The Savior: COLTER (Cover Six Security Book 6)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Unexpected anger shot through him again—from the sudden accusation, from the memory of seeing a knife pressed against Allison's side, from her own anger. He surged to his own feet, using his body—his size—to hold Allison in place and keep her from running.

  "I was looking for you, Allison. I've been camped on that fucking corner for three days trying to find you, not hook up with some damn prostitute."

  "Then why were you offering Shonda money? I saw you—"

  "For information, not for services." He swallowed back the anger, dug deep for a sense of calm he didn't feel. For the first time in a long time, he almost lost the struggle.

  Almost.

  He stepped back, putting space between them, and lowered his voice. "Allison, I've never had to pay a woman for anything in my life. I'm sure as hell not about to start with some young kid."

  Allison dragged a hand through her hair and released a deep sigh. The sound was sharp in the still air around them, filled with weariness and a hint of defeat. She folded her arms in front of her and turned away, started pacing in a small circle. Finally stopped and faced him, her gaze focused on something over his left shoulder.

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did. I'm just..." Her voice trailed off, tension and uncertainty filling the silence that settled between them. Colter wanted to close the distance between them, pull her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay.

  But how could he tell her that when he had no idea what the hell was going on? As for holding her—he couldn't do that, either, no matter how much he wanted to.

  "Talk to me, Al. Tell me what's going on. If you're in trouble—"

  "I'm not."

  "Then tell me what's going on. Let me help."

  She shook her head. A second went by, then another, before she finally looked at him. "Why were you even looking for me? How did you know where to find me?"

  "I saw you the other night, couldn't figure out what you were doing here."

  "So that was you. I thought it might be but I wasn't sure." She said the words in an off-handed way, almost like she wasn't even aware that she was saying them.

  "Why'd you run?"

  She laughed, the sound lacking all the exuberance and joy from the laughter he remembered hearing on the island. "I just saw some guy running toward me. It seemed safer to take off."

  There was so much she wasn't saying, so many questions he wanted to ask. She was hiding something—a lot of somethings, if his gut was right. He started to ask her again what was going on but she suddenly stepped closer, a hint of concern on her face.

  "You need to get that cut taken care of, make sure you don't need stitches."

  "I don't." At least, he was fairly certain he didn't. It didn't feel like it was deep enough to worry about and if it was, he'd call Wolf and have him come take care of it. Fewer questions that way.

  No, scratch that. No way in hell could he call Wolf, not with Allison here. That would just be inviting trouble because Wolf would have a hundred different questions.

  And they'd all revolve around why the hell Boomer's sister was in his house.

  Allison completely ignored him and moved closer, her hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. The action was so unexpected that Colter simply stood there, his feet rooted in place, his body—and mind—completely frozen as she pushed his shirt up, exposing the bare flesh of his stomach and part of his chest—and the gash in his side.

  She stared, her face suddenly infused with heat. A second later she stumbled against him, her hands fisting in his shirt as her legs buckled under her.

  Chapter Five

  "I'm not going to pass out." Allison's voice was weak and thready, bordering on pathetic even to her own ears. She struggled against the strong arms holding her but it was nothing more than a token attempt to free herself. Despite what he thought, she was in no danger of passing out. Maybe her stomach had rolled just the tiniest bit when she saw the cut that marred the smooth skin of Colter's side—though it was the idea that someone had tried to hurt him that upset her and not the cut itself—but that wasn't why she had stumbled.

  It had been the sight of all that smooth skin, the way it pulled tight over hard abs, and that thin line of hair that bisected those defined abs and disappeared into the waistband of his tactical pants.

  "I'm not going to pass out," she repeated but to no avail. Colter was already picking her up, cradling her against his broad chest, so hard and warm and alive. He swore, the words low and unintelligible, his breath warm against her cheek as she clung to him. All she wanted to do was rest her head on that chest, to revel in the feel of those strong arms holding her close. To tilt her head back and gaze into dark eyes a second before soft lips closed over hers.

  But she'd tried that once—more than once—and the results had been disastrous. Colter had pushed her away. Had let her know in the plainest terms that nothing would ever happen between them. Allison had no desire to embarrass herself even more, not now.

  Especially not now.

  She placed one palm against the wall of his chest and pushed. It was like pushing against a mountain: completely ineffectual. How could she have forgotten how big he was? How solid? Maybe she hadn't forgotten, maybe she'd simply forced all memories of the man holding her to the back of her mind, to be pulled out and relived only in her deepest dreams. He'd made it clear he wasn't interested, even though that one steaming kiss they had shared told her otherwise. Fool that she was, she had come on to him again anyway, convinced she could change his mind. Convinced he was interested, despite his words.

  Only to have him turn her down.

  Again.

  Embarrassment over the memory of the rejection heated her face, eclipsing the blush that had blossomed from having Colter hold her the way he was. She pushed against him one more time and this time he released her, lowering her to the sofa where she'd been sitting moments earlier. He straightened, stared down at her with those deep, dark eyes, and frowned.

  "When's the last time you had something to eat?"

