Mile High Madness: Six Colorado Contemporary Romances

by Annabelle Anders

  This love making. Achingly tender but also desperate. I don’t know if I’ve imagined it. I easily could have… but… Did I?

  The love I felt in each caress, in the care in which he entered me. And then, Oh God. Every thrust. Like he needs to touch every part of me if he wants to go on living.

  I can’t contain the tears rolling down my face as I lay here with Colt’s rock hard, naked body wrapped around me.

  I don’t want him to see me like this. It’s just… so. Much.

  The sex. The release. The intimacy.

  Amazing. Physically awesome.

  But the avalanche of emotions I feel from him… No words.

  Mind-blowing.

  “What’s this?” He leans around to peer at me. I hate how guilt-ridden he looks. He catches my tears with his thumb.

  I’m shaking my head. I want to reassure him, but I sometimes feel like his emotions are a minefield.

  “You,” I finally manage. “I didn’t expect someone like you to come into my life right now.” A small glimmer of understanding appears in his stormy gaze. I roll around so I can see him better and stroke the short stubble on his jaw. His magnetism, his sheer sex appeal… “I keep trying to tell myself to keep this light, you know?” He nods and winces a little. “But… this. What just happened. It wasn’t light.”

  There.

  I’ve said it.

  He scrubs his hand across his face and lets out a long breath. “I thought this was what you wanted.” Even though neither of us has moved, a distance seems to have widened between us. It’s not what I wanted but I’ve never been the sort of person to play games.

  “It was,” I say. “It is.” But is it? “I don’t know. Forget it.” I need to leave. I’m naked. Exposed.

  Both physically and emotionally.

  I slide out of his arms and look around for my dress. For the first time, I feel self-conscious of my body with him. Of Squirt. Of the extra fullness in my hips and breasts.

  “What the fuck, Charlie?” He sounds hurt but he also sounds irritated. If I tell him everything whirling around my brain, I’m afraid I’ll send him running. Everything will end before it’s hardly begun.

  I don’t want it to end.

  Maybe I’m being hormonal?

  “I’m just tired.” I shimmy into my dress. “I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve ever been pregnant before. This. All of this. It’s new to me. I can’t pretend it’s not going to change my life forever. And I want it to.” Am I talking about Squirt or him? I know I’m not making sense. I wipe my eyes. Damn, now that I’m talking I can’t stop the vomit of words spewing from my mouth.

  I’m gonna lose him.

  Scare him away. “And… Being with you. Touching you… It’s addictive.”

  He’s rolls off the bed and comes to me. “I know, babe. Fuck, I know. I feel it too.”

  Which surprises me, but I still don’t think he understands. He’s going to leave me.

  Another man, leaving me.

  His arms are around me now, comforting. Soothing.

  Only I’m not feeling comforted. I’m scared to death. “But I’m not the one who’s gonna leave.” There. I’ve said it. “I’m the person who’ll be left behind.”

  He rests his head on top of my head.

  Before the words escape his mouth – the mouth that’s worshipped me in every sense of the word – I know what’s coming. “I don’t have a choice. Max has spent over a year scheduling this tour. We have rehearsals in L.A. And the travel. Shit, Charlie. I wish I could offer you more. I just… can’t.”

  There it is.

  “I know.” I have a choice. End it now… or drag this out another week. A war rages between my heart, my body, and my head. My body, hands down, wants to laugh this off and stay with him tonight. My head knows I’m setting myself up for despair. And my heart – my heart’s torn. “I know,” I say again.

  He releases me to pull on his own clothes. Cold fear squeezes my heart. Fear that this is over. Fear that he’ll check out and leave Colorado early. Fear that I’ll never see him again.

  I follow him into the living room, and he hands me my shoes.

  He’s telling me to leave.

  I’ve done this. I’ve ruined this fling. Except it wasn’t just a fling. Already, I’m in way too deep. I grab my sweater, and he checks to see that he has his key card.

  The air is thick with regret.

