Primal Instinct

by Tara Wyatt

  Fan-fucking-tastic.

  She navigated away from the dating site and to Colt’s LinkedIn profile, and her stomach dipped in appreciation. God, the man was gorgeous. And fucking fantastic in bed. And he made her feel…She glanced in the direction of the stairs. God. He was under the same roof. Probably half naked. In a bed.

  “No,” she whispered, dropping her phone onto the counter and scrubbing her hands over her face, her eyes dry and tired. Yawning, she glanced at the clock on her stove, which told her it was after midnight and time to call it a night. She rolled her stiff neck, trying to work out the kinks left behind after spending hours hunched over her guitar. She grabbed her phone and shoved it into her back pocket. As she extended a hand to turn off the kitchen lights, she saw it.

  A shadow moved quickly across the large window over the sink. She froze, her heart picking up its tempo in her chest, and she flicked the lights off, plunging the kitchen into darkness. At least if there was someone outside, they could no longer see in. Moving out of sight of the window, she listened, straining her ears as the quiet of the house hummed like static in her ears. It would be so easy to simply go upstairs and get Colt. But she didn’t want to need him. Didn’t want to seek him out in any way at all. After several moments of staring, waiting, listening, she relaxed slightly, her shoulders dropping from down around her ears.

  Shaking her head at herself and glad she hadn’t gone upstairs and got Colt for nothing, she checked to make sure all the doors were locked and the alarm set. She trailed her fingers over the smooth, cool metal of her front door handle and began to turn away when another shadow moved, this time on her front porch. The shadow ghosted from left to right, visible through the frosted glass panes on either side of the large, heavy front door. Ice trickled down Taylor’s spine, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, backing slowly away from the door as her skin prickled, her pulse throbbing in her throat.

  She backed into the entryway, her eyes still glued to the doorknob, waiting for it to twitch, for the scrape of metal in the lock. Getting ready to scream for Colt.

  A dull, soft thump near the kitchen window made her jump, and she froze in the entryway. Yanking her phone from her pocket, she used the screen to light a path, sweeping the phone back and forth with a trembling hand. Another thump sounded, this time from the other side of the house.

  She ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Chapter 7

  Colt rolled over in bed and reached for his phone on the bedside table. The display read 12:52 A.M. He groaned softly and rubbed a hand over his eyes, pissed that he’d barely fallen asleep before waking up again. He knew he hadn’t had another nightmare—he wasn’t drenched in sweat and shaking. Even when he woke up without remembering the dream, he knew he’d had a combat nightmare by the way his entire body practically vibrated with it. He pulled the covers up around himself and closed his eyes, settling back into the pillow, when a firm knocking at his bedroom door had his eyes snapping back open. He threw the covers off and crossed the space to the door, pulling it open to find Taylor on the other side.

  He opened his mouth to ask her if she was all right, but couldn’t seem to find any words once his eyes landed on her, and he took in what she was wearing.

  Nothing but his Led Zeppelin T-shirt. No makeup. Hair in a thick ponytail, flung over one shoulder. Before he could stop himself, his eyes wandered from her face to her breasts, then down her torso and over her long, slender legs and bare feet. Everything from the other night came rushing back, sending blood flowing to his dick. The feel of her mouth on his. His arms around her. The sounds she’d made as he’d fucked her. The glory that was his name on her lips as he’d made her come, over and over.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse with sleep.

  “Um.” She stared at him, seemingly surprised to see him standing there, even though she’d been the one to come and knock on his door. Her eyes skimmed down his chest and straight to the bulge in his boxers, which he knew hid nothing, and she bit her lip. He could’ve sworn she made a soft whimpering noise, and butterflies crashed into each other in his stomach.

  Jesus. What the fuck was wrong with him? Just standing here with her gave him butterflies? But not butterflies, because he’d probably lose his man card if he ever admitted that to anyone. So, not butterflies. No. She gave him…scorpions. Yeah, that was better.

