Driven

CHAPTER 8

As Colton and I stroll out of the house, an odd feeling of calm settles over me. I think this may be the best approach for a date with Colton. Unexpectedly, I’ve caught him off guard so that he can’t do any extensive planning. Extensive planning might equal overstated indulgences and premeditated seduction. Two things that I definitely do not need. It’s hard enough to resist him as it is.

“We’ll take my car,” he says placing a hand on my back, the warmth of his hand there comforting, as he steers me toward a sleek, carbon-black convertible parked at the curb. The Aston Martin is beautiful and looks as if it is meticulously taken care of. It looks like it can really fly and for just an instant, I imagine getting behind the wheel, flooring the pedal, and leaving all my ghosts behind.

“Nice ride,” I grant him, although I try not to show any interest. I’m sure he’s used to women fawning all over him and his car. Not me. Let the games begin, I think.

“Thanks.” He opens the passenger door for me, and I slide onto the black leather, admiring the crafted interior and complete opulence. “I thought it was beautiful day to drive with the top down,” he says rounding the back of the car and sliding in next to me. “I just didn’t realize I was also going to be taking you out in it, too. An added bonus!” He admits, giving me a megawatt grin as he puts on his sunglasses.

I can’t help but give him a smile back as his is infectious. “Whatever happened to good ol’ fashioned pickup trucks?” I ask as he leans forward, opening the glove box in front of me, brushing his arm across my thigh and laughing loudly at my comment. His touch is electrifying, even when it is accidental. He pulls out a worn, molded baseball hat with “Firestone” emblazoned across the bridge and puts it on his head, his dark hair curling out from under it at the nape of his neck. He pulls the brim down low enough to touch his sunglasses.

I guess this is his “incognito” look, but all I can think is he looks sexy as hell. All smoldering, edgy bad boy wrapped up in a drool-worthy body. I’m seriously fucked here if I actually think that my willpower will prevent me from giving in to any request from him. He reaches over and gives my thigh a quick squeeze before pressing a button on the dash in the center console.

“Don’t worry, I have a truck too,” he chuckles before the car roars to life, the vibration of the engine reverberating through my body and sending a thrill through me. “Hold on!” he says as he zooms out of the neighborhood, the excited look of a little boy on his face.

Boys and their toys, I think as I watch him from behind my aviators. I shouldn’t be surprised at his skill maneuvering the car for this is how he makes his living, but I am. I shouldn’t be turned on by his complete competence either, as he weaves smoothly in and out of traffic, the car accelerating quickly, but I find myself wanting to reach out and touch him. Connect with him despite knowing that’s a dangerous line for me to cross for my own sake.

The roar of the engine is loud enough and mixed with the whipping wind; talking is not a feasible option. I sit back, enjoying the feeling of freedom as the wind dances through my hair and the sun warms my skin. I lean my head back and give in to the urge to raise my hands over my head as we zip onto Interstate 10 heading west.

I glance over to see him watching me, a curious look on his face. He subtly shakes his head, a diminutive smile on his lips before he looks back toward the road. After a beat, he pushes a button and music springs to life in the car, surrounding us with the fast tempo of a song.

The song ends and another begins. I throw my head back, laughing out loud at the song. It’s a catchy little pop tune that I have heard on Shane’s radio enough times. In my periphery I notice Colton give me a quizzical look, so despite my average voice, I belt out the chorus, hoping he hears the words.

“You make me feel so right, even if its so wrong, I wanna scream out loud, boy I just bite my tongue,” I raise my arms again over my head, letting myself go, reveling in feeling that I am telling Colton how I feel without telling him. This is so unlike me—singing out loud, letting loose—but something about being with him, sitting next to him in this flashy sports car, has lowered my inhibitions. As we exit the freeway, I finish the chorus with gusto, “It feels so good, but you’re so bad for me!” Colton hears the words and laughs good-naturedly at them.

I continue singing the song, with less gusto since the car’s purring engine is quieter now that we are on Fourth Street. I can see Colton gauging the street’s parking availability and my curiosity is peaked because we’ve not discussed where we’re going. He swerves abruptly and parks the car with adept precision along the curb.

I glance around trying to figure out where we are as he pushes a button in the sleek dashboard and the sexy purr of the engine ceases. “You okay to sit tight for a sec?” He asks, flashing me an earnest grin that affects me more than I care to admit.

“Sure,” I answer, and I know at this moment I am saying yes to so much more than just sitting patiently in the car. I push the fear out of my mind and vow to embrace the idea of feeling again. Of wanting to feel again. I flick my eyes from his, down to his mouth, and back up, salacious thoughts running rampant through my mind. His smile widens further as he notices my prolonged attention.

“I’ll be right back!” he announces before unfolding himself gracefully out of the car and standing deliberately to give me an incredible view of his ass in snug jeans. I bite my lip to suppress the various urges whipping through my body. He glances over his shoulder at me and laughs, knowing full well the impact of his actions. “Hey, Ryles?”

“Yeah, Ace?”

“I told you you wouldn’t be able to resist me.” He flashes me a disarming smile before hopping up on the curb and walking briskly down the block, long legs eating up the sidewalk, without a look back.

I can’t help but grin as I watch him walk away. The man is captivating in every way and the epitome of sexy. From that boyish grin that disarms me in seconds to his sexy swagger that says he knows exactly where he’s going and what his intentions are. He exudes virility, evokes desire, and commands attention all with a single look from his stunning eyes. He’s edgy and reckless and you want to go along for the ride hoping to get a glimpse of his tender side that breaks through every now and again. The bad boy with a touch of vulnerability who leaves you breathless and steals your heart.