  So many words trapped inside. Words I’ll never say to him. “So, how long is this tour?” This sounds like a casual question, but it’s really me trying to understand. It’s as though I’m his mistress, and his career, his fans, his band… They’re his wife.

  And will be forever.

  “Twelve months.”

  “A year.” I know this. Why is it hitting me now? The fact that he’s gonna be traveling around the world for an entire year. The fact that I won’t talk to him every day. I won’t get to touch him. He won’t touch me…

  He locks the door behind us and then walks beside me with his hands in his pockets.

  He’s never done that before. Before he’s touched my back, held my hand… He never passed up some excuse to put his hands on me.

  This distance is expanding.

  “Yep.” His answer is terse.

  “What about your new songs?” I know he’s accomplished a lot this past week. I’d hate for his creativity to die again. Which, from what he’s said, is exactly what happened last time.

  “Probably shelve ’em till the tour’s over.”

  “So, you won’t record them until after? After the tour?” I hate to think of them sitting around for a year. I guess I don’t understand what he does. None of it makes sense to me. “Can’t you work on them in between events? On the bus and stuff?”

  “You don’t understand, Charlie.” He sighs loudly. He wants to shut me out but I’m not letting him. But Jesus Christ! I’ve shared so much with him. My body! My thoughts. My traitorous heart.

  “So, tell me.”

  “Waking up in a different city. Every fucking day. Turning it on. Smiling when you feel like shit. I used to love performing, but it’s my fucking job. It’s turned into a job… I play the same songs, over and over again. I sing each song with everything I’ve got. These people, fans, they pay big money to see something special. Every night I have to make it special. Every fucking night. I’m exhausted. I have nothing left afterwards.”

  “So, what do you do?” I push. “Drink? Sleep?” He’s tired of this conversation and so of course, God help me, I take it one step further. “Fuck?”

  Why do I say this? Why?

  “What do you think?” The vehemence in his voice startles me.

  I don’t have to look at him to know he’s clamped his mouth shut tight. And I feel like I should apologize, but I can’t.

  He acts like he has no control of his life. Like he can’t take it back.

  As though he’s sold his soul to the devil and part of me hates him for it.

  “Why do you do it then? Make me understand. If it makes you so unhappy… why?”

  We’re almost to my cabin already. He doesn’t answer. When we arrive at my door I turn around, press my back against it, and implore him with my eyes. “I just… You’re letting it hurt you. Of course, it’s a gift. You’ve been blessed. But it’s controlling you instead of the other way around.” I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall. He won’t meet my gaze. He’s looking off to the side.

  Staring at his profile tears me apart. He’s killing himself, and he won’t do anything about it. “I wish… I wish you were just a regular guy, you know?” Except I don’t really mean it. If he were just a regular guy, I wouldn’t feel this way. His smile, his energy, his soul. It’s all a part of who he is… And he’s captured me.

  I love him.

  I love him.

  Stupid, stupid Charlie!

  He’s finished with this conversation. I shouldn’t have pushed.

  “I’ll see you around.” His voice is hard,
detached, callous.

  “Colt.” I plead with him. He’s backing away from me.

  “Go inside.” He won’t leave me outside alone. Once I open the door… I wonder. Will I ever see him again?

  I’m frozen. I want to throw myself in his arms and beg him to love me. I want to beg his forgiveness. Beg him not to leave. But it won’t make any difference.

  Oh, God. How am I going to get through this?

  I take one last look at his face and try to imprint it on my brain.

  And then I turn around and rush inside.

  When I shut the door behind me, I break.

  He’s ruined me. I let him in. I allowed this to happen. I drop to the floor and allow the pain to erupt.

  Because right now I can’t imagine living without him.

  But I don’t have a choice.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Colt

  I don’t return to my cabin.

  I run. I don’t care where. Out to the main road and back.

  To the green.

  I need to end this now. She thinks I’m mad at her, but God no. I’m pissed at myself.

