by Tara Wyatt
He flipped the folder closed and pushed it to the side, sending Clay a grateful smile. “Thanks, man. I’ll think about it.” Because despite his reservations, it was too good an offer to turn down flat. And the opportunity to get out of freelancing, to prove to himself that he could handle going back into that environment, that he wasn’t as fucked-up and damaged as he feared he might be—it was all very tempting.
Clay nodded and pulled another folder from his leather satchel. “I was able to track down your stalker with the info you gave me. Full name’s Ronald Baker,” he said, sitting back and sipping his coffee.
The top sheet was a full-page color print-out of Ronald Baker’s driver’s license. Taking a sip of coffee, Colt squinted as he scrutinized the picture. Yeah, that was definitely the guy from the bar. He lived in an apartment on Sherman Way in Winnetka, just north of the Ventura Freeway and only about thirty-five minutes from Taylor’s house. Colt flipped to the next page, where Clay had included a standard background check. His eyes narrowed as he skimmed down the page, his heart dropping into his stomach for a second. Baker had been arrested a year ago for trespassing after trying to sneak backstage at one of Taylor’s concerts. The security guards at the venue had stopped him, and they’d found a knife on him, as well as a diamond ring.
Shit. This was bad. Colt let the folder fall closed as panic washed over him, tightening his chest. Not only was this guy obsessed with Taylor, but he had violent tendencies and a knack for finding her.
“Guy seems like a whack job,” said Clay. “I ran a credit check on him, and he’s been making some weird purchases lately, and he took a few big cash advances, too. If you flip the page, you’ll see her dad’s rap sheet, which is about a mile long. Amazing that he’s managed to avoid any major prison time.”
Colt flipped the folder back open, turning pages until he was greeted with a fairly recent mug shot of Frank Ross, and his jaw tightened as he scanned down the list of charges. Assault. Mail fraud. Money laundering. Drug and firearm charges. Robbery. Kidnapping. It was a litany of felonies, one piling on top of the next, with a less senior member of the Grim Weavers almost always taking the fall.
“Between Baker and her dad, you might want to consider some backup on this.”
“You mean Virtus?”
“I do.”
Colt raised an eyebrow and then shook his head. It wasn’t gonna happen. Sean Owens had made that plenty clear when he’d fired Colt.
“Yeah, I don’t think so, man. I’ll figure something out.” He had to, because he sure as fuck wasn’t going to let anything happen to Taylor. Just the thought sent his heart into a tailspin. He knew he’d never be able to live with himself if she got hurt on his watch. He’d failed so many others; he couldn’t fail her.
“Thanks for the intel, man. I owe you one.”
* * *
Taylor stood under the hot spray of the shower and stretched, her sore muscles protesting against the movement. She ached all over, and her aches and pains included a particularly delicious soreness between her legs. She and Colt had had sex six times, and she’d lost count of the number of orgasms she’d had after hitting double digits. Never in her life had she had a night like that. And given her lifestyle and her proclivity for sex, she’d had some pretty wild nights.
But last night, with Colt? Off the charts. Incomparable, even to their first night together, which had been pretty damn hot. Her heart rate kicked up a notch as she replayed their night and the connection they’d forged. It was physical, but it was so much more than that. She knew she should slow down, take a breath, maybe get some space, but she couldn’t. She wanted him—craved him—with a fierceness unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Not even with Zack.
So it was safe to say that if this blew up in her face, it was going to be a fucking mess. No way would she come away from this unscathed if it didn’t work out.
It was like staring into a fire. She knew it was hot, that it would hurt if she touched it, but it was so warm and pretty and appealing, that despite knowing better, she was going to stick her hand in anyway and just hope that maybe she wouldn’t get burned this time. Because despite her fears, her reservations, her scars, she was already all in with Colt, and damn the consequences.
She’d left the door to the bathroom ajar, and it swung open as Colt stepped in. Her eyes met his, and he yanked his shirt up over his head with a quick and wonderfully masculine tug. He pulled a condom from his jeans pocket and, holding it between his teeth, shoved his pants and boxers down, stepping out of them and sliding the shower door back.