I shake myself from my thoughts to admire the view of Colton’s broad shoulders and sexy swagger as he strides down the sidewalk. He tugs down on his baseball cap before he walks past two women. They both turn their heads as he passes by and admire him before turning back to each other and giggling, one mouthing the word, “Wow!” to the other.

I know how they feel multiplied by a hundred. I watch as Colton stops and disappears into a doorway. From my vantage point in the car, I can’t see the sign above the entrance on the worn down façade.

I pass the time admiring the sleek interior of the vehicle and watching the various people walking by at the car and staring at it. The ring of Colton’s cell phone sitting in the console startles me. I glance down to see the name ‘Tawny’ flashing across the screen. A pang of irritation flickers in me at a girl’s name on his phone before I rein in my unexpected jealousy. Of course he has women calling him, I tell myself.

Probably all the time.

“We’re all set,” Colton says startling me as he places a paper grocery bag behind me. He walks around the car and slides into his seat. As he buckles his seatbelt, he notices his phone’s missed-call message on the screen and thumbs to it. An enigmatic look crosses his face as he sees the caller’s name, and I chastise myself for hoping he would scowl when he saw it.

A girl can hope anyway.

Within moments we are back on the road and headed up Pacific Coast Highway. I’m admiring the sight of the surf crashing on the beach with the sun in the background slowly ebbing toward the horizon before I realize that we’re pulling into the view ourselves.

Colton pulls up to a spot in the nearly empty parking lot. I’m surprised there are so few people here considering the weather is unusually warm for this time of year. “We’re here,” he says, pushing a button that has the top of the car lifting and closing in over us before he turns off the car. I look at him, surprise showing on my face; I was hoping for a non-romantic “date” and yet he has given me my favorite place on earth. A near-empty beach close to sunset. He simply is not playing fair, but then again, he doesn’t know me well enough to know my preferences so I just chalk it up to luck on his part.

He grabs the bag behind my seat and then exits the car. He then collects a blanket from the trunk before coming around to my side. He opens the door with a playful flair as he reaches for my hand to help me out of the car.

“Come,” he demands as he tugs on my hand, a thousand sensations seducing me as he pulls me toward the sand and surf. I am slightly giddy with the fact that he continues to hold my hand in his even though I’ve followed him. The rough calluses on his palms against my smooth skin are a welcome feeling. Almost like being pinched to make sure I’m not dreaming.

We walk out onto the beach past a pile of towels and clothes that I assume belong to the two surfers out a ways in the water. We walk in silence, both taking in our surroundings as I try to figure out what to say. Why am I all of the sudden nervous over Colton’s intensity? Over his proximity?

When we get about ten feet from the wet sand, Colton finally speaks. “How about right here?”

“Sure, although I would’ve brought my swim suit if I’d known we were coming to the beach,” I respond flippantly, my nerves giving way to stupid humor as it usually does. If I could roll my eyes at myself right now, I would.

Sensing my lack of bravado and heightened nerves now that we really are alone, just him and I, Colton quips, “Who said anything about suits? I’m all for skinny dipping.”

I freeze at the comment, eyes wide, and swallow loudly. Odd that the idea of stripping down naked with this ruggedly handsome man unnerves me despite the fact he’s had his hands on me.

His perfection next to my ordinary.

Colton reaches out with his free hand and puts a finger under my chin, raising my head so that I can meet his gentle eyes. “Relax, Rylee. I’m not going to eat you alive. You said you wanted casual, so I’m giving you casual. I thought we could take advantage of the unusually warm weather,” he says releasing my chin and handing me the brown bag so that he can lay a large Pendleton blanket on the sand. “Besides, when I get you naked, it’s going to be somewhere a lot more private so that I can enjoy every slow and maddening second of it. So I can take my time and show you exactly what that sexy body of yours was made for.” He glances up, eyes flashing desire and mouth turning up in a wicked grin.

I sigh and shake my head, unsure of myself, of my reaction to him, and how I should proceed. The man can seduce me with words alone. That’s definitely not a good sign, seeing as how if he keeps it up I’ll be handing over my panties to him in no time at all.

I fidget under the intensity of his stare and the direction my thoughts have taken. “Take a seat, Rylee. I promise, I don’t bite,” he smirks.

“We’ll see about that,” I snort in jest, but I oblige him and sit down on the blanket, distracting myself from my nerves by unzipping my ankle boots. I pull off my socks, free my feet, and wiggle my toes, which are painted fire-engine red, in the sand. I pull my knees up, and wrap my arms around them, hugging them to my chest. “It’s beautiful out here. I’m so glad the cloud cover stayed away today.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he murmurs as he reaches into the brown bag from Fourth Street. “Are you hungry?” he asks producing two packages wrapped in white deli paper, followed by a loaf of French bread, a bottle of wine, and two paper cups. “Voila,” he announces. “A very sophisticated dinner of salami, provolone cheese, French bread, and some wine.” The corners of his mouth turn up slightly as if he is testing me. As if he is checking to see if I really am okay with a casual, no-frills dinner such as this in a land of Hollywood glitz, glamour, and pretension.

I eye him warily, not liking games or being tested, but I guess someone in his shoes is probably wary of others. Then again, he’s the one begging me for a date, although I’m still not sure why. “Well, it’s not the Ritz,” I say dryly, rolling my eyes, “but it’ll have to do,” I huff out.

He laughs loudly, as he pulls the cork out of the wine, pours it in the paper cups, and hands one to me. “To simplicity!” he toasts good-humoredly.