  I’ve been acting like her fucking boyfriend all week. I cook for her, massage her feet, worry about her. What did I expect?

  Top that off with the fact she’s a soon-to-be single mother. I’m an ass, and I should have never pursued her. What the hell was I thinking?

  My heartbeat pounds in my head as my feet hit the ground. How did this happen? I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself.

  By the time I get back to my cabin, I’m dripping with sweat. I have no idea what time it is. I go inside, and the first thing I notice is her wine glass. Her purse. Fuck.

  The lasagna we were going to share still sits on the counter.

  The bedroom’s even worse. When she walked out of here, she did so wearing her dress and her sandals.

  And nothing else.

  A hot pink bra and barely there panties taunt me from the floor by my bed. I scrub my face with both hands.

  Fuck.

  She’s everywhere. The note pad by the bed with one of the songs I wrote this week… reminds me of her. In bold letters at the top of the page I wrote ‘Something Special.’ Of course, it’s about Charlie.

  I can’t be in this bedroom right now. Her scent is on the pillows. The sweet smell of woman.

  My woman.

  And sex.

  I pull out my guitar. The wooden neck and the strings are as familiar to me as the back of my hand.

  Close my eyes.

  Like a movie reel, moments with Charlie play in my brain.

  Was I just pretending with her? Pretending to care?

  E-minor. And then it comes. After less than ten minutes, it’s all down on paper. I don’t need to write it down… it’s written on my soul:

  I never touched your body.

  You never touched my heart

  You’re a dream that never happened but you’re tearing me apart.

  So, I’ll go on pretending and life will go on

  I’ll just keep pretending, now that you’re gone.

  Pretending is for children, It’s an art, it’s a skill.

  Pretend life’s worth living, Just a matter of will

  Pretending is lying, dying. Missing your sighing.

  Your crying. Me denying

  That love can be real

  Chorus

  Pretend you never happened. Pretend you’re just a dream

  Cause now it’s a nightmare. I’m here and you’re there. I’ll need to be better at pretending… it’s not ending…

  I run a hand through my hair. The sky’s no longer black on the horizon but indigo blue. The exact color of the little flecks in Charlie’s eyes.

  What the fuck am I doing? She’s only a few steps away.

  She wants everything from me, and I just can’t…

  I search through the well-stocked bar seeking familiar relief… Maker’s Mark? Knob Creek? Doesn’t this place carry… ah, there it is. Jack. I won’t bother with ice. I open the bottle and inhale the warm spicy scent. It’s almost five in the morning… Saturday morning.

  She doesn’t work today. She’s probably curled up in bed. I crave her warm soft curves.

  I’m shirtless. I don’t care.

  I’m not ready to lose her yet. I know it’s selfish. I don’t know how to make this work, but in the flash of an instant, I’m screwing the cap back onto the bottle.

  Before I let myself think about it, I’m outside. Running again.

  Barefoot.

  God damn gravel. Fuck. Shit. It doesn’t matter. The cold air fills my lungs. As my eyes get used to the dark, I run faster.

  I’m not ready for us to end. What if she won’t let me in?

  She has to.

  I pound on her door twice with my fists and then once with my forehead. “Charlie!”

  Nothing.

  I pound on the door again. My chest is burning – not from running – from the emotions trapped inside. My fist makes contact with the smooth wood and then I hear the lock turning.

  She opens the door wearing nothing but a short silky night dress. Her hair’s messy, tousled, sexy as hell. The tilt of her head is wary.

  But her eyes love me.

  Mine devour her.

  And then the rest of me follows suit. I need her. It’s the only thing that makes sense right now.

  I step across the threshold and kick the door closed behind me. I have no words. I only have need. This crushing, demanding need.

  In one motion I engulf her.

  With my mouth, my body. I need her. “Not yet, Charlie. Not yet.” I barely comprehend my ragged words.

  Her lips part. Her arms wind around me. I want to pound into her, right here against the wall. Instead I drag her to a soft brown leather sofa.