  Man card intact, he cleared his throat. “Something wrong?”

  She paused, and when she spoke again, there was the slightest tremble to her voice. “I…don’t know. This sounds so stupid.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her. Fighting the urge to kiss her and pull her onto the bed less than ten feet away. “What’s wrong?”

  She frowned, hugging herself, and his muscles stiffened, tension rolling through him as he waited for her to answer.

  “I thought maybe someone was here. I saw shadows, outside my kitchen window and on the front porch. Or, at least, I thought I did. And for a second, it sounded like someone was trying to open the kitchen window.”

  By the time she’d finished speaking, he’d already stepped back into the bedroom and yanked on his jeans.

  “You have your phone with you?” A surge of anger that someone had tried to mess with her merged with the adrenaline coursing through him. He jammed his feet into his boots and pulled a T-shirt over his head before grabbing his SIG Sauer P226 from the nightstand.

  She nodded, holding out one hand and showing it to him.

  “Good. Stay in here with the door closed. I’ll do a sweep.”

  “No, but…”

  He paused in the doorway, his breath sticking to his ribs at the sight of her in nothing but her underwear and his T-shirt. God damn. “But what?”

  Her eyes flicked between him, the gun in his hand, and the bed with its disheveled sheets. “Be careful,” she said softly, and crossed the room to sit on the bed. The bed he’d been in just a few minutes ago. She crossed her long, bare legs and something charged through him. Lust, but something more. Something hot and protective. Something maybe even a little possessive.

  She was his to protect. She might be pissed that he was here, and he understood why, but he couldn’t deny that right here, right now, he was fucking glad he was here to keep her safe.

  “I will. I’ll be right back.”

  Quickly, Colt moved through the house, clearing each room as he went, but nothing was out of place. The house was silent and mostly dark, and as he went, he checked all of the windows and doors on the lower level for any signs of forced entry, but everything looked secure. With his SIG clasped in his right hand, a small flashlight in his left, he stepped outside and did a perimeter check, looking for anything suspicious—footprints, damaged shrubs, litter, damage around the windows. He circled around to the other side of the house, still on high alert for anything suspicious, but not finding anything. He slipped the flashlight back into his pocket and walked back into the house, locking the door and resetting the alarm behind him. He flipped on a few lights as he went back through the house this time, his eyes still scanning each room as he passed, darting into the corners, watching for movement, for anything out of place. He grabbed the iPad from the kitchen and quickly pulled up the security camera app.

  When he and Roman had scoped out her place, he’d been mainly happy with the security she already had in place for the house. But he had updated a few things, including syncing her cameras with an app that fed the footage directly to her iPad. She’d pretended to ignore him the entire time he’d been explaining it, but he’d known she was listening from the way her eyes had tracked his hands as he’d showed her how to access the information in the app.

  He pulled up the camera feeds from the front door, backyard, and garage for the past hour and quickly scrolled through them, dragging his finger across the screen, but he didn’t see anything. No mysterious intruder, no one near the house.

  He’d been abou
t to close the app when something caught his eye, a flicker almost off camera. Frowning, he rewound the footage from the front door and played it back at regular speed. A shadow flickered, headlights flared from the street, and then the shadow was gone. The cameras were good, but not high-res, and if he zoomed in, he knew the image would only get pixelated and fuzzy. It was almost impossible to tell if there’d actually been someone at her front door, or if it was a trick of the light. Even if there had been someone—a thrill-seeking fan, maybe—they were long gone now.

  Colt made a mental note to adjust the camera angles in the morning, and headed back upstairs. He strode down the hallway and opened his bedroom door, practically crashing into Taylor, who’d been crouched on the other side of the door. Instinctively, he held out his hands out to steady her, and she swayed into him, just for a second, before taking a step back.

  “Did you find anyone?” she asked, leaning her shoulder against the wall just inside the doorway. There was a hollowness around her eyes, and it made him want to push her up against the wall and kiss her until neither of them could breathe.