“To simplicity,” I agree, tapping his cup and taking a sip of the sweet, flavorful wine. “Wow, a girl could get used to this,” I admit. When he eyes me with doubt, I continue, “What more could I ask for? Sun, sand, food—”

“A handsome date?” He jokes as he breaks off a piece of bread, layers it with provolone and thin-sliced salami, and hands it to me on a paper napkin. I accept it graciously, my stomach growling. I’ve forgotten how hungry I am.

“Thank you,” I tell him, as I take the food from him. “For the food, for the donation, for Zander…”

“What’s the story there?”

I relay the gist of the story to him, his face remaining impassive at the details. “And today, with you, is the first time he’s purposely interacted with anybody, so thank you. I’m more grateful than you will ever know,” I conclude, looking down sheepishly, a blush spreading across my cheeks as I’m suddenly uncomfortable again at his direct and undivided attention. I take a bite of the makeshift sandwich, and moan appreciatively at the mixture of fresh bread and deli fare. “This is really good!”

He nods in agreement with me. “I’ve been going to that deli forever. It’s definitely better and more my speed than caviar,” he shrugs unapologetically. “So why Corporate Cares?” he asks, his mouth parting slightly as he watches me savor my food.

“So many reasons,” I admit, finishing my bite. “The ability to make a difference, the chance to be part of a breakthrough such as Zander today, or the feeling I get when a child left behind is made to feel like he matters again …” I sigh, not having enough words to express the feelings I have. “There are so many things that I can’t even begin to explain.”

“You are very passionate about it. I admire you for that.” His tone is earnest and sincere.

“Thank you,” I reply, taking another sip of wine, meeting his eye. “You were quite impressive yourself today. Almost as if you knew what to do despite me telling you to leave,” I admit sheepishly. “You were good with Zander.”

“Nah,” he denies grabbing another piece of cheese, folding it in the bread, “I’m not good with kids at all. That’s why I’m never having them,” his statement determined and his expression blank.

I’m taken aback by his comment. “That’s a bold statement for someone so young. I’m sure at some point you’ll change your mind.” I reply, my eyes narrowing as I watch him, wishing I still had the option to make a choice like his.

“Absolutely not,” he states emphatically before averting his eyes from my gaze for the first time since meeting him. I can sense his discomfort with this topic of conversation. An oddity for a man so confident and sure of himself in all other areas of life. He looks out toward the tumultuous ocean and is quiet for a few moments, an unreadable look on his rugged features.

I think that my questioning statement will go unanswered, until he breaks the silence. “Not really,” he says with what I sense is a resigned sadness in his voice. “I’m sure you experience it first hand every day, Rylee. People use kids as pawns in this world. Too many women try to trap men with them and then hate the kid when the man leaves. People foster kids just to get the monthly government stipend. It goes on and on,” he shrugs nonchalantly, belying how affected he is by the hidden truth behind his words. “It happens daily. Kids fucked up and abandoned because of their mother’s selfish choices. I’d never put a child in that kind of position,” he shakes his head emphatically, still refusing to meet my eyes, his gaze following the surfer riding the wave a ways out. “Regardless, I’d probably fuck them up as much as I was as a kid.” He breathes deeply with his last statement and removes his cap with one hand while running his other hand through his hair in what I interpret as agitation.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand,” I falter as I start to ask without thinking. This conversation has unexpectedly gotten heavy quickly.

Annoyance flashes across his face momentarily before I watch him knowingly rein it in. “My past is basic public knowledge,” he states, my furrowed brow showing my confusion. “Fame makes people dig out ugly truths.”

“Sorry,” I say raising my eyebrows, “I don’t make it a habit of researching my dates.” I hide the unease I feel with this conversation in the sarcasm of my tone.

His concentrated green eyes lock onto mine, muscle pulsing in his clenched jaw. “You really should, Rylee,” his steely voice warns. “You just never know who’s dangerous. Who’s going to hurt you when you least expect it.”

I’m taken aback by his sudden comment. Is he warning me about him? Warning me away from him? I’m confused. Pursue me and then push me away? This is the second time today he’s issued a statement like this. What should I make of it?

And what the hell is with his comments about being messed up as a kid? His parents are practically Hollywood royalty. Is he saying that they did something to him? The fixer in me wants to probe but I can tell how unwelcome that prospect is by his reaction.

I cautiously glance over at him, to see his attention turned back toward the surf. It is in this moment I can see the pictures painted by the media of him. Dark and brooding, a little rugged with the dark shadow of hair on his jaw, and an intensity to his eyes that makes you feel as if he’s unapproachable. Unpredictable. The broad shoulders and sexy swagger. The bad boy who is too handsome for his own good mixed with a whole lot of reckless. The rebel women swoon over and swear they could tame—if they had a chance.

And he’s sitting here. With me. It’s mind-boggling, and I’m still unclear as to how this all happened and why it happened to me.

I clear my throat, trying to dispel the awkwardness that has descended on our picnic. “So, how ’bout them Lakers?” I deadpan.

He throws his head back and laughs loudly before turning back to me. All traces of Brooding Colton have been replaced by Relaxed Colton with eyes full of humor and a megawatt smile. “A little heavy?”

I nod, pursing my lips, as I grab for another piece of cheese. Time for a change in topic. “I know it’s an unoriginal question, but what made you get into racing? I mean why hurl yourself around a track at close to two hundred miles an hour for fun?”

He sips from his Dixie cup. “My parents needed a way to channel my teenage rebellion,” he shrugs. “They figured why not give me all the safety equipment to go along with it instead of racing down the street and killing myself or someone else. Lucky for me, they had the means to follow through with it.”

“So you started as a teenager?”

“At eighteen,” he laughs, remembering back.

“What’s so funny?”

