulder. I raise my eyes to meet Colton’s and try to ignore the pang of lust that shoots straight toward the juncture of my thighs. His hair is a tad mussed, his shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbow, that muscle I find so damn sexy is pulsing in his jaw, and his eyes smolder with annoyance. I’ve had just enough alcohol to feel defiant, to test just how irritated Colton really is.

  “I’m with you?” I ask, my voice laced with sarcasm. I can feel Sam’s body tense behind me and shift nervously, unaware of the chess game he is currently a pawn in, as Colton’s eyes narrow at me. “Really? Because I thought you were with her.” I shift to the side to look behind him, looking for her. I raise my eyebrows and continue, “You know, the blonde from earlier?”

  “Cute, Rylee,” he spits out impatiently. I see his eyes shift, lock with Sam’s behind me, and deliver the hands-off warning.

  I’m irritated that he’s been all over the club for the past hour and a half, doing God knows what with the blonde, and yet he thinks he can waltz up and lay claim to me? I don’t think so. I reach back and place my hand on Sam’s knee and squeeze it gently. “Don’t worry, Sam, I’m not with him.” I make my voice loud enough that Colton can hear me. I see Haddie’s eyes widen as I hear a low growl from Colton. I can feel Sam flinch against me. I turn back to Colton, defiance in my smirk and challenge in my eyes.

  “Don’t push me, Rylee. I don’t like sharing.” I can see him clench and unclench his fists. “You. Belong. With. Me.”

  I quirk my eyebrows up, my insolence mounting. “How so, Ace?” I watch his eyes focus on the hand I’ve kept on Sam’s knee. “Last night you were with me, and tonight you’re with her.” I shrug calmly at him, although inside I’m anything but—my heart is racing and my breath has quickened. “Seems to me like—She. Belongs. With. You,” I mimic childishly.

  Colton drags a hand through his hair and gives an exasperated sigh as his eyes flicker over everyone in the booth. I can see him try to rein in his frustration and at having to have this conversation in front our little audience. “Rylee.” He blows air out in a sigh. “You—You...” he looks around, out into the crowd and then his eyes finally come back to mine “...you test me on every level. Push me away,” he grunts, realizing he is saying this out loud. “What am I supposed to think?”

  I look him up and down, my mouth twisting in thought. I’m kind of enjoying toying with him, making the man who is so sure of himself, who always gets what he wants, have to work at something. “I’m not sure if I want you yet,” I bait him. I hear Haddie suck in her breath at my flippant comment and the ice clink in Sam’s glass as he anxiously drinks what’s left. “A girl’s allowed to change her mind,” I taunt, tilting my head as I regard him. “We’re notorious for it.”

  “Among other things,” he says dryly, taking a drink, watching me from over the rim of his glass. “Two can play this game, Ryles,” he cautions, “and I think I have a lot more experience at it than you do.”

  My bravado falters slightly from the warning look in his eyes. I withdraw my hand from Sam’s knee and scoot toward the edge of my seat, my eyes never wavering from his. We stay like this for several moments. “You’re playing hard to get, Rylee,” he admonishes.

  I glance over at Haddie who’s face is impassive, but her eyes tell me she can’t believe what is unfolding. I stand up to face him, squaring my shoulders, defiantly raising my chin. “And your point is?”

  He tsks at me, shaking his head, and takes a step closer. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself because it’s quite a show you’re putting on here.” He puts a finger under my chin, lifting it so my eyes meet his. “I don’t play games, Rylee,” he warns, his voice just loud enough for me to hear, “and I won’t tolerate them played on me.” Sexual tension radiates between us. The air is thick with it.

  I breathe in a slow, calculated breath, trying to form an intelligent answer as his proximity clouds my thoughts and heightens my senses. “Well, thanks for the update.” I slap a hand on his chest and lean in a little closer, my lips near his ear. “I’ll let you in on a little something as well, Ace. I don’t like being made to feel like I’m sloppy seconds to your blonde bevy of babes.” I step back, forcing a confident smirk on my face. “You’re developing a pattern of wanting me right after I know you’ve been with another. That’s a habit you’re going to need to break or nothing else is going to happen here,” I finish, gesturing between the two of us as I raise my eyebrows. “That is, if I want it to at all.” His lips curl.

  God, he is gorgeous! Even when he is smoldering with anger, he emits a raw sensuality that my body has a hard time ignoring. I turn to glance at Haddie for encouragement as I hear his name being called by a seductive voice. “Colt, baby?”

  The words make me want to vomit.

  I turn back to him to see a well-manicured hand slide in between his arm and his torso, splaying over his chest. I see him tense at the touch, his eyes guarded in reaction, and he throws back the rest of his drink, hissing at the sting of it between clenched teeth. I proceed to watch as the blonde from earlier slithers up next to him, eyeing me up and down pityingly, trying to stake her claim. I see the spark in her eye when she recognizes that I’m the one he left her for on the stairs. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. But despite it all, Colton’s eyes remain steadfast on mine.

