Colton

by Melissa Belle

  Skylar inhales sharply. “My mom. After my father hit her that last time, she had to take out a restraining order on him. And she was scared. So she changed her last name. All of our last names.”

  The subtle increase in tightness of her grip on my hand is the only hint of her tension. Her facial expression is blank and her eyes look flat.

  “So Rosewood isn’t your original last name.” I say it calmly, afraid I’m going to startle her.

  “No. It’s not. My mom keeps her number unlisted to this day. We were pretty impossible to trace. I worry sometimes, when I’m on TV…”

  She trails off, but I finish her thought. “That he’ll see you? Your dad?”

  Her eyes meet mine. Beneath that tough façade is a fear I never realized she was busy hiding.

  “I didn’t know he was abusive,” I say quietly. “I knew he left, but you never said he…”

  Her voice turns hard. “He can’t touch me now. I’m not that worried for myself. I worry for my mother.”

  I swallow. “I want to kill him.”

  “You’re such a caveman.” But her tone is affectionate.

  “I do. He better stay a thousand miles away from you and your mom.”

  Skylar abruptly stiffens. “Oh. I just remembered…”

  “What’s wrong?”

  She flicks a hand in the direction of the hallway. “My clothes. They’re still in the bathroom. My shoes are drying out, and they should be okay soon, but can I throw my clothes in your dryer?”

  I stand up immediately. “Shit. I’m sorry. I completely forgot.”

  Skylar follows me down the hallway. She scoots into the bathroom ahead of me and grabs her clothes into her arms. I usher her into the laundry room around the corner, trying not to peek at the lily-white lace panties she hurriedly tosses into the washing machine first, followed by her snow white bra and then her pants suit. I hand her the detergent container off the utility shelf, and she pours what looks like enough for a load ten times that large.

  I grin. “Not used to doing laundry, Sparky?”

  I’m met with a cold stare. “Of course I am. I grew up poor, remember? We didn’t have maids running around after us like you did.”

  My jaw tightens. “I was only joking. For someone who’s used to doing laundry, you sure used a lot of detergent for that tiny load of wash.”

  Her cheeks turn color until they nearly match her blazing hair. “I slipped,” she says in a choked voice.

  She slams the lid down on the washing machine and presses start.

  I step closer to her, blocking her way out of the room. “What do you mean—you slipped? Are you not feeling well from your fall?”

  “No. I feel fine.” She surprises me by crowding into my space, forcing me to make a decision: either step back, or take everything she’s giving me.

  I choose the latter.

  I stand my ground, and when her breasts brush my chest, my hands are suddenly on her hips. I don’t even remember putting them there. But my hands belong on Skylar Rosewood’s hips. And they deserve to tighten their grip, like they’re doing right now.

  Skylar lets out a small sigh, a sound of arousal that she clearly tries to hold back, from the panicked look that comes over her face when we lock eyes.

  “Do I turn you on, Skylar?” My voice comes out harsher than I mean for it to. “Is that why you slipped? You were distracted?”

  Her lips form a tight scowl, and she abruptly shoves me backward, just enough so she can step around me and leave the laundry room. “You always were a cocky jackass,” she throws over her shoulder as she hustles down the hallway and grabs her bag off the living room couch.

  I catch her as she reaches the front foyer.

  “Hey! You can’t leave yet—your clothes are still here.”

  She continues for the door. “I’ll have a car service pick them up next week.”

  Panic fills my lungs.

  She’s going to leave again.

  “At least give me your number. The right number this time,” I say firmly.

  Her eyes flash with an unnamed emotion, but one that looks suspiciously like guilt. “I don’t get why you want to stay in touch with me, Colton. All we ever do is fight.”

  “That’s not all we’ve ever done, Skylar,” I say in a low tone.

  She pauses, her hand on the doorknob. But I see the way her fingers shake as they cling to that doorknob like it’s going to save her from dealing with me.

  “Why are you running away from me again?” I try to keep my voice as gentle as I can.