“I got a ticket for reckless driving. I was speeding … out of control really … racing some preppy punk.” He glances over at me to see if I have any reaction. I just look at him and raise my eyebrows for him to continue. “I was spared being hauled off to juvie because of my dad’s name. Man, was he pissed. The next day he thought he’d teach me a lesson. Dropped me off at the track with one of the stunt drivers he knew. Thought he’d have the guy drive me around the track at mach ten and scare the shit out of me.”

“Obviously it didn’t work,” I say dryly.

“No. He scared me some, but afterward I asked him if he could show me some of the stunt moves.” He shrugs, a half smirk on his lips as he looks out toward the water. “He finally agreed, let me drive his car around the track a couple of times. For some reason one of his friends had come with him to the track that day. The guy’s name was Beckett. He worked for a local race crew who’d just lost their driver. He asked if I’d ever thought about racing. I laughed at him. First of all, he was my age so how could he be part of a race team, and secondly, how could he watch me take a couple of laps and know that I could drive? When I asked, he said he thought I could handle a car pretty well, and would I like to come back the next day and talk to him some more.”

“Talk about being at the right place at the right moment.” I murmur, happy to learn something about him that I couldn’t read about by looking on the Internet.

“You’re telling me,” he shakes his head. “So I met up with him. Tried out the car on the track, did pretty well and got along with the guys. They asked me to drive the next race. I was decent at it so I kept doing it. Got noticed. Stayed out of trouble,” he grins a mischievous grin at me, raising his eyebrows, “for the most part.”

“And after all this time, you still enjoy it?”

“I’m good at it,” he says.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He chews his food, carefully mulling over my question. “Yes, I suppose so. There’s no other feeling like it. I’m part of a team, and yet it’s just me out there. I have no one to depend on, to blame, but myself if something goes wrong.” I can sense the passion in his voice. The reverence he still has for his sport. “On the track, I can escape the paparazzi, the groupies … my demons. The only fear I have is that which I’ve created for myself, that I can control with a swerve of the wheel or a press of the pedal … not any inflicted on me by someone else.”

The startled look on his face tells me that he has given me more than he expected in an answer. That he’s surprised by his unanticipated honesty with me. I brush his unease of feeling vulnerable over by propping my arms out behind me and raising my face to the sky. “It’s so beautiful here.” I say breathing in the fresh air and digging my toes in the cool sand.

“More wine?” he asks as he shifts to sit closer beside me. The brush of his bare arm against mine leaves my senses humming.

I murmur in assent as warning bells go off in my head. I know that I need to create some distance from him, but he’s just too damn attractive. Irresistible. Nothing like I expected and yet everything I anticipated. I know that I need to clear my head for he is clouding my sensibility.

“So is this what you imagined, Ace, when you spent all that money for a date with me?” I turn my head and come face to face with him; hair mussed, lips full, eyes blazing. I hold my breath, frozen in the moment for all it would take is for me to lean in to feel his lips on mine again. To taste his carnal hunger as I did earlier on the porch.

He flashes a grin at me. “Not exactly,” he admits, but I can sense our proximity is affecting him too for I can see the pulse in his throat accelerate. His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. I bring my eyes back up to his, unspoken words flowing between us. “You really have the most unusually magnificent eyes,” he tells me, his words a breath of a whisper.

It’s not as if I haven’t heard this before with my unique, violet-colored eyes, but for some reason, hearing it from him has desire spiraling through me. Warning bells clang again in my head.

“Rylee?”

I raise my eyes to meet his, trepidation in my heart. “I’m only going to ask this one time. Do you have a boyfriend?” The gravity in his tone as well as the question itself takes me off guard. I didn’t expect this for I think he’d already know the answer after the backstage ministrations from the other night. I think more surprising than the question itself is the way he asks it. The demanding tone.

I shake my head no, swallowing loudly.

“No one you are seeing casually?”

“You just asked twice,” I joke, trying to shake the nerves skittering up my spine. When he doesn’t smile but rather holds my stare in question, I shake my head again, “No, why?” I respond breathlessly.

“Because I want to know who’s standing in my way …” he tilts his head and stares at me as my lips part fractionally in response for my mouth is suddenly very dry. “… Whose ass I have to kick before I can make it official.”

“Make what official?” My mind flickers trying to figure out what I’m missing.

“That you’re mine.” Colton’s breath flutters over my face as the look in his eyes swallows me whole. “Once I fuck you, Rylee—it’s official, you’re mine and only mine.”

Oh. Fucking. My. How can those words, so possessive, so dominantly male, make me want him that much more? I’m an independent, self-assured woman and yet hearing that this man—yes, Colton Donavan—inform me that he is going to have me without asking, without giving me a choice, makes me weak in the knees.

“It might not be tonight, Rylee. It might not be tomorrow night,” he promises, the rumbling timber of his voice vibrating through my body, “but it will happen.” My breath hitches as he pauses, allowing his words sink in before he continues. “Don’t you feel it, Rylee? This—” he says gesturing a hand between him and I, “this charge we have here? The electricity we have when we’re together is way too strong to ignore.” I lower my eyes, uncomfortable with his overconfidence yet turned on by his words. He takes a hand and reaches out, the spark he’s referring to igniting when his index finger trails up the underside of my neck to my chin. He pushes up to lift my chin so that I’m forced to stare into the depths of his eyes. “Aren’t you the least bit curious how good it will be? If it’s this electrifying with just the brush of our skin against each other, can you imagine what it will be like when I’m buried inside of you?”

