Driven (30 page)

I pull my eyes back up to his to see amusement laced with desire flashing there.
Two can play this game
. I think of Haddie and her skewed advice.
Embrace your inner slut
, I repeat like a mantra. Trying to summon my simmering sexuality so that I might somehow fall somewhere in the realm of appeal that Colton has.

I shift in my chair, folding my leg and placing my foot underneath me. I bend forward onto the table, braced on my elbows so that my cleavage is on display as I lean into him. I watch Colton’s eyes trace over my lips, down the line of my neck and straight to the curve of my breasts. His tongue darts out and wets his lower lip as they part in concentration. I continue forward until my lips are inches from his, “
Something I like?
” I reiterate breathlessly as I glance down to his lips and then back up to his eyes.
“Hmmm,”
I whisper as if I’m mulling it over, “I’m still testing the goods to see if they’re up to par.” My lips are a whisper from his and when he purses his to kiss mine, I conveniently shift back in my chair, denying him the contact.

Impatience flashes fleetingly in Colton’s eyes before the corners of his mouth curl up as he regards me, shaking his head. “That’s how you want to play this, Rylee?” His playful question is spoken without a hint of amusement. A hint of warning. The intensity in his eyes has my body reacting: my pulse, my breath, my nerve endings. “You want to play hard to get, sweetheart?” he asks as he removes his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls a generous amount of bills from it, and sets them on the table. He laughs. The low resonating sound reverberates through me as I continue to watch him silently, a coy smile on my face despite realizing that when it comes to Colton, I’m in way over my head if I’m trying to play games. He reaches out and cups the side of my face running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. Desire pools in my belly, aching for him to touch more of me.

Colton leans forward with determination in his eyes. He moves so that his mouth is next to my ear. I can feel the warmth of his breath and my skin prickles in anticipation of his touch. “You see, sweetheart, if you want to play hard to get,” he whispers, trailing a finger down my opposing neckline, “you’ve picked the wrong guy to play games with.” He closes his lips on my earlobe and sucks on it, the feeling mainlining right down to my sex. I arch my body in response; aware that at our backs is a restaurant full of people. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you that playing hard to get is a surefire way to get the man you want?” The taunting edge to his voice is seductive, mesmerizing, and sexy as hell. He continues to trace his finger down my shoulder and arm until it reaches my hip. He smoothes the palm of his hand over my thigh and slides it slowly forward until it reaches the apex. His thumb glances over my cleft, conveniently pressing the hard seem of denim against my throbbing clit. I suck in a breath at the sensation. “You wanna play hardball, sweetheart? Welcome to the big leagues.”

I exhale, his words foreplay to my already thrumming libido. He leans back and brushes a teasing kiss on my lips. He pulls back, triumph on his face. He quirks his eyebrows at me, glancing down to my chest and then back up. “Besides, Rylee, your nipples are betraying your ploy to play hard to get.”

What? I glance down to note that the tightened buds of my nipples are pressing tautly against my sweater in an all-out announcement to Colton of my arousal for him.
Damn it!

Colton stands abruptly, smiling brazenly at me before reaching out his hand to me. “Come,” he tells me and all I can think is that I hope to very soon, my body yearning with the desire for him to touch me again.

We exit the restaurant from a rear door that Rachel directs us toward to avoid the paparazzi waiting at the front. We make it to his car unscathed, and Colton quickly maneuvers the car onto Highway One. We drive in silence, the air in the car crackling with the unrequited sexual tension between us.

I’m unsure where we’re going but I’m smart enough to know that both of us desire the same thing at this moment. No words are needed. I can see it in the way Colton grips the steering wheel. In the invisible waves of anticipation and need rolling off of him.

We eventually exit the highway on the outskirts of Pacific Palisades and turn down a street a couple of blocks from the beach. Colton parks in front of a Tuscan-style townhouse and exits the car without saying a word. His home perhaps? By the glow of a streetlight I can see a stucco façade with wrought iron accents and a courtyard enclosed with a rustic gate. It’s comfortably charming and not at all what I think I expected of where Colton lives. I guess I figured him for modern architecture, clean lines, and monochromatic. He opens the door behind me and gathers our stuff before opening my door to help me out of the car. He grabs my hand to lead me up the cobblestone walkway without speaking or making eye contact.

