by Bromberg, K.
I’m a little taken back by Colton’s honesty since I expected him to evade my questions. My heart breaks for the struggles of the little boy he was. I know he is glossing over the turmoil he must have experienced joining an already established family. “How was it growing up with parents in the public eye?”
“I guess it really is my turn for the inquisition,” he jokes before stretching his arm out, resting his hand on the back of my chair, idly wrapping one of my curls around his finger as he speaks. “They did the best they could to insulate Quin and me from it all. Back then, the media was nothing like it is today.” He shrugs. “We had strict rules and mandatory Sunday night family dinners when my dad wasn’t on location. To us, the movie stars who came over for barbeques were just Tom and Russell, like any other people you invite to a family function. We didn’t know any differently.” He smiles broadly. “Man, they spoiled us rotten though, trying to make up for all I had missed out on in my early years.”
He stops talking when the food is served. We both thank the waitress and put condiments on our burgers, deep in our thoughts. I’m surprised when Colton speaks again, continuing to talk about growing up.
“God, I was a handful,” he admits. “Always creating a mess of one kind or another for them to have to clean up. Defiant. Rebelling against them—against everything really—every chance I had.”
I take a bite of my hamburger, moaning at how good it is. He flashes a smile. “I told you they were the best!”
“Heavenly!” I finish my bite. “Sooo good.” I wipe the corner of my mouth with a napkin and continue my quest for information on Colton. “So, why Donavan? Why not Westin?”
“So why Ace?” he counters, flashing me a combative grin. “Why not stud muffin or lover?”
It takes everything I have not to burst out laughing. Instead, I angle my head, eyes full of humor, as I purse my lips and stare at him. I was curious how long it’d take for him to ask me that question. “Stud muffin just sounds all kinds of wrong coming from you.” I finally laugh, setting my elbows on the table and my head in my hands. “Are you evading my question Ace?”
“Nope,” he leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll answer your question when you answer mine.”
“That’s how you’re going to play this?” I arch a brow at him. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine?”
Colton’s eyes light up with challenge and amusement. “Baby, I’ve already seen yours,” he says, flashing me a lightning fast grin before closing the distance and brushing his lips to mine and then pulling away before I get a chance to really sink into the kiss. My body hums in frustration and arousal. “But I’d be more than happy to see the whole package again.”
My thoughts cloud and my thigh muscles tense at the thought, sexual tension colliding between the two of us. When I think I can speak without my voice betraying the effect he has on my body, I continue, “What was the question again?” I tease, batting my eyelashes playfully.
“Ace?” He shrugs, darting his tongue out to wet his bottom lip. “Why do you call me that?”
“It’s just something that Haddie and I made up a long time ago when we were in college.”
Colton raises his eyebrows at me, a silent attempt at prompting me further, but I just smile shyly. “So it stands for something then? And not just pertaining to me in particular?” he asks, working his jaw back and forth in thought as he waits for an answer I’m not going to give him. “And you’re not going to tell me what though, are you?”
“Nope.” I grin at him before taking a sip of my drink, watching his brow furrow as the wheels in his mind turn in thought.
“Hmmmm,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing at me. “Always Charming and Endearing.” He smirks, obviously proud of himself for coming up with what he assumes the acronym stands for.
“Nope,” I repeat myself, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.
His smile widens further as he tips his beer at me, “I’ve got it,” he says, scrunching up his nose adorably in thought. “Always Colton Everafter.”
The smirk on his face and the charming look in his eyes has me laughing out loud. I reach out and place my hand over his and give it a squeeze. “Not even close, Ace,” I tease. “Now it’s your turn to answer the question.”
“You’re not going to tell me?” he asks incredulously.
“Uh-uh,” I tell him, finding his reaction funny. “Now quit avoiding the question. Why Donavan and not Westin?”
He stares at me for a moment, weighing his options. “I’ll get the answer out of you one way or another, Thomas,” he says suggestively.
“I’m sure you will,” I acquiesce, knowing he’ll probably get so much more than just that from me.