“Morning,” she said, running her hands up his gorgeous chest.
He set the condom on one of the built-in ledges. “Morning.” The sound hadn’t died from his lips before they were on hers, his strong hands circling her arms and pulling her close for a hungry kiss. He kissed his way down her neck, grazing her sensitive skin with his teeth. His hands slid from her arms and down her back to her ass, and he palmed and kneaded the flesh there. His fingers skimmed over the seam where cheek met cheek, and she moaned softly.
“How did it go with Clay?” She reached for the expensive bar of olive oil and honey soap, slicking it down his chest and working up a lather.
He closed his eyes, and his tense muscles relaxed slightly under her touch. “Clay was able to get information on your stalker. He’s dangerous, Taylor. He also brought me up to speed on your father. I don’t know if what he said about someone coming after you was true or not, but you weren’t kidding when you said he was bad news. Real threat or not, I don’t want him anywhere near you.”
He sighed heavily as she kneaded the muscles of his chest. “We should consider a change of scenery. Maybe get out of town for a while. At least relocate to my place.”
She teased her fingers over his flat nipples, pinching them lightly before deepening her massage. “We’ll handle it, Colt. I know you won’t let him get near me.”
“I have to keep you safe.” He opened his eyes and cradled her face in his big, strong hands. “I need to keep you safe.” His voice shook a little on the last word, and then he crushed his mouth to hers.
Her heart unraveled like yarn and tangled back together into something bigger and stronger than it was before.
Massaging in gentle, thorough strokes, her hands slipped lower and lower until she circled her fingers around his cock, teasing him with light, soapy touches. Cupping his heavy balls, she began pumping her slick fist up and down in a slow, easy rhythm, loving the way her hand didn’t quite fit all the way around him.
“God, that feels good,” he groaned, his eyes closed, his head tipped back. She continued stroking his cock as she pressed her face into his neck, kissing his warm, wet skin, savoring the taste of him on her tongue.
He gathered her into his arms, their bodies winding closely together as he kissed her, deep and with a hot, possessive urgency. His hands roved over her body, playing in her hair, tracing the crease of her spine, slipping over her ribs and hips. Breaking the kiss, he dipped his head lower and sucked a nipple into his mouth, lightly scraping his teeth over it and then soothing it with his tongue.
She rolled her hips into him, and she was starting to go boneless under the wicked torment of his mouth. Once he’d discovered that her breasts and nipples were extremely sensitive, he’d paid them extensive attention, as evidenced by the multiple love bites dotting her pale skin. It had been years since she’d had a hickey or love bite of any kind, and she was surprised at how much she liked it. At how much she liked being marked by Colt.
She felt his hands tremble against her skin, and she pulled back, cupping his face this time. “Hey. I’m okay.”
“And you’re gonna stay that way.” He spoke the words against her mouth, his arms wrapped around her as the warm water slithered over them, steam billowing around their entwined bodies. He dipped a hand between her legs, parting her lips with sure fingers. Carefully, he eased two fingers into her, resting the heel of his palm against her s
ensitive clit. “Not too sore?”
She didn’t quite trust her voice to work properly around the unexpected lump in her throat at Colt’s tender concern, so she simply kissed him and rolled her hips against his hand, grinding her clit into his palm. She was sore, yes, but the ache to have him inside her, to be connected to him again, was far greater.
He pulled away only long enough to tear open the condom with his teeth, his mouth back on hers as he rolled it on and guided her back against the shower wall. Hooking an arm under her right knee, he gently lifted her leg and wrapped it around his waist. His cock slid against her wet folds, teasing her.
“I need you inside me. Please,” she whimpered, clutching at him, feeling needy and desperate.
His eyes held hers as he inched the head of his cock inside her. “God, Taylor. You feel amazing. Fuck.” The last syllable came out on a reverential whisper as he slid into her, and she felt instantly calmer. “I promise I’ll keep you safe. I take care of what’s mine.”
