by Bromberg, K.
My life is not some Hollywood romance movie where boring girl meets famous boy and they fall madly in love. I’m not naïve enough to believe that this is going to happen to me.
And then, my feelings for Max further confuse things. I feel guilty that, despite loving him, I never felt as alive with him as I did with Colton.
I sigh loudly, my body aware of his proximity.
He chuckles, fueling my irritation, as I turn to face him. He is leaning back in his chair, an ankle resting on the opposing knee, his arms casually resting on the armrests. We stare at each other, observing and scrutinizing each other for the first time without observers. His eyes lazily wander over my body, pausing at my cleavage. I watch his smile widen in what I can assume is an appreciation of the feminine form in general, not just mine, before they travel further down.
His beauty really is magnificent. Thick, dark lashes starkly contrast his green eyes. His strong nose has a slight curve, as if it had been broken. This imperfection in an otherwise perfect face adds to his overwhelming sex appeal. I take in his full lips, the top one slightly thinner than the lower, the darkened stubble that shadows his face, and the pulse that beats steadily under the curve of his jaw. I have the sudden urge to kiss him and nuzzle into him, to feel the pulse of this vibrant man beneath my lips. To be enveloped in his clean, earthy scent.
I shake my head, trying to break the trance. He quirks his eyebrows and waits for me to make the first move. We stare for several moments as we measure each other. I finally break the silence. “Is this what you call taking matters in to your own hands?”
“What’s wrong? Can’t handle the temptation, Ryles?” He flashes a wicked, arrogant grin at me, and as much as I want to roll my eyes, he’s all I can think about.
“Hardly,” I snort.
He shrugs indifferently. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, Ry,” he says. “You left me no choice.”
“No choice? Really?” I scoff, throwing my hands up in disgust. “What are you, fifteen years old throwing a tantrum because you didn’t get your way?”
“You owe me a date.”
“All this for a frickin’ date, Ace? Or is it because I denied your sexual ministrations after I came to my senses?” Ugh, he is so frustrating!
“Oh, you would’ve come all right,” he rebuts sardonically, raising an eyebrow, “and from what I recall, your senses? Those were strewn all over the backstage floor.”
Smartass! How can he get me so fuming mad when it takes so much more to get me to this point with other people?
“So because I said no, you offer up tons of money and bind me to a contract? Forcing me to have to spend time with you? Money in exchange for a date? I’m not a whore, Colton,” I rant, waltzing to the window trying to abate my anger. “Especially not yours!”
I can hear him shuffling behind me as he rises and walks toward the window. He looks at me through his reflection in the glass and holds my stare. My body vibrates.
“Let’s get something straight,” he growls. “First of all, I have my own reasons for donating the money that have absolutely nothing to do with you. Nothing! Second, I don’t ever pay for dates, Rylee. Ever. I have more class than that.” I can feel his fury roll off him in waves.
“You paid for a date with me,” I retort.
“Charity. Auction. Does. Not. Equal. Escort. Service.” He snarls, taking a step closer, but never breaking our stare. “Lastly,” he seethes, grabbing hold of my arm to emphasize his point, “I don’t ever want to hear you refer to yourself as a whore again.”
We stand in silence as his words settle around us. Why the hell does he care what I call myself? He has no claim over me. I know better than to provoke when someone is angry, but I can’t help myself. For some reason I want to push his buttons. If I’m going to be forced to do something, then I might as well say my peace.
“Then why the contract? The events that I’m required to be your escort for.” I yank my arm out of his grip. “Sounds like your ego is bruised because I won’t succumb to your dazzling charm, so you need to tie me to you to prove to yourself that you still have that magic Colton touch.”
“I didn’t say anything about bondage,” he cuts me off, smirking. “But if that’s your thing, Rylee, I’d be more than happy to oblige. I can teach you the ropes.”