  “No. No sign of anyone.” For a brief second, he debated whether or not he should tell her about the shadow on the security camera, but decided it was a worry (and probably a worry over nothing) that she didn’t need right now. She had enough to deal with, with her record label breathing down her neck, and he and Roman encroaching on her personal space.

  “I let my imagination get the better of me. I shouldn’t have woken you.” She yawned and stretched her arms above her head, and the shirt—his shirt—rode up her thighs, a scrap of black lace barely visible between her legs before the cotton dropped back down. Her eyes met his, and she hugged her arms around her waist, closing herself off from him, and he couldn’t take it anymore.

  She frowned when he leaned against the wall a few feet away from her, facing her and mirroring her posture. “What the hell are you running from?”

  She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her pretty blue eyes. “I’m not running from anything. I thought I saw something, and I panicked, which I shouldn’t have done. What does that have to do with running?”

  He pursed his lips and nodded. “You know what I think?”

  She shook her head, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

  “I think I scare you.” Maybe it was because he was looking for an excuse to get close to her, but he suddenly took a step toward her, backing her against the wall. “I think you want me just as much as I want you, and that freaks you out. It’s why you bailed before I woke up. It’s why you’re trying to keep your distance from me now.” He dipped his head so that his mouth was nearly touching her ear. “But you don’t have to be scared, gorgeous. Not with me.” And despite his reservations, he knew he was telling the truth.

  Paying attention to her cues, he didn’t miss the way she arched toward him, the way her breathing hitched slightly. Bracing one hand on the wall by her head, he leaned in farther. He moved her ponytail off her shoulder with his free hand and caressed down the length of her arm. “I think someone hurt you, and you’re trying to protect yourself.” Unable to stop himself, he pressed a kiss to her neck and she moaned softly, her fingers curling into the fabric of his T-shirt.

  “I think there’s a part of you that wants me to fuck you up against this wall. Right here, right now.” He pressed another kiss to her collarbone. “I bet you’re wet just thinking about it. How good I would feel inside you. How hard I could make you come.” He pressed his face into her neck and she moaned again, her body arching into him.

  He spoke, his lips and teeth trailing over the skin of her neck as he did. “The other night—” unable to help himself, he brushed his lips over hers “—you were mine. And I take care of what’s mine.”

  Her eyes locked with his for a brief second, and then she shoved him away. Her shove wasn’t hard enough to move him, but he took a step back anyway.

  “I’m not yours, Colt. It was a one-night stand, and it’s not gonna happen again.”

  He took another step back, and she spun and left the room, pulling the door closed hard behind her. He stood completely still for a moment, hands clenched into fists, tension radiating up his jaw.

  Son of a bitch, but she was maddening.

  Adjusting his aching cock, he yanked open the door and did another sweep through the house, trying to ignore the confusing mixture of possessiveness, arousal, and frustration swirling through him. He wanted her, and regardless of the walls she was throwing up whenever he was around her, she wanted him, too. With just the brush of his fingers and a few small kisses, he’d had her arching into him, trembling for more.

  Fine. If she wanted to push him away and practically wrap herself in barbed wire, he’d let her. He could sit back and let her play her games. Because every time he thought about the night they’d shared, every time his eyes landed on her, even though he knew he should let her go, he just couldn’t.

  * * *

  Taylor strode into the Sanctuary early the next morning ahead of Colt, who was parking the car and doing a quick perimeter check. She liked working in the morning, with the promise of a fresh day ahead of her, and she was eager to work on the new songs sprouting from her like saplings. She sat down at the piano just as her drummer, Zephira, walked in, a tray of coffees in her hands.

  “Morning, sunshine,” she said, setting the tray down on a coffee table near one of the leather sofas and shrugging out of her leather jacket. Taylor had always thought Zephira, with her Afro and gorgeous medium-brown skin, was the epitome of badass cool. And on top of that, the chick could really drum. They’d worked together on Taylor’s last album and tour, and had become friends. The road had a way of bonding people, but Taylor had a feeling she and Zephira would’ve become pals in just about any circumstance. Zephira tossed her jacket over the back of the sofa.

