by K. Bromberg
Sympathy engulfs me as I think of a raven-haired little boy with haunted green eyes. Of the pain he experienced and the memories that will forever be etched in his mind. Of the things he missed out on like comforting lips expressing unconditional love, warm arms to cuddle him tight, and fingers to tickle him into fits of deep belly giggles.
“Don’t look at me like that, Rylee,” he warns pulling his hand away from mine and leaning back in his chair. “I don’t want your pity or sympathy.”
“I’m just trying to understand you better, Colton.” My words the only apology that I’ll give him.
“Delving into my dark and dirty past isn’t going to help you understand me any better. That shit,” he waves a hand through the air, “it’s not something I want to haunt you with.”
“Colton—”
“I told you before, Rylee,” his stern voice silencing me, “I’m not one of your kids. My shit can’t be fixed. I’ve been broken for way too long for that miracle to happen.” The look in his eyes—a mix of anger, shame, and exasperation—tell me that this topic of conversation is now over.
An uncomfortable silence hangs between us as I can’t help but wonder what happened to him as a child. What is he so afraid to confront? Why does he think that he’s so broken?
His voice pulls me from my thoughts, turning the focus of conversation from him to me. “What about you, Rylee? You treat these kids like they’re your own. What’s going to happen when one day you meet Mr. Right and have kids of your own? How are you going to balance that?”
Even after two years, the pang that hits me still figuratively knocks me to my knees. I swallow purposely, trying to wash the acrid taste in my mouth his question brings. I pick at the corner of my napkin, watching my fingers rip tiny pieces off as I answer him. “I can’t … after the accident, I was told that getting pregnant, that the chance of having a child, is …” I shake my head sadly, “a very slim possibility. Like basically being on the pill for life. Most likely never going to happen.” Again. I lift my eyes to his, rocking my head subtly from side to side. “So it’s not something I put much thought into.”
I hear him hiss in a breath and can feel the pity roll off him. There is nothing worse than someone giving you that look. The pity look.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his green eyes burning an intense emerald as he studies me.
“It is what it is,” I shrug, not wanting to dwell on what can never be. “I’ve come to terms with it for the most part,” I lie, and in true Colton Donavan fashion I change the subject to something other than me. “So, Ace,” I wriggle my eyebrows, “You looked kind of hot in your race suit!”
He laughs charismatically at me, “Nice change of topic!”
“I learned from you,” I reply, sucking a crumb off of my thumb. When I look up, Colton is watching me draw my finger from my mouth. Intensity and desire mingle in the depths of his eyes as he studies me. The sexual tension between us mounts. Our draw to each other undeniable.
“Hot, huh?” he prompts, breaking our silent exchange.
I tilt my head and purse my lips as I study him back. “I wanted …” my voice is quiet, unsure, when I speak. The small smile playing at the corners of Colton’s lips gives me the surge of confidence I need to continue. Knowing he wants me. Knowing that he desires me and wants more of whatever this is, emboldens me. Empowers me to finish my thought. “I wanted you to take me right there on the hood of your car.” I can feel my cheeks flush as I look up at him through my eyelashes.
He takes in a sharp breath, his lips parting, eyes clouding with desire. “Why, Ms. Thomas,” he darts his tongue out to lick at his bottom lip, “we might just have to rectify that situation.”
“Rectify?” Desire blooms in my belly at the thought.
He leans in across the table, his face inches from mine. “It’s always been a fantasy of mine.”
I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me. My chin trembles in anticipation, synapses misfiring as I try to tell my brain to be the voice of reason here. To pull me back from the brink of Colton insanity. And then the alarm chime on my cell phone on the table between us goes off. It startles us both and we jump back. “Oh crap! I have a meeting I have to get to,” I tell him as I start gathering our trash and stuffing it inside my empty muffin bag.