I wonder if maybe I’m reading into things because suddenly I feel uncomfortable. Why the sudden change in behavior? Did I miss something? Nerves hit me as I realize that when I walk through this door my previous supposition of what I thought was going to happen has now changed. Shifted for some unknown reason. I stop behind Colton in the cozy courtyard where a small swinging bench seat sits amongst hydrangea and plumeria plants that are perfectly placed in an array of color.

I hear keys clinking, him swearing at trying the wrong one, and then Colton is pushing open the distressed front door before placing his hand on the small of my back and ushering me in. He enters the alarm code but it continues beeping as he tries the code two more times before the beeping disquiets.

The house is painted in soft browns and tans with a few bold splashes of color in pillows and vases. There are little touches here and there, feminine touches, that make me think maybe he had a female interior designer at some point.
Or a female living with him
. I ponder the thought as I walk hesitantly into the main room, my hands clasped in front of me, unsure what I should do or say. For the first time tonight, I feel awkward in Colton’s company. I hear the door close and then I hear Colton’s boots on the hardwood floor as he walks behind me and over to the kitchen area.

All the playfulness of earlier is gone, hidden seamlessly away beneath his masked façade. I watch him open a cupboard looking for something and then mutter a curse when it’s not there, before opening two more and then he exhales, “What the fuck?”

My sentiments exactly
. I can see the tension in his shoulders. In the lines around his mouth. Uncertainty and anxiety fill me as I take a step toward him. “You have a beautiful home.” The words squeak out, betraying my uneasiness.

Colton’s eyes flash up at my words, meeting mine, gauging me. “That depends,” he mutters as I look on perplexed. He shuts the cupboard door and rounds the counter toward me. His eyes are expressionless. Guarded. “I drove here without thinking …” he shakes his head apologetically. “It was stupid of me to bring you here …”

His words, the sudden rejection, sting like a slap to my face. I look down at the floor in humiliation and wrap my arms around my torso, a useless form of protection against him. I can feel the threatened tears burn in the back of my throat. This is the second time he has lead me down this road and then detached without so much as an inkling why. One minute he makes me feel like I am the only person in the room he has eyes for and then the next it’s like he can’t stand the sight of me. I shift my feet, telling myself I will not cry in front of him. Will not give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he already has on me despite the short time we’ve known each other.

Sighing deeply, I prepare to make my obvious exit now that I’m suddenly unwelcome here. When I know that I can face him, I look up again to see Colton in front of me tugging his shirt over his head. When the collar clears his face, he throws the shirt onto the couch without looking. His eyes are completely focused on me, his jaw set, hands restless as if he’s itching to touch me. The intensity in his stare steals my breath.

Now it’s my turn to say it.
What the fuck?
I’m thoroughly confused. Dr. Jekyll has turned into Mr. Hyde and is making a repeat performance. One minute I think he’s apologizing for bringing me home with him because he wants to back out, and the next he’s deliciously naked from the waist up, staring at me as if he’s going to devour me without stopping for so much as a breath.

I break from his stare and run my eyes down the length of his body. His torso flexes under my lazy perusal. His jeans hang low on his hips, the V-cut of his muscles dipping beneath the denim. I find myself thinking how I want to taste him there. How I want to run my lips along that ridge of muscles to where it trails down to the end of the inverted triangle. How I want to take him in my mouth, tempt him with my tongue, and make him lose all control. The ache in my body surges, pulses, and itches to be sated.

“Do you have any clue what you do to me?” he asks softly. I lift my eyes from his body to meet his. The unspoken emotions in his eyes shock me, envelop me, and scare me all at once. “You don’t, do you?”

I shake my head no, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. I only know what he does to me. The power he has over me to make me feel again. To make me forget. How his touch alone can quiet the doubts in my head.