I shake my head in disbelief as the meaning of his words sink in. Blood rushes to my cheeks before I can meet his eyes in the glass again. “I’m ignoring your last comment,” I say dryly, trying to recall what my point was since he has scattered my thoughts. Um—where was I? Oh! “Your ego’s bruised because I won’t fall helplessly at your feet and become your compliant sexual plaything, so you come to my job—take the one thing that I really want, the one thing that I’ve been working toward for over two years—and you serve it up to me on a platter.”
“And the problem with that is …?”
“The problem is that you offer it to me with terms that are self-satisfying to you …” I falter because I realize I’m rambling now. And at some point I’m afraid that if I keep talking, private thoughts may tumble out—thoughts about him. And if I slip, then … he’ll know I think about him more than I should.
Colton sidles up next to me, leaning his shoulder on the glass, staring at my profile. Our silence extends for several moments, my anxiety ratcheting from his quiet scrutiny.
When he speaks, his voice is demandingly soft, “Why won’t you go out on the date with me?”
Whoa, change of subject! A sliver of a laugh escapes my mouth from nerves. I keep my face averted, watching the world outside. “For what reason? You and I come from different worlds, Colton, that have different rules. You want a date so you can add another to the many notches in your bedpost. You said you wanted to fuck me to get me out of your system and move on,” I say, repeating his threat. In my periphery, I see him blanch at my words. “You may be used to women declaring their love for you and dropping their panties at clever lines such as that but not this one.”
Colton starts to speak. I know he’s going to drop a witty one-liner about how I’ll have no problem dropping mine for him. Using his own tactic, I stop him before he can interrupt by holding up my hand. “Our encounter was a momentary indiscretion on my part. One that will never happen again.” I turn my face to look Colton in the eyes. “I’m not that kind of girl, Ace.”
He regards me, the muscle in his jaw pulsing. He leans in, the coarseness of his voice making his words resonate with truth. “You know that deep down, a tiny part of that proper, respectable woman that you are wants to visit that reckless, sexy, uninhibited place inside you that’s begging to get out. A place I can undoubtedly help you find.”
My eyes blaze while I try to reject the truth behind his words. He watches my internal struggle until I turn from him and walk back toward the conference table. I don’t want him to see the despair on my eyes. “You play dirty, Colton.”
“And your point?” he retorts, turning and leaning his backside against the glass, a lopsided smile flashing. “Sometimes you have to play dirty to get what you want.”
“And what exactly is it that you want?” I ask, crossing my arms across my chest as an invisible means of protection against him. As if anything really could protect me.
Colton pushes off the wall and stalks toward me, like a lion about to pounce on his prey. He stops in front of me, closer than necessary, and reaches out, using a finger to lift my chin up so that my eyes meet his. “You,” he states simply.
I feel as if all of the air has been vacuumed out of the room; I can’t breathe. Incredulity and willingness flood me momentarily as I accept his answer. The warmth is fleeting as I realize that this is how he does it. This is how he gets so many notches on his bedpost. He makes you feel like you’re the only one on his radar. He’s good. He’s really good. But I’m not going to fall for it.
I walk away from him, creating some distance so I can think clearly. “So why a contract? What are you trying to ach
ieve?” I toss over my shoulder as I circle the conference room table. When I’m across it, I turn to face him. “Are you going to threaten my job if I don’t fuck you?”
“No...” a wry smile turns up the corners of his mouth “...but there’s always that option.”
“Well, why don’t we just save us both the time and effort and get it over with?” I rebuff, exhausted by this game we’re playing. “Then we can move on to what really matters. Hell, we can even use the conference table if you’re that desperate.”
“We could,” he says, laughing, a sincere smile on his face. He presses both hands on the table, testing its stability. “It’s sturdy enough.” He shrugs. “Although it’s not exactly what I had in mind.” His eyes express the lascivious thoughts he’s left unspoken. “And believe me, sweetheart, I’m far from desperate.”