  I’ve never sat on it. She never invited me in. In this instant, she doesn’t question me. But those eyes.

  Her eyes read my soul.

  I unbutton my pants and shove down her panties, not once looking away from her eyes.

  “I eat.” I tell her with my first thrust. I haven’t done anything to prepare her but she’s wet for me. Ready.

  “I sleep.” I thrust again. Her eyes roll back a little.

  “But if I fuck anyone.” I thrust again. I need to be in her. I’m not ready to lose her. Her eyelids are hooded but she’s watching me still. Barely. “It has to be you.” My words come out throaty. Too much emotion. I’m trying to picture myself going back on the road. Screwing faceless women.

  I’m filling her.

  My Charlie.

  “Colt,” she reassures me in a whisper. She wraps her legs around me. “Colt. Of course.” A moan escapes her lips as I move my hips against her center. “You have me. Like it or not, you have me.”

  Her tears overflow. I’m not afraid of them now. They are her expression of joy, passion, fear…love.

  I’m buried deep inside of her, her inner muscles milking my cock.

  “Anything,” I promise her. My little pregnant hippy. “Anything.”

  Eventually we make our way to her bedroom and I hold her as dawn breaks.

  We don’t talk. Our bodies know the words our minds can’t comprehend. Touching has become vital to me. I’m tired but afraid to fall asleep.

  “It’s okay, Rock Star,” she mumbles against my chest. “Close your eyes.”

  I swear she’s a witch. Her eyes are closed. I thought she was sleeping.

  “How do you know my eyes are open?” I don’t know how she does this. It’s not the first time.

  “I just do.” She swirls her tongue along my skin. “I know you.”

  “My eyes were closed.”

  “No, they weren’t.”

  I palm her ass. I love this body. Tight and lush at the same time. She slides down and takes me to heaven in her mouth.

  Never.

  Forever.

  This isn’t pretend.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Charlie
r />   I almost didn’t let him in.

  No. I’m lying. I knew I shouldn’t let him in. But when I heard the hurt in his voice, I couldn’t shut him out if my life depended on it.

  And now he’s imprinted himself on every aspect of my life.

  My home, my sofa, my bed.

  My body.

  He’s fallen asleep finally. He can’t hide his turmoil from me when we’re like this. Not when we’re together like this.

  Careful not to wake him, I crawl out of bed and tiptoe into the kitchen. I want to make him breakfast. He’s always cooking for me. He says we’re cooking together, but he does most of the work. And he’s always careful to make things vegetarian.

  Colt Forrester is a giver.

  He wouldn’t agree with me, but I’m coming to learn this about him. Unfortunately, I think the people who work for him take advantage of this quality. A whole lot of people make money off these tours. Off his music. And he doesn’t want to let them down.

  I pull out some veggies and egg substitute mix and gather what I need to make some sort of omelet. He’d prefer bacon and real eggs, but this is the best I can do at a moment’s notice. I grin to myself. He’s steak and hamburgers, and I’m tofu and couscous.

  I’m sautéing the veggies when warm arms wrap around me. “Smells good.” He nuzzles my neck.

  I can’t help but lay my head on his chest. “I figured you worked up an appetite last night.” I’m assuming we’re good for now. No definitions. No promises. No demands.

  “I’m willing to work up a new one this morning.” He rocks his erection against my back. I laugh. He’s insatiable, and I love it.

  “Sit down.” I pour him a cup of coffee (decaf, of course) and set it on the table.

  It’s the first time he’s ever been in my home. Now he’s in my kitchen.

  I’m loving how he looks, just sitting there, a small frown between his eyes. I take a mental picture as he eyes the hot drink warily. “It isn’t real, is it?”

  “Poor baby.” I run my hands through his hair.

  “This is a travesty! Might as well be water!” Colt leans back and crosses one foot over his knee.

  What on earth? Blood had dried on the bottom of his foot. “Colt!” I kneel on the floor and examine his other foot. I’m puzzled until it hits me.