The Mile High Madness

by Anders, Annabelle

  And I’ve taken advantage. Some would say I’ve taken advantage of them. This life. This world. It’s crazy.

  Except that for me, it’s become the norm.

  Crazy is my normal.

  And I’ve rolled with it.

  When you’re twenty-one and women are grabbing you, rubbing their tits on you, and putting your hand on their pussy, well… you don’t exactly fight them off. You go through lots of condoms and don’t look back.

  Because there’s always another one, another hot groupie. I’m constantly in motion… to the next town, the next venue, play, drink, all sorts of shit. At least I’m smart enough to stay away from drugs. I’ve seen too many fuck themselves up. Burned out. Burned up.

  Dead.

  Nah, I stay away from that.

  Unfortunately, not everyone feels this way. I ought to have more control over it, over them, and it’s messing with my head.

  After being on the road for eighteen months straight, I’m taking a hiatus. At the recommendation of my manager, Lex Maddox and the bigwigs at Sun Recording.

  They’ve decided I need to clear my head.

  They didn’t like it when I attacked the junkie who’d scored a backstage pass to peddle his wares to my team. I beat the crap out of the little bastard.

  Don’t bring that shit around me. Around my guys.

  I lost it.

  Thing was, this wasn’t the first time. Ever since Randy overdosed. What do they expect? I’m no tolerance. Zero.

  So, they’ve signed me up for a two-week retreat at the Whiskey Creek Ranch and Spa. “Relax,” they told me. “Hike, swim. Take a yoga class.” I’d rather they sent me to Timbuctoo.

  I have no choice. This sort of crap gets slipped into the fine print of some vague clause in your contract and the next thing you know you’re sitting cross legged wearing a toga.

  I walk up to a guest service desk where a pretty little thing is sitting behind a desk tapping at a computer. She’s hot. I mean, really hot. Natural hot. No makeup but perfect skin. Plump, perfect lips. Nice rack. I can’t see the rest of her, but I’m willing to bet I’ll like what I see. She’s wearing a short-sleeved lacy blouse, showing off firm, toned arms.

  Maybe this won’t be such a trial after all. I hold her gaze and drop into one of the cushioned chairs facing her. Her fingers are long and slim, nails painted with some sparkly silver polish. No ring. I notice this stuff. She’s free game.

  She slips on a pair of glasses and flashes me a professional but friendly smile. “Name?”

  I chuckle. It’s kind of fun when chicks don’t know who I am. “Colt.” I say. “Forrester.” I’m waiting for the reaction that usually comes now.

  Nothing.

  She glances up and tilts her head. She’s a hot blond. I freely admit that I’m partial to them. “Welcome to Whiskey Creek, Mr. Forrester.” I’m laughing to myself now. She’s playing with me.

  I study her with what is known as my smoldering gaze. Women have dropped their panties when I give them this look. Literally. And then thrown them on the stage at me. She blinks a few times, clears her throat, and then begins tapping away at her computer again. She bites her bottom lip as she seems to scroll through various names. “Ah, yes. I have you down for fourteen nights. Our VIP package.”

  I’ll give her a VIP package.

  My gaze drops to her breasts, visible through the white blouse, spilling out the top of her bra. I’ve always been a boob guy. “Will fourteen nights be enough?”

  Pale crimson spreads up her neck and into her face. “I, er, expect…” She clears her throat again. “…that’s, er, up to you Mr. Forrester.” I’ve rattled her.

  “That’s Colt to you, sweetheart.” I say. God, she’s fucking priceless. “Call me Colt.” Another weapon in my arsenal: my voice.

  “Er. Very well then. Mr. For – I mean. Colt.” She slides a glossy brochure across her desk without meeting my eyes. “We have a number of activities at your convenience. Yoga, massage…” She peeks up at me from beneath thick, dark lashes. “Ahem. Swimming, golf, rafting, kayaking, and hiking outings. If you have any dietary requirements, please let us know and we’ll be sure to cater to your needs.” Still flushed, she turns back to the computer. “You’re in cabin number three. King size bed, hot tub, fully stocked kitchen and bar. If you’d like to give me your keys, I’ll have one of the valets unload your vehicle and park it for you.” She hands me a key card and finally meets my eyes again. “If you need anything at all, I hope you’ll call me so I can take care of it right away.” There it is.