The confidence in his words and the intensity of his stare nonpluses me, and I avert my eyes down again to focus on the ring I’m worrying around my right ring finger. The rational part of me knows that once Colton has his way with me, he’ll move on. And even though I’d know this going into it, I’d still be devastated in the end.

I just don’t want to go through it again. I’m afraid to feel again. Afraid to take a chance for the consequences before were life-altering for me. I use my fear to fuel my obstinance; no matter how wild of a ride, the inevitable fallout isn’t worth it to me.

“You’re so sure of yourself, do I even need to show up for the event?” I say haughtily, hoping my words cover for the deep ache he’s responsible for creating in my body. His only response to my question is a heart-stopping smirk. I shake me head at him, “Thanks for the warning, Ace, but no thanks.”

“Oh, Rylee,” he admonishes with a laugh. “There’s that smart mouth that I find so intriguing and sexy. It disappeared for a little while with your nerves. I was getting worried.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Oh, and Ryles, just so you know, that wasn’t a warning, sweetheart. That was a promise.”

And with that, he leans back on his elbows on the blanket, a cocky grin on his face, and challenge in his eyes as he stares at me. I travel the length of his lean body with my eyes. My thoughts running to how I should resist this over-the-top, reckless, troubled, and unpredictable man whose continual verbal sparring makes me uncomfortable. Makes me desire. Churns up feelings and thoughts that died that day two years ago. And yet rather then head the other way as I should, all I want to do is straddle him right here on that blanket, run my hands up the firm muscles of his chest, fist my hands in his hair, and take until I surrender all my rational thoughts.

I brave meeting his eyes again for I know he is watching my appraisal of his body. I make sure that my eyes reflect none of the desire I’m feeling. “So, what about you, Colton?” I question, turning the tables on him. “You said you don’t do the girlfriend thing and yet you always seem to have a lady on your arm?”

He arches his eyebrows at me, “And how would you know what I always have on my arm?”

How do I know that? Do I admit to him I occasionally glance through Haddie’s subscription of People and roll my eyes at the ridiculous commentary? Do I confess that I peruse Perezhilton.com as a distraction when I’m in the office sometimes and that I usually skip over the gossip about self-absorbed Hollywood brat-packers like him, who think they’re better than everyone else? “Well, I do stand at the checkout lines in the grocery store,” I admit. “And you know how true all of those tabloids are in the stands.”

“According to them I’m dating an alien with three heads and my photo-shopped picture is right next to the caption stating a chupacabra was found in a movie theater in Norman, Oklahoma,” he says, animating his expression, eyes wide in a mock stare of horror.

I laugh out loud. Really laugh. So glad that he takes the media in stride. Happy that he’s added some levity to the heavy topics of conversation. “Nice change of topic, but it’s not going to work. Answer the question, Ace.”

“Oh, Rylee—all business,” he chides. “What is there to say? I hate the drama, the points system of who is contributing how much, the expectation of the next step to take, trying to figure out if there is an ulterior motive to them being with me …” He shrugs, “rather than deal with that bullshit, I come to a mutual agreement with someone, stated rules and requirements are laid out, specifics are negotiated, and expectations are managed way before they even have a chance to begin or get out of hand. It simplifies things.”

What? Negotiations? So many things run through my head that I know I’m going to have to think about later but with his eyes boring into mine, awaiting my reaction, I decide that humor is the best way to mask my surprise at his response.

“So a guy with a commitment issue,” I roll my eyes, “like that’s something new!” He remains quiet, still regarding me as I think about him, about this, about everything. “So what were you hoping for?” I continue sardonically, “that I’d just look into your gorgeous green eyes, drop my panties and spread my legs when you admit that you like women in your bed but you won’t let them in your heart?” Despite my sarcasm, I’m being brutally honest. Does he think that just because he is who he is, it’ll negate all my morals? “And they say romance is dead.”

“You do have such a way with words, sweetheart,” he drawls, shifting onto his side, propping his head on his elbow. A slow, measured smile spreads across his face. “I assure you, romance is not something I actively subscribe to. There’s no such thing as happily ever after.”

The hopeless romantic in me sighs heavily allowing me to ignore his comment and the smirk on his face—the one that makes me forget all the thoughts in my head because he is in fact that damn attractive and his eyes are that mesmerizing. “You can’t be serious? Why the emotional detachment?” I shake my head in lack of comprehension. “You seem to be such a passionate person otherwise.”

He shifts on the blanket, laying on his back and placing his hands behind his head, exhaling loudly. “Why is anyone the way they are?” he answers vaguely, the silence hanging between us. “Maybe that’s how I was born or how what I learned in my formative years … how’s one to know? There’s a lot about me you don’t want to know Rylee. I promise you.”

I look at him, trying to decipher his verbal maze of explanations as he lays quietly for a few minutes before reaching a hand out from behind his head and placing it on mine. I revel in this rare sign of affection from him. Most of the time when we touch it’s explosive, carnal even. Rarely is it simple. Undemanding. Maybe that’s why I enjoy the warmth of his hand seeping through the top of mine.

I’m still pondering what he’s said despite the distraction of his touch. “I disagree. How can you—”

I’m stopped midsentence as he tugs on my arm and within seconds has me laying on the blanket, looking up at his face hovering over mine. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but my breath speeds up and stops at the same time. He very slowly, very deliberately uses one hand to brush an errant hair off of my face while the other rests on the base of my neck just under the crease of my chin. “Are you trying to change the subject, Mr. Donavan?” I ask coyly, my heart thumping and desire blooming in my belly. His touch leaves electric charges on my skin like a trail of fire left everywhere he touches.

“Is it working?” he breathes, angling his head to study me.

I purse my lips and narrow my eyes in thought. “Hmmm … no, I still have my questions.” A smile plays on my lips as I watch him, watch me.