  I am nauseated by the sight of her hands on him and the thought of him giving any attention to her. I shake my head in condemnation as I cluck my tongue. “Case in point,” I say. I glance back at Haddie and the two men sitting with us. “I apologize, but please excuse me.” Haddie starts to gather her purse, concern on her face, and I subtly shake my head for her to stay.

  I turn back and look at Colton one last time, hoping my eyes portray the message I’m sending. Here’s your choice. Me or her. You pick. Right now. Last chance.

  I avert my eyes, breaking our connection. He stands static with the blonde draped over him like a cheap jacket. I guess he’s made his decision. I try to calmly exit the booth. Try to flee from the dangerous path that I undoubtedly know he will lead me down.

  Once I feel like I’m
clear from view, I blindly push my way through the mass of people, hurt bubbling up inside me. My heart aches from the knowledge that I’ll never be able to compete with someone like her. Never. I try to contain it as I push my way to the bar, wanting to numb the feelings I let myself believe were valid. Were reciprocated. Were possible again.

  Shit! I swallow back the threatening tears as I squeeze into an open space at the crowded bar and by some miracle the bartender is right in front of me. “What’ll you have?” he asks above the noise.

  I stare at him a moment, contemplating my options. I opt for quick and numbing. “Shot of tequila please,” I request, garnering the attention of the man standing next to me. I can feel him looking me up and down, and I roll my shoulders, bristling at the unwanted attention.

  The bartender slides a shot of tequila across the bar to me and I grab it, looking at it for a moment, silently saying our toast. Right now I definitely need the courage portion. Even if it’s false courage. I toss it back without hesitation and scrunch my face up at the burn. I close my eyes as its warmth slides down my throat and settles in my belly. I sigh deeply before opening my eyes, ignoring the offer of another drink from the man beside me.

  I grab my phone out of my purse and text Haddie that I’m fine, to enjoy herself, and I’ll see her at home. I know that if she weren’t here for work, she’d be at my side taking me home.

  I glance up from my phone to look for the bartender. I need another shot. Something to numb the rejection. My eyes flicker down the length of the bar when I see Colton striding purposefully toward me.

  Despite the hope surging inside of me, I mutter, “Fuck!” and throw some cash on the bar before turning on my heel and veering toward the closest exit. I find one quickly, and shove open the doors. I find myself in an empty, darkened corridor, relieved when the door shuts behind me, muffling the pulsating music. My moment of solitude is fleeting as the door is thrown open moments later, Colton pushing through. We lock eyes—I can see the anger in his and I hope he can see the hurt in mine—before I turn my back to him and rush down the hallway.

  I let out a strangled cry in frustration as Colton catches up to me and grabs my arm, spinning me around to face him. Our ragged breathing is the only sound in the hallway as we glare at each other, tempers flaring.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls at me, his grip on my arm holding firm.

  “Excuse me?” I sputter.

  “You have an annoying little habit of running away from me, Rylee.”

  “What’s it to you, Mr. I-Send-Mixed-Signals?” I throw back at him, wrenching my arm from his grip.

  “You’re one to talk, sweetheart. Is that guy—is he what you really want, Rylee?” He says my name like a curse. “A quick romp with Surfer Joe? You want to fuck him instead of me?” I can hear the edge in his voice. The threat. In this dark corridor, his features hidden by shadows, his eyes glistening, he is every bit the intimidating bad boy that the tabloids hint at.

  “Isn’t that what you want from me, Colton? A quick fuck to boost that fragile ego of yours? It seems you spend an awful lot of time trying to placate that weakness of yours.” I hold his glare. “Besides, why do you care what I do? If I recall correctly, you were pretty occupied with the blonde on your arm.”

  He clenches and unclenches his jaw regarding me, rolling his head back and forth on his shoulder before answering me. “Raquel? She’s inconsequential,” he states as a simple matter of fact.

  I can take that answer so many ways, and all of them paint his opinion of women in a less than stellar light.

  “Inconsequential?” I question, “Is that what I’d be to you after you fuck me?” I stand my ground, shoulders squared. “Inconsequential?”

  He stands there seething. At me? At my response? He takes a step toward me and I retreat, my back pressing into the wall behind me. I have nowhere left to run. He reaches out a hand and pulls it back in indecision, the muscles in his jaw clenching, the pulse in his throat pounding. He angles his head to the side, closing his eyes, swearing silently to himself. He looks back at me—frustration, anger, desire, and so much more burning in the depths of his eyes. Their intensity as they look into mine is unnerving, as if he is asking for my consent. I nod my head subtly, giving him the permission to take. The next time he reaches out, there is no hesitation.

  Within a beat, his lips are on mine. All of the pent up frustration, irritation, and antagonism of the evening explodes as our lips clash, hands fist, and souls ignite. There is nothing gentle about our union. Rapacious need burns through me as one of his hands snakes around my back, grasps my neck and yanks me against him so his mouth can plunder mine. His other hand slides between the wall and my arching back, splaying against me in ownership. Gone are the gentle sips and the soft caresses from yesterday.