  Knew it was coming.

  “Make a key for yourself, sweetheart, and stop by when you’re off.”

  Annoyance crosses her features. “I’m the VIP Concierge and guest service only.” She swallows. “Although I er… appreciate the invitation.” And then she stifles a giggle.

  I rub my jaw thoughtfully. Something’s off here. And bastard that I am, I’m getting even more turned on. “What’s your name darlin’?”

  She sits up straight and meets my gaze again. A mischievous light dances behind her sapphire blue eyes. “Charlie Richards. Sweetie.” She wipes a hand across her mouth. This only draws my attention to the fullness of her lips again. Imagining what she could do with those lips, I go from half-mast to three fourths.

  I don’t chase women. They chase me. I’m at a bit of a loss.

  “Charlie.” I drawl. “Do you realize how beautiful you are?” That got her. Her pupils dilate causing her eyes to darken. I reach across the desk and touch the back of her hand with my fingertips. Goose bumps appear, and she visibly shivers. “Have a drink with me tonight?”

  Those lips of hers tremble. I know she feels this charge. It doesn’t happen very often. “I’d love to, Mr. Forrester, but I really can’t.” She pulls her hand out from under mine and tucks it behind the desk.

  Well, fuck.

  “Your keys?” She sounds all professional again. “To your car?”

  I pull them out of my pocket. “These?” I dangle them in front of her. She cocks an eyebrow. And then, ignoring me, picks up a radio. “Chad?” She speaks into the device still smiling at me. “Mr. Forrester’s car is here.”

  “Be right there, Charlie.” A distorted voice responds.

  “A list of amenities is included in your packet, but I’m more than happy to assist you with any of your… resort requirements.”

  Fuck.

  King.

  Priceless.

  And then she pushes away from her desk, rises, and arches her back.

  If I could kick my own ass right then, I would. Cause I have just stepped in a pile of steaming manure.

  Instead of the svelte smooth abdomen I expected, she’s sporting a baby bump, at least seven or eight months along. And she’s grinning from ear to ear. “If you’re ready now, I’ll show you to your cabin.”

  Shit.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Charlie

  I’ve never felt this horny. I’m twenty-five years old, eight months pregnant and my baby daddy has done a disappearing act. And, yeah. My hormones have gone freaking crazy. Did I mention that?

  Did you know that if you use a diaphragm you need to leave it in for a while afterwards? Yes? Well.

  I didn’t.

  Brent and I had been dating six months when he started complaining about having to use a condom all the time. He wanted to be closer to me. He insisted. He wanted nothing to come between our love.”

  I’d tried the pill before. It gave me panic attacks, acne. I felt like I was PMSing all the time. So, my doctor prescribed me a diaphragm and voila. Here I am. Pregnant.

  And alone. Did I mention that?

  Anyway. Like I said, I’m like, home to the estrogen apocalypse. And in walks this guy.

  Not just any guy.

  Country Rock Heartthrob, Colt Forrester.

  I’m more of an alternative rock sort of gal, but oh, Mama. It’s like he’s singing to my vagina. And my vagina wants to sing back.

  A
nd then he hits on me. Like seriously, invites me to his room.

  Chiseled jaw, a few days’ stubble, messy dirty blond hair peeking out from his baseball cap. He wears it backwards. So cocky. It’s not like I’m unaffected or anything. Because…waving hand in front of my face…I’m affected.

  About halfway through our conversation, though, I realize he doesn’t see my little surprise. Yep. Squirt, here, is hiding behind the desk.

  When he touched my hand, told me I was beautiful, my heart skipped about five beats. The man’s got game.

  Unfortunately, my back is aching, and I can hardly sit another minute. I stand up and watch his face when he realizes he’s just tried to score a pregnant chick.

  I can’t help myself. I’m laughing so hard now, I might pee my pants.

  Those thunder blue eyes of his widen at my revelation, and he turns red beneath his golden tan. And then…I get his first real smile. At least I think it is. He’s not trying to smolder or get me into his room. He’s simply laughing at himself.