“Then I just might have to do something about that,” he murmurs as with painstaking slowness, he lowers his head until his lips are a whisper from mine. I fight the urge to arch my back so that my body can press against his. “How about now?”

How is it we are outdoors but I feel as if all of the oxygen has been vacuumed away? Why does he have this effect on me? I try to slowly breathe in and all I smell is him—woodsy, clean, and male—it’s a heady, intoxicating mixture that is pure Colton.

I can’t find my voice to answer his question so I just give him a noncommittal “Hmm-hmmm.” I’m oblivious to everything around us: the seagulls squawking, the surf crashing, the sun heading slowly toward the ocean on the horizon.

Due to our proximity, I can’t see his lips but I know that he smiles because I see the lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “Should I take that as a yes or should I take that as a no?” he asks enunciating each word slowly as they feather over my lips. His eyes hold mine, a dare lighting through them. When all I do is breathe in a shaky breath in reaction, his response is, “Then I guess I’ll just take.”

And with those words, his mouth is on mine.

He sets a slow, mesmerizing pace of light kisses that feather over my lips. Each time I think he is going to give me what I want—more of him deepening the kiss—he pulls back. He is leaning on one elbow next to me, and he takes that hand to cup the back of my neck. His other hand slowly travels down the side of my body, along my lines, and stops on the side of my hip. He grabs hold there, gripping my flesh through my jeans and presses my body closer to him.

“Your. Curves. Are. So. Damn. Sexy.” He murmurs between kisses. The riot of sensation he is causing within me is both exhilarating and tormenting at the same time. I run my hands under his shirt, up the plains up of his torso and then his back, feeling the strength there and the play of defined muscles bunching as he moves with me as he continues his languorous assault on my lips.

If I were the intelligent woman that I claim to be, I would step back a moment and rationally assess the situation. I’d realize that Colton is a guy used to getting what he wants without preamble or precaution. And at this time he wants me. He has tried the direct, get-to-the point approach and basically had me up against a wall within ten minutes of meeting him. He’s tried coercion, a contract, annoyance, and even admitted he doesn’t do girlfriends, commitment, or relationships. The rational part of me would acknowledge these facts and realize he’s failed the challenge thus far, so now he is moving onto seduction. I’d argue that he’s changing his approach now, taking his time by making me feel and making me want him. Letting me think this situation is on my terms now. I’d realize that this has nothing to do with emotions and wanting ‘an after’ with me, but rather he is trying to get me in his bed any way he can now.

But I’m not listening to my rational self and the snarky doubts she’s trying to cast. I vaguely push away the niggling feeling that she’s trying to force into my subconscious for my common sense has long been forgotten. It has been overrun, inundated, and is being thoroughly obliterated by my new addiction, otherwise known as Colton’s mouth. His mouth worships mine with slow, leisurely licks of tongue, grazes of teeth, and caresses of lips.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he teases against my lips as I thread my fingers through his hair at the back of his neck and try to pull him closer so that I can give into the blistering need he’s built inside of me and take more.

“You’re frustrating,” I sigh in frustration because now his lips have moved steadily up my neck lacing open mouth kisses to nip at my earlobe, causing little sparks of frisson in their path.

I can feel his smile spread against the hollow spot beneath my ear in response to my words. “Now you know how it feels,” he murmurs, “to want something …” he withdraws from my neck so that his face hovers an inch from mine. There is no doubt about the desire that clouds his eyes when they fuse to mine. He repeats himself. “To want something that someone won’t give you.”

I don’t even have a moment to register his words before his mouth crushes down on mine. This time he doesn’t hold back. His lips possess mine from the very moment we touch. He commands the kiss with a fiery passion that has my head spinning, my sanity ebbing, and my body craving. He kisses me with such an unrequited hunger, it’s as if he’d go crazy if he didn’t taste me. I have no choice but to ride the wave that he is controlling because I’m just as caught up as he is.

His tongue darts in my mouth tasting of wine before he eases and pulls gently at my bottom lip. I arch my neck, offering him more, wanting him to take more for I can’t get enough of his intoxicating taste. He acquiesces, laying a row of feather-light kisses along my jaw line before coming back to my mouth. He licks his tongue back in against mine—caressing, possessing, igniting.

I revel in the feeling of him. His hand spanning my hip in ownership. The weight of his leg which is bent and resting on mine, pressing his evident arousal into my hip. His mouth controlling, taking, and giving all at the same time. The low growls of desire that emanate from deep in his throat in pure appreciation, telling me that I excite him. That he wants me.

I could stay in this suspension of desire all day with Colton but the sound of approaching laughter brings me to my senses. Brings me to the realization that we’re outside in public view. Colton brushes my lips gently one more time as we hear the surfers walking several feet away back to their towels. His hands remain cupped on my face though and he rests his forehead against mine, us both trying to calm our ragged breathing.

He closes his eyes momentarily, and I sense him struggle with his control. He rubs his thumbs back and forth on my cheeks, a gentle caress that calms me.

“Oh, Rylee, what you do to me?” he sighs, kissing the tip of my nose. “What am I going to do with you? You’re such a breath of fresh air.”

My heart stops at those words. My fluid body tenses automatically. I flash back to three years prior, Max on one knee, ring in his hand, staring up at me expectantly. His words, chock-full of emotion, rings in my ears like it was yesterday. “Rylee, you are my best friend, my ride off into the sunset, my breath of fresh air. Will you marry me?”

I am thinking of Max, bright, open, and carefree but I am looking at Colton, reserved, unattainable, and inescapable. A sob escapes my throat as the memory takes hold of me, of that day, of the aftermath, and guilt washes over me.