  “Who’s the hottie in the parking lot?” she asked, stretching her long, elegant neck from side to side.

  “The bodyguard the label hired for me.”

  “What do you mean, bodyguard? You in some kind of trouble?”

  Taylor snorted and played a few chords, the keys cool under her fingers. “I’m not in trouble. I am trouble. Which I guess means I’m in trouble, but in a different way.” As she played lazy chords, she told Zephira the story—leaving out the part about the one-night stand—of her new warden.

  “Oh, girl. That is some stone-cold bullshit right there. You know if your name was Tyler Ross, they wouldn’t be pulling this shit on you.”

  Taylor sighed, rising from the piano bench and crossing the space to scoop up one of the green-and-white paper cups. Shaking her head, she raised the lid to her lips. “Oh believe me, I know.”

  “Good morning,” Jeremy called as he walked through the door. “You’re here early. Glad to see our new arrangement is working out.” As he helped himself to one of the coffees, Taylor and Zephira exchanged a pointed glance, both rolling their eyes behind Jeremy’s back.

  “So,” he said, clapping his hands together, “I had a call from Walker Stone’s agent this morning.”

  “Oh yeah?” She ran her fingers over the piano’s keys and started to play again. She’d let Walker Stone, an up-and-coming country singer, record his album at the Sanctuary last year, and they’d developed a friendship. Truth be told, she’d had a bit of a crush on him, but she knew he was hung up on his ex, country singer Monroe Bell, who was both gorgeous and a little crazy. Taylor felt like a Girl Scout around Monroe, who was way wilder than Taylor had ever been. Taylor and Walker spending time together hadn’t put Taylor in Monroe’s good graces, either, and more than once, Taylor had gone out of her way to avoid Monroe at parties and various events.

  “Yeah. He wants to know if you’ll play with him at the CMT Music Awards in a few days. They’re doing this whole genre mash-up thing, so everyone who’s performing is playing with a noncountry artist. Stone requested you.”

  “Yeah, totally. I’d love to.”


  “Great, I’ll let them know. He’ll come by tomorrow to rehearse with you.”

  Excitement pinged through her. Onstage, a guitar in her hands, rocking out with thousands of fans—that was where she felt most alive.

  Colt strode through the Sanctuary’s door, pulling his sunglasses off his face as he walked. He nodded at the others as he passed, and everyone dispersed, the impromptu meeting adjourned. He came to a stop directly beside the piano, his phone in his hand. He showed her the screen, and her stomach dropped when she saw the Prince Sparklepants profile she’d created for him.

  “You do this?”

  She held her breath, waiting for his anger. Instead, after a brief second, humor lit up his face, his green eyes crinkling in that way that made her stomach flip and bounce.

  “Because it’s pretty freaking hilarious.”

  “How…how did you find it?” she asked, unsure how to read him.

  “Gorgeous, I’m ex-military and a security expert. You can bet that if I’m getting weird-ass text messages, I’m going to figure out where they’re coming from.”

  “Uh, well, I—”

  “As far as pranks go, this is pretty good. Really. Shows creativity.” He leaned his forearms on the piano, smiling down at her. Challenging her. “Just be warned. You’re throwing the glove down on a prank war with someone who was in the Army for twelve years.”

  She tried and failed to suppress her wide grin. A thrill zapped through her, hot and electric.

  Game fucking on.

  * * *

  Frank stepped into the private room at Brillare, one of the most expensive restaurants in Los Angeles, feeling completely out of place in his scuffed boots, black jeans, leather vest, and gray T-shirt. A narrow stream of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades, and despite the fact that he was flanked on either side by members of the Grim Weavers, he was extremely aware of just how exposed he was, walking into Golden Brotherhood territory. The jazz piped through the restaurant’s speakers grated on him and he ground his teeth together, determined not to show any fear.