“Yours,” she echoed back to him as he began to thrust in and out of her in those hard, deep strokes she loved so much. Their sighs and moans mingled with the patter of the water, echoing off the tile and glass enclosure and muffled by the steam. The scent of soap and sex filled the humid air as skin met skin in soft, wet claps, and that gloriously hot pressure began to twist deep in Taylor’s stomach.
Colt slowed and tore his mouth from hers, trailing kisses down her neck. He pulled out of her and dropped to his knees in front of her, guiding her raised leg onto his shoulder. Ravenously, he closed his mouth over her swollen clit, scraping at it delicately with his teeth and sending searing shocks of electricity coursing through her.
With a few embarrassingly short sweeps of his tongue, she came undone, the pressure snapping and giving way to hot, heavy throbs. Her hips bucked against him, and he held her steady as she shook.
And then he was on his feet again and back inside her, stoking the flames of her orgasm and prolonging it with his hard strokes. She slid her arms around his broad shoulders, because even though it was physically impossible, she wanted him even closer. He dug his fingers into her hips hard enough that she knew she’d have more bruises, and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning her name as he came hard. Little by little, he relaxed, his forehead pressed to the wet tile beside her head.
He traced his knuckles over her cheek. “I think I’m addicted to you.”
She kissed him, running her fingers through his hair, sending drops of water falling onto his shoulders. “I know the feeling.”
* * *
Colt sat on Taylor’s bed, a towel knotted around his hips, his hair still wet and dripping onto his shoulders. They’d spent nearly an hour in the shower together, touching and tasting, kissing and exploring. He couldn’t get enough of her; the feel of her skin beneath his fingers, the scent of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her voice. Each gorgeous thing about her fed into the next, stoking something deep and primal in him. The need to protect her. The need to cherish her. The need to just fucking be with her, in every sense of the word.
With Taylor still in the bathroom, he’d snagged his phone from his pants, wanting to check his messages and make a few calls. He raised the phone to his ear, waiting to connect to his messages. There was a slight gap in the call, and he frowned when he heard a faint but distinctive ticking on the other end of the line. It sounded almost like a faraway, fuzzy turning signal. His voice mail box connected, but he ended the call, frowning.
Colt pushed off the bed and redialed into his messages, putting the phone on speaker and waving it in a slow path back and forth in front of him, walking through the room. In the few seconds of silence on the line, the ticking grew stronger and clearer as he approached the television. Bending forward, he scrutinized the TV and the DVR box, his skin prickling. Biting back a curse, he jogged back to the guest room and grabbed a flashlight out of his bag, hanging on to the towel around his hips.
He rapped quickly on the bathroom door, and Taylor poked her head out. “Yeah?”
“You got an empty toilet paper roll in there?”
She stared at him with one eyebrow arched, and he swallowed, trying to get his heart to slow down.
“I think I might’ve found something.”
“What?”
“A hidden camera.”
Her eyebrow dropped back down, and her mouth fell open in a small, surprised O. “What?” she repeated, much quieter this time.
“In your DVR, I think.”
She pulled her own towel tighter around herself and swung the door open. Dropping to her knees by the toilet, she fished a toilet paper roll from the small garbage bin.
“Stay in here and turn the lights off,” said Colt, and she nodded as he pulled the door shut, entering her bedroom again. Hastily, he closed the automated blinds and pulled the curtains shut, making the room as dark as possible. Clicking the flashlight on, he held the cardboard tube to one eye like a telescope and stalked toward the DVR, slowing as he approached. In a slow, deliberate path, he swung the flashlight across the front of the DVR, pausing when the telltale wink of a camera’s charge-coupled device flashed back at him for a fraction of a second.