Colton is startled at my reaction. He jolts back away from me, but his hands still cup my face, concern filling his eyes. “Rylee, what is it? Are you okay?”

I put my hands on his chest and push him away as I rise up to sit, pulling my legs to my chest, and hugging them. I shake my head for him to give me a minute and take in a deep breath, aware that Colton is watching me very closely, curious as to what caused my reaction.

I try to push the words out of my head. His mom yelling at me that I killed him, his dad telling me he wished it had been me instead, and his brother telling me it was my fault entirely. That I don’t deserve to ever know that kind of love again.

I shudder at the thoughts, collecting myself, preparing myself for the questions I’m waiting for Colton to voice. But they never come. I look over at him, his face somber as he studies me, and I look back out to the sea. He rubs his hand over my lower back, the only form of solace he gives me.

I shake myself out of my thoughts, upset at what they interrupted. Why can’t I just let it all go and enjoy this man—this virile man within my grasp—who for some ridiculous reason wants me? Why can’t I just give in to his sordid excuse of a one-night-stand-type relationship? Just to get me out of this revolving nightmare. Use him, as he wants to use me.

Because that’s not you, I whisper to myself. You are a breath of fresh air runs through my head again.

I’m thankful to Colton for his silence. I’m not sure if it is a silent understanding, or a detachment from someone else’s drama, but regardless, at this point I’m glad that I’m not being asked to explain myself. I’ll decipher the meaning behind his distance later, for now I’m too tired to think and want to enjoy the remainder of the evening I’ve unexpectedly put a damper on.

I reach back to grab for my plastic cup of wine. Colton hands it to me as he takes his and sips. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing we’re outside,” I say trying to diffuse the awkwardness with humor.

“Why’s that?”

I take a long swallow of my drink before I continue. “To keep us from getting out of hand in public.” I respond turning my head so that I can smile at him.

“What makes you think that being outside would stop me?” He flashes a devilish grin before laughing out loud, throwing his head back, when he sees the shocked look on my face. “The danger of being caught only heightens sensation, Rylee. Increases the intensity of your arousal. Your climax.” His voice wraps seductively around me, spinning me in his web.

I stare at him, trying to unwrap my thoughts from his snare. Trying to find my wits about me so that I can respond and appear to be unaffected by his hypnotic words. “I thought you said you wanted somewhere private the first time?” I smirk, arching an eyebrow at him, thinking I’ve found my balance and thrown the ball back in his court.

He leans in close to me, breath feathering over my face and amusement dancing in his eyes. “Well at least I just got you to admit that there’s going to be a first time.”

My eyes widen as I realize what I’d just willingly walked into. I can’t help the smile that breaks across my lips as I take in the mischievously wicked one on his. He shakes his head and as his eyes break from mine he says, “Look at that.” He points to the horizon where the bottom of the sun hits the edge of the water, a bright ball sinking, and spilling pastels across the sky.

Grateful for the change in topic, I turn my head from my focus on him to look. “Why is it that the sun seems to take forever to reach the horizon and the minute it gets there it sinks so fast?”

“It reflects life, don’t you think?” he asks cryptically.

“How so?”

“Sometimes our journeys in life seem to take forever to get to the culmination of our efforts—to achieving the goal. And once we get there, it goes so fast and then its over.” He shrugs, surprising me with this philosophical, introspective side to him. “We forget that the journey is the best part. The reason for taking the ride. What we learn the most from.”

“Are you trying to tell me something in a round about way, Colton?” I ask, trying to figure out the emphasis of his point.

“Nope,” he says, a smile lighting up his features, “Just making an observation. That’s all.”

I eye him cautiously, still unsure what he’s trying to tell me despite his denial. I dig my toes into the sand still warm from the sun’s rays. I love the feeling of it as I scrunch my toes back and forth.

I hear Colton move next to me before I hear the paper bag from the deli rustling. I turn to see him stretched out across the blanket, pulling two Saran-wrapped squares from the bag. He sits back up next to me, crossing his legs like a kid in grade school. He holds a square up between us. “The cure for all woes,” he says handing it to me.

Our fingers brush as I take the brownie from him, his touch welcome. “You thought of everything on this twenty-five thousand dollar date, didn’t you?” I tease him, making quick work of the package. He watches me as I take my first bite, the scrumptious chocolate is delectable on my tongue and has me rolling my eyes in appreciation and moaning with ecstasy. This is the way to get to my heart.

I look from the brownie back up to Colton, a captivated look on his face. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are right now?” his voice is gruff, pained even.

I stop chewing mid-bite at his comment. How is it he can make such simple words so spellbinding at the oddest times? The candor on his face throws me off. We just sit there, a few feet apart on a blanket on a beach, and stare at each other. No pretenses. No audience. No expectations. The unspoken words that flow between us are so powerful I’m afraid to blink, afraid to move, or afraid to speak for fear of ruining this moment. This instance in time when I feel like I’m seeing the true Colton Donavan—the unmasked version with a vulnerability that makes me want to reach over and take away the hurt that often flickers through those green eyes and make it better. To show him that love and commitment is possible without complications. That it is real and pure and much more powerful then ever imagined when it is built and shared between two people.

I feel a phantom ache in my heart as a tiny piece tears off, lost forever to Colton in this moment.

I finally break eye contact, lowering my eyes back to watch my fingers pick at my brownie. I know that I’ll never get to express this to him. I’ll never get the chance. At some point in the near future I will give my body to him willingly despite my head telling me it’s a mistake. I will revel in that moment with him which will be filled with reverent sighs and entangled bodies, and I’ll be devastated when he walks away after having his fill of me. I blink away the tears that in burn the back of my throat for that moment in time yet to come.