  He was giving her an out, a way to redeem herself from her embarrassing near-collapse. She grabbed the excuse with both hands. "I had some toast this morning."

  He swore again, the words low and vicious, then turned and disappeared into the kitchen. She watched as he stared into the refrigerator then shut the door with another low oath. He opened a cabinet, dug through it for a few seconds, then returned with a protein bar. He shoved it at her.

  "Eat."

  "I'm not hungry."

  "Eat it anyway. I don't need you passing out on me."

  Oh God, did he really think she was that desperate? That she was starving? That she was living on the streets? Yes, that must be exactly what he thought—he'd practically said as much when he asked if she was in trouble.

  She wanted to tell him again she wasn't in trouble. She had plenty of food. A roof over her head. A job with a modest but steady income. It wasn't enough to make her rich but it was a thousand times more than the women she was trying to help had—which was usually just the clothes on their backs.

  But she couldn't tell him any of that, not yet. Maybe not ever. She grabbed the protein bar from his outstretched hand and tore it open, took a hasty bite and did her best to choke it down without gagging on it. Colter was still watching her with that frown so she forced herself to take one more bite, then another before giving up. She pulled the wrapper over the half-eaten bar then placed it on the table next to the bourbon he'd given her earlier.

  Allison sat back, changed her mind and reached for the glass. Maybe it would help settle her nerves. Better yet, maybe it would help settle her mind.

  A large hand closed over hers, stopping her before she could raise the glass to her mouth. She refused to look up, afraid of what she might see on that sculpted face staring down at her, and focused on that single hand instead.

  Large, broad, the size eclipsing her own smaller one. His hand was darker than her own pale one, the fingers lo
ng with short, clean nails. His skin was rougher, too, the hands of a man who wasn't afraid to use them for work—or for play.

  The memory of those same hands gliding over her clothed skin rushed back, filling her with heat and need. One kiss. One simple kiss. That was all it had taken for her to practically fall at his feet. For her to ask—to beg—for more. One kiss, and her world had been turned upside down.

  One kiss—and then the taste of his rejection. Gently issued, even apologetic, but still sharp and biting and oh-so-mortifying, especially when she had convinced herself he didn't mean it. That he was being honorable. That the only reason he didn't want to get involved was because he was friends with her brother.

  Only he had meant it and she didn't think honor had anything to do with it.

  Allison blinked the embarrassing memory away and finally looked up, hoping Colter couldn't see everything she was thinking and feeling on her face. She'd gotten better at hiding her emotions, her thoughts, these last few months. She had to because she couldn't let the women—some of them little more than girls—see how hopeless and helpless she sometimes felt, as if nothing she did would ever make a difference.

  How could the women they tried so desperately to help have hope of their own if all they saw on Allison's face was despair? They couldn't—so she had learned to hide her emotions. But the man currently watching her always saw so much more. He had an uncanny talent for seeing what hid beneath the surface, for searching out emotion and finding a person's weakness.

  She dropped her gaze and let him take the glass from her hand. The silence that settled around them made her squirm in discomfort and she searched for a way to break it, finally settling on something mundane and safe.

  "I'm not used to seeing you with a beard."

  One dark brow shot up in amusement. Colter raised one hand to his face, smoothed it over his jaw then shrugged. "I grew it out a few months ago for an op and haven't gotten around to shaving it off yet."

  "Oh." Allison almost asked him what kind of op then thought better of it. Even if he could tell her—which she doubted—she wasn't sure she wanted to know. "Well, it looks good on you."

  He shot her another amused look, drained the glass he had taken from her, then once again took a seat on the table across from her. His gaze was too intense, too searching, and she looked away.

  "What's going on, Al?"

  "Nothing."

  He made a low sound in his chest, a cross between a grunt and a snort of disbelief. "That's why some guy was holding a knife to you."

  "It was just a misunderstanding."

  "Bullshit." Colter leaned forward, close enough that the heat of his body brushed against her. "Talk to me, Al. Are you in some kind of trouble?"

  "Of course not."

  "Then what's going on?"

  "I told you: nothing."

  He watched her for several long minutes, his face carefully blank, his eyes curiously flat. Then he pushed to his feet and moved toward the kitchen. There was something about the way he moved, each step clipped and full of purpose, that filled her with trepidation.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Calling Boomer."

  "No!" She shot from the sofa and hurried after him. "Don't call him. Please."

  He stared at her hand, now wrapped around his steely forearm, then looked back at her. "Tell me why I shouldn't."

  "I don't want him to know I'm here." It was the truth, as far as it went. What she didn't tell him was why she didn't want her brother to know she was here. He'd totally flip out if he found out what she was doing. She hadn't even told Hannah she was here for fear her best friend would let something slip in front of Ryder.

  Colter was going to ask her why, was going to demand an explanation—she could see that clearly on his face. So she plunged ahead, changing the subject before he could say anything, hoping to distract him.

  "You need to get that cut looked at."

  "It's fine."

  "You should at least clean it. Let me bandage it for you." She offered a smile that she didn't quite feel. "I promise I won't pass out."