His look sends shivers down my spine. I try to change tactics. Obviously the avenue I’ve taken is not working to deter him. “We both know you don’t need an escort to these functions. Why not have one of your girlfriends escort you?” I continue moving, knowing that if I stand still, I risk the chance of coming into contact with him. And the pull he has over my body is too strong to resist his touch. And if he touches me, then I think my resolve will crumble. “I’m sure that you have a bevy of beauties waiting for you to snap your fingers.”
“I don’t do the girlfriend thing,” he deadpans, stopping me in my tracks.
“Oh, I see. The casual fucking thing is more your style then?” I see anger flash in his eyes before he reins it in, covering it with a diminutive smirk. “I guess I was right to not expect too much from you.”
“Why tie myself to just one woman when there are so many out there vying for my attention?” he goads, trying to push more of my buttons.
“Do you actually believe your own bullshit lines?” My God, the man is relentless and exasperating at the same time. He just flashes me a smarmy smile and folds his arms across his chest. I try to not focus on the play of muscles beneath his shirt. Try not to imagine what he looks like with his shirt off. “You sure are full of yourself, aren’t you, Ace?”
He cocks his head and looks at me. “I can arrange for you to be full of me instead, if you’d like?”
Again, I stop at his words. Regardless of how forward and crass his comment is, all of the muscles south of my waist clench with desire. I can feel the flush of heat creep up my cheeks, staring at a non-existent spot on the wall for a moment, hoping he doesn’t notice. He chuckles softly at my reaction, and my eyes flash up to meet his, my expression belying how dumbstruck I am from his words. It’s only when I stare at him incredulously for a few moments, my mouth opening and closing trying to form words to berate him for his arrogance, that I see the crack in his game. A smile graces his lips, causing the lines around his eyes to crinkle.
“C’mon,” he teases, taking a step closer to me. “You walked right into that one. I couldn’t resist.”
I know the feeling. I stare at him, shaking my head. “Okay,” I concede. “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just say that. But seriously, why don’t you do the girlfriend thing?”
He shrugs casually. “Not my thing. I don’t like strings attaching me to anything. Relationships equal drama.”
A guy with commitment issues, like that’s something new.
“So I was right?” I mutter more to myself than to him, astounded by his brutal honesty.
“About what?” he asks, angling his head to the side as he approaches me slowly. My heart beats faster. The tone of his voice and his aura have changed. I can sense raw desire as he nears. The danger. My body clenches in anticipation, while my brain tells me to retreat quickly.
“What I told you on Saturday—you do like to just fuck ’em and chuck ’em.” My voice is quiet. The temerity behind my words fades with every step he takes in my direction.
“I told you once I don’t take kindly to insults. You just did it again. For that alone you deserve to be taken over my knee.” My thighs clench in expectant desire. I’m not into that type of thing. And yet that type of thing with Colton, his hands on me, possessing me, pushing me to ride that fine line bordering between pleasure and pain arouses me beyond coherence.
I part my lips as he comes within inches of mine. My body is attuned to him. His scent. The intake of his breath. My back arches as he lifts a hand to my cheek. “It sucks, doesn’t it?” he asks as he trails a finger along my jaw line, stopping, then brushing against my bottom lip.
“What does?” I sigh softly as his finger leaves my skin.
“When you have to stick to your guns out of principal rather than giving into the temptation right in front of you,” he whispers, turning the tables on me. “There is no shame, Rylee, in letting your body have what it craves.”
We stand, inches from each other, letting the weight of his words settle in my psyche. I know he is right. My body’s deepening ache tells me so. That I want exactly what he is offering.
“It’s hard to deny it, sweetheart, when it’s written all over your body.”
I jerk back from him as if I’ve been bitten. His words fuel my ire and irritate me. “No! I—”
“Shhh,” he murmurs, stepping back toward me, pressing a finger to my lips, his eyes ablaze with salacious intensity. “Just know, Rylee, the best sex you will ever have … will be with me,” he says in a low, hypnotizing voice that seems to knock all of the air from my lungs and reason from my usually sensible head.