Colton reaches out and grabs my hand, stopping my flurry of movement. He waits until my eyes meet his to speak. “This conversation isn’t over, Rylee. You keep sending me so many damned mixed messages that—”
“What?” I screech dumbfounded, trying to pull my hand back from his, but his grip holds my hand still. “What are you talking about? You’re the one sending mixed messages. Whispering sweet nothings one minute and then pushing me away the next!” Are we experiencing the same thing here? How am I being confusing?
“I swear to God,” he murmurs softly to himself releasing my hand as he leans back in his chair shaking his head, amusement on his face. I can barely make out his next words when he speaks. “We haven’t really even started this yet, and you’re already topping me from the bottom.” I can sense his exasperation as he runs a hand through his hair.
I look at him, unsure what exactly he means by his comment, but not really having the time to care or to ask him to expand on it. I stand up and Colton grabs my hand again, pulling me up against him so that I am forced to tilt my head up to see his face. He closes his eyes momentarily, as if he is resigning himself to something, before opening them again to lock onto mine. “I want you, Rylee. Any way I can have you.” His words create a vacuum of air, and I feel like I can’t breathe. We’re standing in a packed Starbucks with orders being called and people talking on cell phones and espresso machines steaming milk, but I hear none of it. I comprehend none of the outside noise. It is just Colton and me and his deafening words.
I swallow loudly trying to process them. The intentions. Unable to speak myself, time passes until I find my voice. “Any–any way you can have me?” I stutter breathlessly, eyes wide with optimism. “Does that mean that you’re willing to … to try more than an arrangement? Try to compromise with me?”
I feel his body tense with my words and when I see the look in his eyes, I realize I misunderstand what he’s saying. The possibilities that are running rampant in my head like lemmings suddenly take the leap off of the cliff to their inevitable death. My chest deflates and my hopes sputter when he speaks, unable to look me in the eyes. “That’s not what I meant, Rylee. All I know is how I operate. By my rules. They allow me that deep-seated desire for control that I so desperately need to be able to function. I have to have it on my terms.” I feel his body shift before bringing his eyes to mine. I glimpse an unexpected vulnerability in them. “Rylee, this is all I can give you. For now…Will you at least try my way? For me?”
For now? Try for me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? That there is the possibility of a future? I try to stop my mind from reading into that comment through the filter of my hopelessly romantic heart, but I’m having trouble separating the two. Colton’s proximity and the words he just dropped like bombs on my rationality leave me stuttering as I try to respond coherently. “I thought you told me this wouldn’t work. That we have two differing sets of needs. That you … I think your words were, that you’re going to break me apart?” My words may sound strong and decided, but I’m anything but that.
He grimaces when I throw his words back at him and hangs his head, his voice soft. “Yeah, I know. I can’t prevent the inevitable. But I still want you to try?”
Blinded by my feelings for him, I ignore his admission of foreshadowed hurt because my head is still wrapping itself around that word try. He’s asked me to try. Am I willing to do that? For him? For a chance at us? To hope for the opportunity to show him that it’s okay to want more. That he deserves more. My train of thought derails when Tawny’s words flitter through my mind. You’ll think you can change him and his ways. And just when that happens, you’ll be over quicker than that last lap he
just took. I shake my head, trying to rid her words from my head.
“Don’t answer yet, Rylee.” Colton’s voice is a plea, mistaking the shake of my head as a denial to his request. “Have dinner with me first before you tell me no.” I step back from him, needing the distance despite knowing I’m already going to tell him yes. “I have to have at least one more night with you. I need to.” His eyes search mine for an answer. “I’ll pick you up at three o’clock tomorrow.”
Now I’m the lemming running toward the cliff.
I stare at him. Since when do I let anyone make decisions for me? “I can drive, Colton,” I say exasperated that once again he’s made the decision for me. If I’m willing to try for him, shouldn’t he try for me as well?
“Nope,” he smiles holding the door open for me as we leave Starbucks. “I’m driving. That way you can’t run away.”