  He watched her for a full minute, saying nothing. Then he tugged his arm from her hold and stepped back. "You'll tell me what's going on after?"

  Allison nodded. It didn't count as a lie if she didn't actually say the words, right? And it wasn't as if she couldn't tell Colter what she was doing—it was that she didn't want to, because she had a feeling he'd flip out as much as Ryder would.

  Because there was a big difference between helping people in need—and using yourself as bait.

  Colter's dark eyes searched hers and she wondered if he could see that she had no intention of telling him anything. Probably. Colter possessed a keen intelligence and that uncanny ability to see things people wanted to keep hidden. Allison had no idea what he saw when he looked at her, wasn't sure she really wanted to know. The only thing that mattered—for now—was the nod of his head. He pointed behind her, in the direction of the living room.

  "First aid kit is upstairs in the bathroom."

  Allison headed for the stairs, Colter right behind her. Four doors opened off the hallway and he motioned toward the second one on the right. She opened the door, paused in the entranceway to look around as she tried to hide her surprise—and maybe a little envy, as well.

  The bathroom was bigger than she expected, especially for a rowhome. Dove gray tiles covered the floor and the lower half of the wall. The upper part of the walls was painted an off-white that matched the thick rugs scattered around the floor. Black towels hung from brushed chrome racks that matched the faucets of the sink.

  The biggest surprise was the shower. The glass-enclosed area took up the entire back wall. A broad showerhead was suspended from the ceiling and a smaller handheld one hung from the wall. There was even a bench covered in the same color tile as the floor.

  "The owner enlarged the bathroom when he remodeled two years ago."

  Allison yanked her gaze from the luxurious shower. "This isn't your place?"

  "No, I'm just renting." Colter moved past her and opened the closet off to the side. He turned back around, a large first aid kit in his hands. He handed the kit to her then shrugged out of the flannel shirt and tossed it to the side before reaching behind him and removing a holster carrying an impressive looking gun. Allison started to ask him why he was armed when he reached down, grabbed the hem of his torn and bloody t-shirt, and yanked it over his head.

  One look at him, and she forgot what she was going to ask. She forgot everything, including how to breathe.

  Chapter Six

  For a brief second, Colter thought she was on the verge of passing out, which made him wonder how bad the damn cut really was. He glanced down at the wound and frowned. It was a clean cut, maybe two inches long and not very deep at all. No need for stitches. A butterfly bandage, maybe. Definitely needed to be cleaned.

  He looked back at Allison, ready to reassure her that he was fine, ready to catch her if she staggered or started to faint. Only she wasn't looking at him—at least, not at the cut on his side. She was staring at his chest and he recognized that look in her eyes, had seen it before when they'd been on the island. Hell, he'd seen it in his own eyes when he looked in the mirror anytime he happened to be thinking of Allison.

  Hunger.

  Need.

  Desire.

  And just like that, the memory of that searing kiss came rushing to the surface. Not just the kiss itself, but every word she'd said to him, everything she'd made him want—and every lie he'd given her in response. The truth was, he wanted her. He had wanted her back then—

  And he wanted her now. Maybe even more than before.

  Not happening. It couldn't happen. No way in hell could he allow it to happen.

  He snagged the first aid kit from her hands, turned away from her and placed the kit on the counter. He'd do this himself, which is what the hell he should have done in the first place.

  "Why don't you go downstairs w
hile I clean this up? It'll only take me a few minutes."

  "I can do it."

  "Allison, it's not that bad. Just needs to be cleaned up and—"

  "I said I'd do it."

  "I don't need help, I've done this before." More times than he cared to admit, not that he'd ever tell her that. But she wasn't listening. Or maybe she was and just decided to ignore him because she grabbed the antiseptic wipes from his hand and ripped one open.

  "I'm not going pass out." Brown eyes quickly met his then looked away—but not before he saw the amusement twinkling in their depths. "And I won't jump you, either. Promise."

  Colter pressed his lips together, refusing to let the words he wanted to say escape. Not because he was afraid of hurting her feelings again, but because he was worried he'd tell her he wanted her to jump him. And yeah, this was bad. What the hell was his problem? This was Allison, his buddy's kid sister.

  Except she wasn't a kid.

  And he was tired of fighting it, whatever it was that lay between them. Whatever it was that had been there from the first day they met.

  Didn't matter, he couldn't act on it. He absolutely could not act on it. Boomer would flip his shit then tear Colter from limb-to-limb. At least, he'd try.

  The sting of the antiseptic wipe yanked him back to the here-and-now. He sucked in a short breath then looked down at Allison, at the way her thick hair fell over one shoulder as she leaned toward him. At the way she held the antiseptic wipe between her long fingers and gently cleansed the area around the wound. There was no hesitation in her movements, no sense of uncertainty.

  "You should probably put gloves on. There's a pair in the kit."

  Those brown eyes darted to his. "Is that your way of telling me your contagious or something?"

  He choked back unexpected laughter, though whether it was from her forthright question or the deadpan way she asked it, he didn't know. "I'm not contagious."

  "Then I'm not worried about using gloves." Her gaze darted to his then quickly looked away. "Or anything else."