He takes a slow step toward me. “You stand there with that innocent look in those stunning violet eyes. With your hair cascading around you like a fairy. And those lips … hmmm, God … those sexy lips that get swollen and so soft after being kissed. I dream about those lips.” His words wrap around me, a slow seduction to my ears. He steps closer, reaching out to take my hand in his. “Your face shows vulnerability, Rylee, but your body? Your curves? They scream sin. They make my mouth water to taste you again. They evoke thoughts in me I’m sure would make you blush.” He wets his lower lips with his tongue. “The things I want to do to that body of yours, sweetheart.”

I suck in a breath, the stark honesty behind his words stripping me bare. Entrancing me. Emboldening me. Creating another crack in the armor protecting my heart.

“You make me
need
, Rylee,” he whispers hoarsely as he takes one more step closer to me. Goose bumps run up my arms when he reaches out his other hand and runs it up the flank of my torso, stopping casually so that his thumb can brush over the underside of my breast. I respond instantly to his touch, my nipple pebbling in arousal. He leans into me, his face so close to mine that I can see the dark flecks of green floating in the translucence of his irises. So that I can see the unspoken sentiments between his words. “
And I don’t ever need anything from anybody.”

His admission is like a match to my gasoline. His incendiary words stroke that small part of me deep down that hopes there might be more here. I look into his eyes, recalling random comments from our time together, and dare to think of possibilities. He has softened me, worn me down, and built me up all in a single space of time.

“Colton?” My voice waivers, riddled with emotion. “I … Colton—”

I never finish my thought because he yanks me into him and crushes his mouth to mine. All the idle flirtation from the night explodes between us in a torrent of seeking lips and groping hands. The urgency is palpable. Our need to feel our skin on each other’s is paramount. Colton releases his grip on my hips and grabs the hem of my sweater, pulling it over my head, and only breaking our kiss when it passes over my head. He tosses it on the floor as his mouth crashes back to mine.

Hunger. That is what his kiss tastes like. What his hands feel like on my body. What I feel inside. I want every inch of him and then some. I want to lose myself in him, get lost in the sensation, and become overwhelmed by his touch alone.

“Christ, Rylee …” he pulls back from me, our chests heaving against each other’s, our hearts both beating a frantic rhythm. He cups my face in his hands, the look in his darkened eyes tells me that he understands. He feels the hunger too. “You’ve stripped me, Rylee. You’ve teased me all night.
I. Just. Don’t. Have. Any. Control. Left.”
He squeezes his eyes shut as I feel his cock pulse against my belly. “I don’t think I can be gentle, Rylee—”

“Then don’t be.” I whisper at him, my own words surprising me. I don’t want to be treated like glass anymore. Like Max did. I want to feel that violent passion of his wash over me as he takes me with reckless abandon. I want him to dominate me so that I surge up and crash down without a thought otherwise.

His eyes widen at my words, a guttural sigh coming from his throat, and then he is against me, sinking us into a devouring kiss. Desperation pulses between us. He pushes me backward, our legs shuffling into each other, our hands grabbing at every inch of exposed skin that we can find. My backside bumps up against the hard edge of the granite on the kitchen island as Colton’s hands fumble with my jeans. He shoves them down over my hips and then easily lifts me onto the countertop.

The chill of the granite slab bites into the bare skin of my heated core, adding a new dimension to the heightened sensation in my sex. Colton tugs my jeans and panties down off of my feet, and then spreads my knees apart. He steps into me, pressing between my legs as he brings his mouth back to mine. His hands run down my chest, cupping my breasts through the thin lace of my bra before continuing their descent to the apex of my thighs. He runs a finger over my cleft before slipping a finger between its seam to find me wet and wanting.

“Oh, Rylee …” he hisses as he slides a finger up and back, coating me with my own dampness and pleasuring me at the same time. His other hand is fumbling with the button fly of his jeans. He looks down to watch his teasing torment of my sex and then brings his lips to mine. “I want to feel you on me, Rylee. Nothing between us,” his mouth murmurs against mine. His words deepening the ache I’m drowning in. “Can you trust me when I tell you that I’ve been tested? That I always use protection. Have never had sex without it. That I’m clean.” He kisses me again, his tongue slips between my lips, licking, tasting, tempting. “God, I just want to feel you.”