  She lets go of the doorknob and turns to face me fully. “Because you scare me.”

  The honesty of her answer startles me.

  For the next ten seconds, the only sounds in my house are the two of us breathing. Skylar’s is fast and uneven, like she’s just revealed the deepest secret in her heart. Mine is slow and steady, belying how much her revelation means to me, and how much she scares me, too.

  “Is that why you gave me the wrong contact information ten years ago?” I lift her chin lightly with my thumb so she can’t avoid my gaze. “Because you were scared?”

  She doesn’t answer me. Not in words. Instead, she starts trembling. Her entire body shakes, and she wraps her arms around herself like she can stop it somehow. Well, hugging is something I know how to do. I comforted my mother for three months after Dad died, and I know terror and grief when I see it. I take a step closer, and pull Skylar into my chest. I kiss her hair, and murmur nonsensical words of soothing. And I hold her, until she stops shaking.

  “I’m sorry.” She pulls back from me. “I thought I’d embarrassed myself enough for one day already. But God disagreed apparently.”

  I put my hand on her cheek and lean my head closer. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Skylar. But I hope you know I’d never hurt you.”

  “I know you wouldn’t purposefully hurt me,” she says in such a strong tone I know she means it. “That’s not what scares me. It’s this…” She leans her cheek further into my hand.

  “This mind-blowing chemistry we’ve always had?” I whisper. “Is that what you mean?”

  A slight nod from her is enough to propel me forward.

  My mouth is on hers before I can stop myself. I intend for it to be a quick kiss of comfort, to reassure her that she can trust me and that everything will be okay.

  But Skylar’s lips part immediately and she lets out a moan. And that’s all I need.

  All the years of wondering about her, of wishing I’d done things differently, of cursing myself for not texting her number directly into my phone so I’d be sure to have it right—I pour all of it into the kiss. I kiss her like I may never get a tomorrow. Because that’s how I feel every time I touch Skylar Rosewood. Like right now, this moment, is all that counts, and the entire rest of the damn world fades away. She’s a salvation for me, a sweetness in a world tinged with sorrow and pain. When my father was breathing his last breaths, Skylar Rosewood was the one person who felt truly alive to me.

  I back her up against the foyer wall, and cup her face in my hands. She’s gripping my shirt tightly, demanding I come closer. I happily oblige, sliding one hand down her body until I can slip it underneath the sweatshirt and touch her bare breasts.

  “Oh, God.” She lets her head fall back against the wall. “Colton, promise me something.”

  I kiss the side of her mouth. “Promise you what?” I’ll promise her anything except to never see her again. Because that, I’ve already decided, is not an option. Skylar Rosewood and I deserve a second chance to see what this staggering sexual desire is between us, and what it means.

  “Promise me you won’t stop this time.” Her emerald eyes are hot with lust.

  I swallow. “I promise. I have protection in my bedside table.”

  She puts her hand over my jeans zipper and cups my hardness. “So take me upstairs.”

  But instead, I lift my sweatshirt that she’s wearing up and over her head. “Not just yet
, sweetheart. First I want to do this—” I dip my head until I can take one of her perfect pale pink nipples into my mouth. She’s hot and sweet. And vocal.

  “Christ, Colton—you’re gonna make me come before my pants are even off.” She pulls at my hair as I continue to suck on her nipple. “Seriously, I’m going to end up ripping your hair out of your fucking head if you don’t stop.”

  I chuckle into her breast. “That dirty mouth is one of my favorite parts of you, you know that?”

  She goes silent and stiff.

  I lift my head up. “Sky?”

  A slight shake of her head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

  I look straight into her eyes. “Bullshit nothing’s wrong. You just completely shut me out.”

  “I just don’t like that part of myself, that’s all. I’ve been trying to curb my cursing. I even tried washing my mouth out with soap.” She groans in frustration. “Nothing’s working. I can’t stop saying bad words.”