  Dangerous. Good God, this man is freaking dangerous.

  My bones turn to lava. I try to tamp down my raging libido. Hormones. Gah! “I’m sorry.” I wipe a tear of laughter away. “But oh, my God, that just made my day.”

  He’s shaking his head, bent over so I can’t see his face, his elbows resting on his knees. I can see the contours of his muscles through his T-shirt. I want to taste the back of his neck. Salty, I’ll bet. A hint of cedar and some soap.

  After a full minute, he pulls himself together enough to stare at me again. The funny thing is, his eyes still flirt with me. He runs his gaze up and down my body like I’m a playboy bunny modeling a bikini.

  Outrageous.

  I shrug a little. Even though I know he’s a major tease, I’m unnerved. “If you’re ready?”

  He pushes himself out of his seat. I can’t help noticing the way his jeans hang low on his hips. He notices me noticing and cocks an eyebrow. He’s even better at that than me…and it’s a particular talent of mine. Not everybody can do it. Raise one brow effortlessly.

  His makes my breasts throb.

  Seriously, I had no idea pregnancy could do this to me. “Right this way.” I wave my arm and indicate for him to follow me out the door.

  A mistake. I’m wearing a jean skirt I’ve owned since before my pregnancy. The waistband fits below my belly but it’s a little tight around my ass. We dress casual. This is a ranch, for Pete’s sake, so I’m wearing my cowboy boots. They’re old and comfy and they make my legs look longer than they are. I feel him watching as the automatic doors slide open, and I step through.

  Outside, I take a deep breath. The fragrant scent of pine and sage never fails to calm me. I love living up here. I love working on the ranch. Set off the beaten path, a hundred miles west of Denver, Whiskey Creek is something of a gem.

  Modern facilities at the clubhouse and offices, but the lodge, the lotus center, and the cabins have this retro rustic chic thing going on. All the furnishings and accessories are hand-made, custom pieces, built to look about a hundred years old, but tucked behind the mismatched cabinets in the mini kitchens are state of the art appliances.

  I’m normally the yoga instructor but due to present circumstances, I’ve been… relocated. I told my bosses I wanted to work until a week before my due date. They’ve been super understanding. As for what I planned to do with my life afterwards… things aren’t as clear.

  Sometimes this fear creeps out of the shadows and blindsides me. I’m gonna be a single mom in less than a month. And I want this baby, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t feel ready. I get four weeks’ maternity leave. After that I’ll need to figure out some sort of day care. Which isn’t all that easy, considering I live on site and we’re in the middle of nowhere. If I can’t find daycare I’ll have to leave. The thought steals my breath. The nature, the atmosphere, all of it feeds my sense of tranquility. And I need that. Boy, do I need that.

  Fucking Brent.

  Not for bailing on me, but for coming here in the first place.

  The warmth of a hand settles on the small of my back sending a chill down my spine. It’s Colt Forrester’s hand. I swallow around the lump in my throat.

  “That’s not by chance a basketball under your shirt?” his voice slides through the air like velvet. I pat the top of Squirt.

  “Not a football either.” I slide a sideways glance his way.

  His hand didn’t feel presumptuous. Protective. It felt protective.

  And I liked it.

  Probably too much.

  My back muscles have ached for two months now. I want him to dig his fingers in and loosen them. What else could those fingers do?

  Pine trees line the path, creating an illusion of privacy. He clears his throat.

  “I ah, suppose I owe you an apology?” It’s a question, but I’m not sure what he’s asking. “In my defense, you’re one hot pregnant chick. And–” He glances pointedly. “I didn’t see a ring.”

  “A dangerous assumption. Not all married people wear rings.” Not that I wouldn’t. My own father hadn’t. He’d told my mom it irritated his skin. In truth, it had put a kink in his affairs.

  “If you were mine, you’d be wearing a big fat diamond.”

  The words, spoken by this man, turn my knees to jelly. It takes a few seconds, but I force myself to laugh. Such a charmer. A perpetual flirt. Except this is pity flirting. Like he would do with an old lady, or a child.