CHAPTER 23
“We don’t have to fix each other. Come over. We don’t have to say forever. Come over.” I hum along with the Kenny Chesney song that is playing softly, ironically, on the speakers of the Range Rover as we drive north along the coast on Pacific Coast Highway. I smile at the coincidence that Colton had texted me this song earlier in the day, and now it is playing on the radio as one of his security staff named Sammy drives me to wherever he is.
I reach beside me at my bag, rifling through the change of clothes and miscellaneous toiletries I presumptuously packed. I pull out my compact mirror to check my reflection. My hair is piled on the top of my head in a stylish yet effortless disarray of curls with several wisps hanging loosely around my face and onto my nape. I set down my compact and bring my hands back to check the tie on my neck where the straps of my blue maxi dress meet, leaving my back bare until just below my shoulder blades. I say a silent thank you to Haddie for her suggestion to wear the dress. Cute, casual, and just enough cleavage to keep him sneaking a peak she had told me over our second glass of wine.
As we drive north, the lush hills on my right give way to the ocean on our left. I place a hand over my stomach to try and settle the butterflies fluttering there for some odd reason. I shouldn’t be nervous to see Colton, but I am. Inexplicably I feel that tonight is going to be a turning point for whatever “we” are. I lean my head back and look out the window at the endless sea and hope that I can handle the repercussions of whatever that turning point may be. I close my eyes momentarily and wonder how an intelligent woman like me can knowingly walk into foreseeable devastation.
Taylor Swift’s “Red” is playing when we start through the town of Malibu. I listen to the words, relating to them. “Loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead end street.” I shake my head, feeling like that dead end is going to come so much quicker than I want it to when it comes to Colton. Against my better judgment, I’m pressing the gas pedal trying to see where this takes us instead of slamming on the brakes.
Sammy turns left onto a street, the sign reading Broadbeach Road, and I am pulled from my thoughts to survey the neighborhood. Expensive houses line my left, bordering the coveted Malibu shoreline. Houses range in style from modern to Cape Cod to old world, with perfectly manicured landscaping and most behind gated walls.
Within moments we have turned up to a driveway where large wooden gates are swinging open for us. We pull through the gates onto a cobblestone and grass driveway and come to a stop. Sammy escorts me from the car and I look up at the two-story structure in front of me. It has an impenetrable-looking ledge stone façade, the top portion shaped like a stretched letter ‘U’ where an open-air deck sits between two sections of the house. There is an absence of windows on the walls that face me, giving it a formidable edge, and I can infer that the opposing walls are solely glass to showcase the Pacific. At ground level below the deck is a massive arched wooden door, and my eyes are drawn to it as it slowly opens.
Colton stands in the open doorway, stopping me in my tracks when a slow, lazy smile lifts one corner of his mouth. The sight of him is like a sucker punch to my abdomen. I struggle to breathe as I drink him in. He is all kinds of sexy, wearing a pair of worn blue jeans, faded black t-shirt, and bare feet. I’m not sure why the sight of his bare feet peeking out from beneath his pant legs is so attractive to me, but its worth another glance. I regain my wits despite the humming of nerves and start moving toward him again as his eyes do a languorous appraisal of my body. I reach the doorway and stop in front of him, my smile matching his.
“I told you I’d hurt you and yet here you are,” he murmurs captivated, astonishment flickering through his green eyes. His words sink into me and before I have a chance to process them, he reaches out and takes my hand, pulling me against him. My hands land on his chest feeling every bit of muscle beneath the incredibly soft cotton of his shirt. “Hi,” he breathes, a shy smile on his lips and eyes steadfast on mine.
“Hi,” is all I can manage before he leans in and brushes a slow, tantalizing kiss on my lips that speaks of the possibilities this evening holds. When he pulls away, every nerve in my body is humming.
“Beautiful as always, Rylee,” he praises taking my hand and ushering me in the door. “Welcome to my home.”
The significance of his statement is not lost on me. This is his home. Not a place he brings his sometimes girl. I can’t help wondering if he has invited me here to prove a point. To demonstrate that maybe he is trying since I am.