  I take her hands in mine and swing her arms out to the side. “Look at you. You’re perfect. Dirty mouth and all. Dirty’s good in certain situations, you know. Like in the bedroom.”

  She smiles, but it’s filled with sadness. “Yeah, I get it. It’s just…my father had a terrible mouth. And he used it on my mother and me. The females in the family.”

  I run my hand down my face. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  “So I don’t want to talk to anyone I care about the way he did, I guess. And I do it all the time. I mean, I’ve called you a jackass twice already today.”

  “That turned me on.” I wink at her.

  She makes a face.

  “It did.” I turn serious. “But if you really want to stop swearing, I’ll help you.”

  Her face lights up. “Really?”

  “Of course.”

  She puts her arms around my waist and rests her cheek against my chest. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Three

  Skylar

  Oh, God.

  Could I make any more of an ass out of myself today?

  I can’t believe Colton and I had to stop making out because of some childhood trauma with my father. I have no idea what possessed me to spit out that closely-held story. I’ve never told anyone that before. But Colton Wild is my kryptonite: he makes me say and do things I never would otherwise. And worse than that, he makes me want to tell him everything—to open up my heart and soul and bare every dirty secret I’ve ever kept.

  Colton helps me put his sweatshirt back on. Then he leads me into his kitchen, where he picks me up and sits me on the beautiful stone countertop. He gently shifts my knees apart so he can step in between my thighs, and then he reaches above my head for something.

  When he brings his arm back down, he’s got two weird-looking shot glasses in his hand.

  “What are those?” I say.

  He hands me one of the glasses.

  “Boulder.” I poke at the set of embossed mountain peaks attached to the glass, which is actually shaped like a mini beer mug. “Did you buy these when we were there?”

  “My dad did. He wasn’t able to drink alcohol by then, because of all the meds he was on. So we pretended: we did shots of OJ and other healthy drinks, like green juice, every morning.”

  “That’s really sweet.” I touch his hand. “But what do these cute shot glasses have to do with my swearing?”

  “Nothing.” He breaks into a boyish grin. “I just wanted to show them to you. Besides, the kitchen is the only place I could think of to bring you just now.”

  Something about the way he says that last part makes my stomach lurch.

  “Why are we in the kitchen?” I get out.

  Colton’s eyes fill with such heat that I feel like my nipples are going to pop out of his sweatshirt.

  “Living room, I’ll want to bend you over the couch. Bedroom, I’ll want to strip you on the bed. Anywhere with a wall, I’ll wrap your gorgeous legs around my waist and…” His gaze turns so liquid with lust that I bite my lip.

  He clears his throat. “But in the kitchen? The appliances fill up all the wall space, and the counters are cold and hard. So is the table.”

  “Lots of people like to fuck in kitchens.”

  Our eyes meet.

  “Do you?” he asks me.

  I shake my head. “I don’t, personally. I like the same things you just described.”

  Colton puts the shot glasses down on the counter and squeezes his eyes shut. Five beats of silence pass between us. When he reopens them, the lust is gone from his face, and I swallow down my disappointment.

  “So.” His tone is even and calm. “What do others—people who care about you—think of your swearing? Do they disapprove of it like you do?”

  “Well, other than a couple of coworkers who I hang out with once in a while, my brothers and my mom are my only real inner circle. Nothing’s changed there.”

  “That’s cool. I remember how protective your brothers were of you.” Colton’s eyes sparkle. “They were good guys.”

  “Still are. On both counts.”

  I smile as I tell him how my brothers think my swearing gives a tough dimension to my sweet, innocent look. “Not that cursing is a necessary complement to self-defense, of course. But in my case, Ben and Nick felt that it…”

  “Helped you stand up for yourself.” Colton puts his hands on my thighs. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  I shrug. “I don’t normally use curse words abusively, so I suppose I’m not doing anything wrong. But with you, I just, I don’t know. I feel so…”

  Colton assesses my expression. “Do I make you feel out of control, Skylar?”