It has to be the approaching anniversary, I tell myself. I’m never this emotional—this unstable in my overanalyzing of situations.

I pick a chunk off the corner of my brownie and push it in my mouth. I look back up at him, a shy smile creeping onto his face, telling me that he felt the moment between us as well. I shiver at the cold that is approaching with the ever-darkening sky.

“You cold?” He questions, reaching out with his thumb to wipe a piece of chocolate from the corner of my mouth. He brings his thumb and holds it out to my mouth. I open my lips and suck the chocolate off. A groan rumbles in the back of his throat and his lips part slightly as he watches me. If I knew it’d be this erotic to watch his reaction, I’d leave a Hansel and Gretel trail of brownie crumbs all over my body and enjoy watching him find them.

I shiver again in response to his question despite the desirable heat burning within me.

“Since this was so impromptu, I didn’t bring a jacket or an extra blanket for you,” he says with disappointment in his voice. “We can go somewhere else if you’d like?”

I look up at him, a sincere look on my face. “Thank you, Colton. I really had a good time …”

“Despite the heavy conversation,” he adds when I pause in my comment.

I laugh at him, “Yes, despite the heavy topics, but I’ve had a really long week and I’m exhausted,” I apologize, “so I think it’s best if we head back.” I really don’t want to, but I am desperately trying to keep a level head here.

“Ooooh, the blow off!” he teases pressing a hand to his wounded heart, “that’s harsh, but I understand,” he laughs.

I help him start to wrap up the left-over food and place it back in the bag as we exchange casual comments between us. I start putting my socks and shoes back on when he says, “So Teddy signed the deal today with CDE.”

“That’s great!” I emote sincerely. Excited for the opportunity the agreement will have for my professional life and uncertain at the effect it will have on my personal life—being forced to be with him. “I can’t express how thankful I am—”

“Rylee,” he says with enough force to stop my sentence. “That, the donation, has nothing to do with this,” he says gesturing between the two of us.

Like hell it doesn’t. I wouldn’t be here with him at this moment in time if it weren’t for that arrangement.

“Sure,” I mumble in agreement, and I know that I’ve not convinced him.

***

“That’s mine,” I point toward my red and white Mini Cooper where it is parked on the street outside of The House. He pulls up behind it, pushing the button to quiet the sexy purr of the engine. The streetlights are on and the one nearest The House keeps flickering on and off at odd intervals. I can hear a dog barking several houses down and the smell of meat cooking on charcoal hangs in the air. It feels like home, normalcy, just what the seven boys tucked inside the house in front of me deserve.

Colton comes around the side of the car and opens the door, holding a hand out to help me from my seat. I clutch my purse to my chest, suddenly awkward in the moment as I make my way to my car with Colton’s hand on the small of my back.

I turn to face him, leaning my back against my car. I have my bottom lip between my teeth and worry it back and forth as my nerves seem to be getting the better of me. “Well … thank you for a nice evening, Colton,” I say as I look around the street unable to meet his eyes. Am I afraid that this might be it? Of course not, because I know I’ll have to see him for work. Then why do I suddenly feel a mixture of unease and sadness over parting with him? Why am I mentally kicking myself for not taking him up on the offer to go somewhere else?

Colton reaches out and places a finger under my chin, turning my face so that I’m forced to meet his eyes. “What is it, Rylee? What has you so afraid to feel? Every time you start to get caught up in the moment and hand yourself over to the sensation, something flashes across your face and has you withdrawing. Pulling back and becoming unavailable. Has you bottling back up all of that potential passion of yours in a matter of seconds.” He searches my eyes in question, his fingers firm on my chin so that I can’t avert my eyes. “Who did this to you, sweetheart? Who hurt you this badly?”

His eyes probe mine looking for answers I’m not willing to give him. The muscle in his jaw tics in frustration at my silence. His features, darkened by the night sky, are tense, awaiting my response. The flickering streetlight creates a stark contrast with his warring emotions.

I can feel my protective wall bristle at his unwanted attention. The only way I know how to deal, how to keep him at arm’s length, is to turn the question back on him. “I could ask you the same question, Colton. Who hurt you? What haunts those eyes of yours every so often?”

He quirks his eyebrows at my tactic, his concentrated stare never wavering. “I’m not a very patient man, Rylee,” he warns. “I’ll only wait so long before—”

“Some things are better left alone.” I cut him off, my words coming out barely above a whisper and my breath hitches.

He moves his thumb from my chin and drags it over my bottom lip. “Now that,” he whispers back to me, “I can understand.” His response surprises me, reaffirming my assumption that he is in fact hiding from something himself. Or running.

He leans in slowly, brushing a reverent, lingering kiss on my lips, and all thoughts in my head vaporize. His tenderness is unexpected, and I want to capture this moment in my mind. Revel in it. I sigh helplessly against his lips, our foreheads touching briefly.

“Goodnight, Colton.”

“Goodnight, Rylee.” He leans back, grabbing the handle of my door and opening it for me and ushering me in. “Until next time,” he murmurs before shutting the door.

I start the engine and pull away from the curb. Instinctively I reach out and push the stereo on, shuffling for the sixth disc in the changer. I glance in my rearview mirror as I make my way down this street, music flooding the car. I can see his figure as he rocks back on his heels with his hands in his pockets standing beneath the flickering streetlight. An angel fighting through the darkness or a devil breaking into the light? Which, I’m not sure. Regardless, he stands there my personal heaven and hell, watching me until I turn the corner and am out of his sight.