  His lips slant over mine and his tongue darts in my mouth, tangling, teasing, and tormenting mine. His hands slide over mine where they’re fisted in his shirt. He grabs my wrists and pulls them over my head, presses them to the wall, and handcuffs them with one of his hands. He brings his free hand down and cups my jaw as he breaks from our kiss. He draws his face back and his eyes, darkened and vibrant with arousal, hold mine.

  “Not inconsequential, Rylee. You could never be inconsequential.” He shakes his head subtly, the vibration of his voice resonating in me. He rests his forehead to mine, our noses brushing each other’s. “No—you and me—together,” he grinds the words out, “that would make you mine.” His words feather over my face, enter my soul, and take hold. “Mine,” he repeats, making sure that I understand his intentions.

  I close my eyes to savor the words. To relish the thought of Colton wanting me to be his mine. Our foreheads remain touching as I surrender to the moment, to the feeling, and to the easing of doubts. He steps back from me and gently releases my hands from above my head. Our eyes stay connected and I see what I think is a momentary flash of fear blaze through his.

  I reach out tentatively to him and touch his hips, working my hands under his untucked shirt so that I can place my hands on his skin. So that I can feel this vibrant, virile man beneath my fingertips. It’s always been his hands on my skin. Him in control. I haven’t had the chance to appreciate the feel of him beneath my palms yet.

  I find my purchase, my fingers caressing the firm warmth of his defined muscles as they tense at my touch. I slowly run them up the front of his torso, feeling each delineation, each breath he takes in reaction to my touch. It’s a heady feeling to hear his response, see his pupils dilate in desire, as I glide my hands from his pecs, smoothing them over ribs and under his arms to scrape my nails up the plains of his back.

  He closes his eyes momentarily in rapture, clearly enjoying my slow, teasing assault on his senses. I lean up on my toes and hesitantly lean into him and brush my lips against his. I press my hands into his shoulders, pulling his body into mine. I slant my mouth over his and run the tip of my tongue over his bottom lip.

  His fingers slowly brush against my cheeks, his palms resting on the line of my jaw to frame my face as he tenderly deepens the kiss. His lips sipping, his tongue slowly, sweetly parting my lips and melding with mine. His quiet affection touches me in my core, slowly unraveling me and winding me into a ball of need. He takes my breath away with each caress. I sigh into the kiss, my fingers digging into his shoulders, the only sign of my impending impatience at wanting more. At needing more.

  I can feel Colton’s struggle to control his need, his body taut beneath my hands, his impressive erection pressing into my belly. He continues his tender and unrelenting assault on my senses by concentrating solely on my mouth. Seducing my lips. His breath is mine. His action is my reaction.

  He stops abruptly, placing his two hands on the wall beside my shoulders and braces himself, letting his forehead drop to my shoulder so that his nose and mouth are buried in the nape of my neck. I feel his chest heaving for air like mine, and I’m relieved that he appears to be as affected b
y this encounter as I am. I’m a little confused by his actions, but I take the moment to allow him to collect himself while I settle my racing heart. I subconsciously squeeze my knees together to try and quiet the relentless pressure at the delta between by thighs.

  I can feel the warmth of his breath as he pants against my neck, struggling for control. “Sweet Jesus, Rylee,” he murmurs as he shakes his head, rolling it on my shoulder before scattering innocent kisses along my collarbone. “We need to get out of here before you unman me in the hallway.”

  He raises his head to look at me as I still from his words. There is no doubt that this is what I want. That he is who I want. But I can’t deny the fact that I’m nervous—anxious—afraid I’ll disappoint him with my lack of experience in this department.

  “Come.” He doesn’t give me time to speak before he grabs my hand, wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him, and walks us deeper into the corridor. “I have a room here for the night.” His strong arm helps support me, leading me toward my apple in the Garden of Eden.

  I follow obediently, trying to quiet the doubt and noise in my mind, for it is actively chattering away now that his mouth is not on mine, blunting my ability to reason. We quickly make it to an elevator at the end of the hallway and within seconds we are stepping in. Colton pulls a key card out of his pocket and inserts it into the panel, effectively unlocking the top floor. The penthouse.

  He steps back toward me as the elevator lifts and places a hand on the small of my back. The silence between us is audible and only intensifies the butterflies that are churning in my stomach. “Why the change?” Colton asks as he tugs on my straightened hair, trying to ease my mounting anxiety.

  “Just trying to fit the mold,” I quip reflexively, referring to the numerous pictures on the Internet of him with straight haired women. His brow furrows, trying to figure out what I mean, when I offer up, “Sometimes change is good.”

  He uses his hand on my back to turn me toward him. He angles his head down so that we are eye to eye. “I like your curls,” he says softly, my ego preening from the compliment. “They suit you.” Now that he has me positioned, he raises a hand up to wipe an errant strand off my face. He then places his fingers on the side of my jaw and holds me there, his eyes searching mine. “You have one chance to walk away,” he warns me as the elevator alerts us we’re at his floor. The husky tone of his voice wreaking havoc on my willpower.