Anger shot through him, stealing his breath for a second, at the realization that Baker must’ve installed the cameras—it was the only logical explanation. Not only that, but he’d enjoyed a front-row seat to Colt and Taylor together last night. Fury seared through him. His skin suddenly felt too tight as the knowledge of the violation crackled over him. And it wasn’t the violation of his privacy that he cared about. No, he didn’t give a shit about that. But the fact that this psycho creep had seen Taylor, naked, and…fuck, it made him want to smash things.
“Son of a bitch!” He ground the words out and bent forward, bringing his face within inches of the DVR. “I know you’ve been watching, you sick fuck, and when I get my hands on you, I’m gonna turn your fucking face into a goddamn abstract painting, you hear me? You listening, Baker? Fuck!”
Unable to fight back the anger coursing through him, he yanked the DVR free with a violent tug and smashed it on the floor.
Chapter 20
Taylor stared vacantly out of the Charger’s window, not really seeing the trees, buildings, and cars as they blurred by on Fountain Avenue. She tucked a strand of her still-damp hair behind her ear, curling the end around her finger and wrapping it as tight as she could, cutting off the circulation to the tip of her finger, watching as it turned bright red. Wanting to feel...something. Anything besides the sickening, slimy mixture of anger and numbness that had taken over as soon as Colt had told her he’d found a camera.
After Colt had smashed the DVR, they’d both quickly dressed, and she’d followed him from room to room as he’d scanned every object and every surface with the handheld radio-frequency-signal detector he’d retrieved from his car. He’d located two more cameras, one each in the living room and the bathroom. When he’d pulled the small camera—no bigger than a guitar pick—from the vent in the bathroom’s ceiling, she hadn’t been able to hold back the revulsion crawling through her like maggots, and she’d flung herself in front of the toilet, heaving until her stomach was empty and her throat was raw. Colt had held her hair and then brought her a cool cloth, wiping at her face tenderly. It was that small act of tenderness that had broken her completely open, and he’d sunk to the floor beside her, pulling her into his arms as she’d cried.
They’d gone to the police, and she’d officially filed a report about her stalker, giving the police the information Clay had found on him, the spy cameras Colt had found hidden in her house, the creepy card that had come with the flowers, and her own account of what had happened that night at the Rainbow. That, coupled with his previous record of trying to get backstage at her concert with a weapon, was enough to file for a temporary civil harassment restraining order. She’d have to go to court to get a more permanent one, but in the meantime, the creep would be served with the restraining o
rder and told to stay the hell away from her.
There wasn’t enough evidence to bring him up on stalking charges—after all, there was no proof it was Ronnie who’d put the spy cameras in her house, although the cop had agreed that it had likely been him—but the investigation would continue. They’d also told the cops about her father’s threats and the altercation last night and filed a separate report about that.
After leaving the police station, they’d gotten back into the car, and instead of heading back toward the Hollywood Hills and home—the last place she wanted to go—they’d gone south to Fountain Avenue and were now turning left onto Vine.
“You okay?” asked Colt as he swung the Charger through the turn.
She shrugged, her arms wrapped around herself. “Not really. We have no idea how long those cameras were there. I don’t know how many times he watched me change, watched me shower. He could’ve watched us…last night…” Her voice caught on the last syllable, and she cleared her throat, through with crying. She laid her hand on Colt’s thigh, and he glanced at her for a second before returning his attention to the road. She cleared her throat again before continuing. “It meant something to me. And I hate that there’s this shit hanging over it.”
He slid a hand from the steering wheel and laid it over hers. Big and warm, it anchored her as he laced their fingers together, and she took a deep breath. “It meant something to me, too, Taylor.” He squeezed her hand and glanced at her again. “So fuck him.” He eased the Charger to a stop at a red light. “Last night was about you and me, gorgeous. Not him. You and me.”
Her throat thickened, and she nodded, blinking furiously against the tears stinging her eyes. Colt drummed his fingers on the wheel and then rubbed a hand over his mouth before continuing. “So, listen. Until we get all of this resolved, I need to make sure you’re safe. And as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t know if Roman and I can handle this on our own.”