  Yes. So much. And I can’t handle it. I can’t handle him. He’s standing here between my legs, his mouth inches away, with his hot hands on my thighs. The heat from his skin is seeping through the sweatpants—his sweatpants that I’m wearing—and the sensory overload is enough to make me explode. Colton’s presence and energy are so big, so powerful, that I need to step back.

  Just like when I was sixteen, I have the urge to run. I jump off the counter, forcing him to step back. I land on my feet, and immediately grab my handbag and head for the door.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say in a soft voice as I leave the kitchen. “I can’t stay.”

  Colton’s hand catches my waist before I reach the hallway.

  “Hey.” His breath tickles the back of my neck. “Don’t run just because you’re afraid. Please.”

  I lean my back against his chest for a split second, and his strong arm comes around me, holding me to him.

  “I have to go, Colton.” I force the words out at the same time that I break away from his embrace. “I’ll call a cab. And please don’t say you’ll drive me home, because I’ll politely refuse the offer.”

  I find my shoes, which are dry enough to put on.

  Colton walks with me to the front door, and then blocks it with his huge body. “I won’t drive you home. But I want your number, Sky. Your actual, honest-to-God real cell phone number, where I can call you to say hi, and text you dirty messages before you go to sleep.”

  My cell phone’s already in my hand. And I don’t have any hesitations when I give the phone over to him.

  He takes it from me solemnly and stares down at the blocked screen.

  “You want my passcode?”

  I’m offering him more than a simple phone code, and he knows it. His eyes light up in happy surprise, but he simply nods.

  “Bolder.” I spell it out for him.

  Colton glances at me, before typing in the word. “Special meaning?” he says as he returns to focusing his attention on my phone.

  “Just…some regrets I have.” I don’t say the whole truth—that I wish I’d been bolder in Boulder ten years ago, and not run away from the only guy who’s ever made me feel anything real in this world.

  “Funny thing about regrets.” He looks up from my phone as I hear his beep in his pocket. “When I’ve finished living this life, I’
d rather say I tried too many things than not enough.”

  “Like what things?”

  “Like this,” he says as he leans forward and kisses me lightly on the lips. “I’m not giving up on you, Sky. Even if I didn’t have your number”—he hands me back my phone—“I bet you’d be a little easier to find this time. I know where you work at least. And we’re in the same city now.”

  “Have you ever seen me on TV?” I ask, my cheeks heating at how arrogant the question sounds. “I just got a regular on-air slot for interviews, but they also give me a lot of filler crap.”

  “I don’t watch TV.”

  “Right.” I give him a look.

  But he shrugs. “Seriously, unless it’s sports, odds are I haven’t seen it. Or an eighties movie—I watch those all the time.” He winks at me. “But I’ll look for you now, Skylar Rosewood. I’m going to program my television so I never miss a single segment of ARTWAVE. Even if that means I have to watch that prick Maxwell White eye-fuck you when you interview him.”

  I laugh. “I can assure you I don’t stand for any line-crossing when I’m on the job.” I press the number for my favorite cab service and hold the phone to my ear as I open the front door. “Good-bye, Colton.”

  He leans over and kisses my cheek, so gently I get obvious shivers up and down my body. He grins. “I’ll be in touch, Sparky. Thanks for coming over.”

  * * *

  It’s five o’clock when Angie pops her head into my tiny office.

  After the cab drove me from Colton’s to my apartment, I changed into a pair of black dress pants and a white top, and dashed into my car. I made it to my job in record time, locked myself in my office, and didn’t come out.

  I’ve spent every hour since I fled Colton’s house trying to tame my racing pulse and stop my body from aching for him. Between my legs, in my heart—all of me craves Colton’s touch.

  Promise me you won’t stop this time.

  I cannot believe I said that to him. I lost complete control of myself and just let my hormones take over. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I wanted Colton today, and the very memory has me nearly moaning out loud. In my damn office, where I’m being paid to work, not get off on some guy.