I jump back, needing space from his carnal words and unending arrogance. He’s so forward, so cocksure it’s almost unattractive. Almost. The man can definitely talk a good game. Too bad I’ll never know if it’s true or not, if for no other reason than to teach his oversized ego a lesson.
“I’ll comply with the damn agreement, Colton,” I huff. “For my boys. For the many kids to come.” I stalk toward the table to collect my things. “Not for you. Or your stupid machinations behind it.” I forcefully square up the papers on the table, paper hitting wood is the only sound in the room. I look up, my steely eyes pinning his. “I will not sleep with you, Ace.”
“Yes, you will.” He smiles smugly.
Despite the vicious bang his words spark between my legs, I manage a single chuckle. “Don’t even think for a single minute—”
“Colton!” A sexy voice purrs at the door to the conference room, interrupting me.
I snap my head up to see the svelte Bailey smiling seductively, all wide eyes and batting eyelashes. My insecurities rise to the surface as I swallow loudly, looking to see Colton’s reaction. My eyes meet his because, despite the interruption, his eyes have never left mine. I am unsure what to make of this. He purses his lips, the unresolved issues left hanging between us.
All of the sudden, I’m not feeling well and want desperately to escape from this room. From this man. From witnessing the familiarity between Bailey and Colton. From being jealous despite expressing that I don’t want him.
Oblivious to the tension, Bailey sashays into the room, heading toward Colton, finger twirling her perfectly straight, perfectly bottle-dyed auburn hair.
Regret flashes across Colton’s eyes as he glances toward her and smiles a warm hello, ever the consummate gentleman. I turn abruptly to leave, knocking into my chair so it scrapes loudly against the hardwood floor.
“I didn’t realize you’d snapped your fingers,” I mutter as I try again to get around my chair.
From behind me, Colton releases a hearty, sincere laugh at my comment that, despite my frustration, makes me smile. As I exit the room, I hear him call my name. I keep walking, wanting to distance myself from him.
“This is by no means over, Rylee,” he yells out.
I continue without responding, right past my office and straight to the elevator doors. I ignore Stella’s call, the blinking voicemail light on my phone, and luck out when the elevator door opens as I approach. I need fresh air to clear my head.
I am a confident woman and not afraid to spe
ak up, so why do I feel like one of those blubbering girls I can’t stand? Why is it that Colton reduces me to a mass of hormones—angry one minute and wanting his lips on mine the next?
I sag against the wall of the elevator in frustration. He gets me so worked up. So angry. I can’t figure out what I want to do more, punch him or fuck him.
THE CALIFORNIA SUN RELAXES ME as I drink in its warmth in my backyard. I recline in the chaise, tilting my head to catch the last rays before they sink and fade to dusk. The leaves of several palm trees that line our backyard fence rustle from the light breeze, calming me.
The day’s events have taken their toll on me. And with Josie down with the flu, I’ll be back at the house in less than twenty-four hours to cover her shift. Despite it being early evening, I really should be getting ready for bed and sleeping off some of my exhaustion. But I’ve let Haddie talk me into a glass of wine and some pizza that she’s making in the house.
I close my eyes, leaning my head back, sighing as I allow myself to believe that the new facilities will become a reality. That our new approach for treating orphaned children can expand and hopefully become the pioneering protocol for change in our foster system. We can strengthen our case that creating small groups of kids under one roof—where they consistently have guardians, rules, school, counseling—will lead to well-adjusted adults. They will have a place where they belong.
A shiver of pride runs through me as I think of all of the possibilities and all of the hope that we can create with the completion of this project.
And then I suddenly feel sick from thinking about him. I still can’t figure out what to make of his comment that he doesn’t do the “girlfriend thing.” Why do I still keep thinking about him if there’s nothing there? Because there is. I can’t deny that he’s more than easy on the eyes. And I definitely can’t act as if the sparks that shoot up my arm when he touches me are imaginary. But I don’t want to get involved with him and his womanizing ways, especially now that I have to because of work.