All thoughts leave my head as we enter the great room of the house. I am met with an unhindered view of a beautiful terrace and the ocean beyond. Glass pocket doors have been slid aside, leaving the house open to the subtle breeze blowing in off of the water. My gasp is audible as I step past him without invitation and out onto the deck to admire the sight for several moments. “It’s beautiful. I—” I murmur, turning my head back to him and the rest of my sentence falters as I look at him. He is leaning against the back of a leather couch the color of chocolate, his hands shoved casually in his pockets, and the look in his eyes as he connects with mine is one of such intensity that I suddenly feel shy. I feel as if he can see everything deep within me: my hopes, my fears, and the fact that I’ve fallen in love with him. Uncomfortable that my every thought feels like it is on display, I try to break up the electric atmosphere. “Thank you for having me here, Colton.”
He pushes off of the couch and saunters toward me, every part of my body aching for his touch. “I’m glad you’re here. Would you like a tour or a drink out on the patio?”
“Patio,” I tell him immediately, wanting to soak up the sun and the beautiful view with him. I wander out onto the sprawling deck complete with an infinity edge pool, built-in barbeque island to the right, and the most comfortable looking patio furniture I have ever seen.
“Take a seat,” he tells me, “I’m going to get us a couple of drinks. Is wine okay?”
“Sounds great.” I ignore his request to sit and walk to the edge of the railing to take in the unobstructed view of the beach that stretches to the left and right of us. My thoughts turn to what it would be like to wake up every day to this spectacular view. Beside Colton watching this spectacular view, to be exact.
“I could sit here all day and watch the view.” I’m startled by his voice behind me as I did not hear him approach.
“It’s very soothing.” He sidles up next to me and places a glass of wine on the railing beside me. “Thank you. I imagine it could be very distracting when you have other things to do.”
Colton places a soft kiss on my bare shoulder, and keeps his lips there as he murmurs, “Nothing could be more distracting than you standing here right now with the wind in your hair and your dress billowing around you giving me hints of those sexy legs of yours.”
His words are like an electric pulse to my system, stoking my ever-present burn for him. Despite the warmth of him behind me, I have goose bumps on my arms. “Are you trying to sweet talk me, Ace, so that you can get laid tonight?”
“If it’s working, then yes I am.”
How will I
ever be able to say no to him?
“I told you,” I say feigning disinterest, “I’m not really into race car drivers.”
“Ah … yes,” he laughs moving to the side of me resting his hip on the rail but keeping a hand on my lower back. “I forgot, only baseball players do it for you.” He takes a long sip from his bottle of beer, watching me the whole time. “I’m sure you could be persuaded, though.”
I raise an eyebrow and tilt my head, trying to hide my smile. “Might take an awful lot of persuading …”
He moves quickly so that my back is to the railing now and his arms box me in on either side. His warm, hard body presses up against mine and a mischievous grin plays at the curves of his mouth. “You know I can be awfully convincing, Rylee.”
In a flash, his lips are on my mouth and his tongue is pushing through my parted lips to meld with mine, attacking my mouth with purpose. I wrap my arms through his, hooking them up so that I can press my hands against his shoulders. He deepens the kiss, demanding more, taking more, and igniting little licks of desire deep in my belly. One of his hands palms my butt and presses me against him while the other leaves whisper-soft touches on my bare back. I moan softly from the multitude of sensations his touch alone creates beneath my skin.
I hear a thumping sound and I screech suddenly, breaking away from our kiss as I feel something insistently trying to force between where his hips pin mine to the railing. I laugh loudly as I look down at the oversized ball of black, white and tan fur that is wedging his nose in between us. A beautiful and rather large dog wriggles against us, tail beating against the railing, wet nose pushing and prodding.
I cry a small sound of pleasured surprise as I take the dog’s head in my hands. “Baxter!” Colton groans at him. “I apologize. He’s a little out of control.”