  I straighten my spine beneath his hand. “What brings you to Whiskey Creek, Colt?” He’s not our typical guest. I’d expect somebody like him to go in for something more adventurous.

  “Contractual obligation.” There’s a thread of steel in his voice when he answers. It warns me not to probe. Subject closed. He swings the conversation over to me. “You work here long?”

  “Four years.” Finding this place had been a godsend. One semester of regular college had been enough for me. Too many people. Too much angst on campus. Massage therapy school had been a much better fit. I’d learned so much there. Not only anatomy and physiology stuff, but spiritual ideas. Concepts that applied to me.

  I’d learned more about who I was.

  We pass the path to cabin number two. “Can I schedule a massage for you tomorrow? Several of our guests have one daily.”

  He grunts a little. And then his fingers start smoothing out the tight chords in my back. I’m tempted to stop walking, lean into him and moan in ecstasy.

  I’ve got to get myself under control.

  “You feel like you could use one.” His voice rumbles with suggestion. He’s good. Too damn good.

  The butterflies flapping around inside me are impossible to ignore. Breathe, Charlie. Breathe. I set aside my own emotions and focus on absorbing his.

  Immediately, I feel uncomfortable. Not for myself, but for him. He’s using the flirtation as a distraction.

  “A lot of people feel lost when they first get up here. Like, ‘now what?’ They discover a giant vacuum where all their responsibilities were.”

  In the midst of the attraction I feel, anxiety creeps in. Not sure if it’s him or me.

  “If you stop by the office, I have some trail maps. A hike’s always a good way to wind down.” I mentally step away from the vibe I’m getting. So dark.

  Ah, cabin number three. We turn off the main path onto a smaller one. “Chad should be here in a few minutes with your luggage. Feel free to text or call if you need anything. Anything at all.” It’s my standard line, but when I say it to this man the meaning feels different. I hand him my card and he glances down.

  “Charlotte Richards, Guest Services and VIP Concierge.” He reads my card out loud but doesn’t say anything else.

  “Charlie.” I correct him. My dad’s the only one who ever calls me Charlotte.

  I hate it.

  Colt doesn’t enter the cabin right away. He’s blocking my way. Just standing there with a thumb hooked through his belt loop. He looks like he�
�s gonna say something but then changes his mind. “Never had a VIP Concierge before.” A dimple appears by his chin when he smiles. Eyes the color of a stormy sky have me mesmerized. My neck feels hot. I swallow and nod.

  “Ah… Well then.” I pick my way around him. Even going off the trail in an attempt to avoid touching him. “Enjoy your stay.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Colt

  I’ve obviously become one messed up son of a bitch. Not for hitting on her before she stood up, but for still wanting to fuck her afterwards.

  I don’t poach on other men’s women, and Jesus Christ, the woman’s got a bun in the oven. I’m sick. Yep. That’s me. Sick.

  Maybe I do need to meditate.

  Cleanse. Whatever it is they call it.

  I slide my key card in and open the door. This place is kind of funky. Old and new, in a good way. The cabin, from a distance, appeared shabby, broken down almost. But as I enter, I realize everything smells brand new.

  No idea what I’m paying for this, but I’d be willing to bet it isn’t cheap. I step in and explore the main room. Cozy. Fireplace. A well-stocked book shelf. Nice selection. Sound system.

  Giant screen TV.

  Hmmm… Maybe I’m Zen after all.

  The kitchen has everything I could possibly need, all efficiently tucked away. There’s even a bar. So much for cleansing. A back porch beckons through French doors. I step outside and take a deep breath. Incredible view. The elevation dips behind me and over the trees I can see for miles. A lake in the valley below and snowcapped peaks in the distance. For the first time in months a melody teases my subconscious. Nothing new, nothing memorable, but when you play for a living the joy kind of ebbs.

  “Mr. Forrester?” The valet/bellman has opened the front door and is peeking inside. Chad.

  Eager looking kid.

  “Just sit ’em there.” I stroll back in, scratching the back of my neck. “All the employees live up here?”

  The kid’s hands are shaking a little. He seems nervous as he carefully sets down my luggage and guitar case. I’m used to this. I reach into my back pocket for my money clip.