He stares at me for a moment, a mix of emotions flickering though pools of emerald before he shrugs nonchalantly and looks out to the ocean, effectively stopping any chance I have of reading what is in them. “At first my parents used Donavan as a way to protect me as a child. When we traveled or had to use an alias, we would use it. But as I got older...” he takes a sip of his beer “...and as I got into racing, I didn’t want to be seen as some spoiled Hollywood kid who was just using his name and daddy’s money to make it.” He looks up at me, snagging a fry off of my plate despite having a plethora himself. “I wanted to earn it. Really earn it.” He flashes that grin at me again. “Now it doesn’t really matter. I couldn’t care less what anybody writes about me. Thinks about me. But back then, I did.”
A silence falls between us. I’m having a hard time reconciling the arrogant, sexy troublemaker the media portrays with the man before me. A man comfortable with himself—and yet a part of me still feels like he is striving to find his place in this world. To prove he is worthy of all of the good and bad he has experienced in his life. I have a feeling that the real Colton is a little bit of both angel and devil.
“So Colton, how’d you find this place?” I pick up my glass by the stem and swirl the wine around absently in the glass before I take a sip.
“I found it on the way home from surfing one day when I was in college,” he muses, wincing at the small shriek from inside the restaurant as a woman recognizes him and calls out his name.
Ignoring the bystanders starting to gather inside to catch a peek at him, I continue. “I don’t picture you in college, Ace.”
He finishes the bite of food he’s chewing before answering. “Well, neither did I.” He laughs, taking another swallow of his beer. “I think I broke my parents’ heart when I dropped out after two years at Pepperdine, sans degree.”
“Why didn’t you finish?” I flinch when a flash sparks through the dark night from someone’s camera.
He casually shifts his chair in a move so fluid it’s obviously well practiced. He now has his back more angled to the center of the restaurant so that less of him can be seen. I don’t mind. It moves him closer to me so that now we both face the moonlit ocean off of the deck. “I can give you the bullshit answer about being a free spirit, et cetera ...” He flutters his hand through the air in indifference. “It just wasn’t my thing.” He shrugs. “Concentrated studies, set formats, deadlines, structure …” He shivers in pseudo-horror at the last word.
I smirk at him and shake my head, leaning back into my chair where Colton’s fingers are now lazily running back and forth between my shoulder blades. “Yeah … I definitely can’t see you twiddling your thumbs in class.”
“God, my parents were pissed!” He exhales loudly at the memory. “They had spent all kinds of money on tutors to try and get me up to speed after they adopted me...” he shakes his head, smiling “...and then I went and threw it away by dropping out.”
I bite off a piece of french fry. “How old were you when … I mean how did you meet them?” A shadow passes over his face, and I mentally kick myself for asking the question. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
He stares out at the moonlit ocean in thought for a few moments before answering. “No, there’s no
t much to tell.” He wipes his hands on the napkin in his lap. “I was—I met my dad outside his trailer on the Universal lot.”
“On the set of Tinder?” I ask, referring to the movie that I’d learned about during my Google search. It was the movie his dad had won an Academy Award for.
Colton raises his eyebrows, his beer stopping halfway to his lips. “Somebody was doing their homework,” he tells me, and I can’t tell if he’s perturbed or amused.
I offer him a shy smile, embarrassed. “Somebody once told me that it’s not safe to go out with someone you haven’t researched first,” I explain.
“Is that so?” he quips, leaning back in his chair. He crosses his arms across his chest, a beer in one hand, his biceps pressing against the hem of his sleeves.
“Yes,” I toy with him, “but then again, I don’t think it matters with you.”
“Why’s that?” he asks, lifting a bottle to his lips. My eyes are glued to the sight of them pursed over the bottle. His tongue darts out to lick them after his sip. I have to drag my mind out of the gutter from imagining those lips on me. Licking me. Tasting me.
“I don’t think it matters how much I learn about you,” I tell him, leaning into him so my lips graze against his ear and whisper, “I still think you’re dangerous.” To me, I add silently.
He pulls back, eyes fused to mine as he leans in to brush a gentle kiss on my lips before resting his forehead against mine. “You have no idea,” he murmurs against my mouth. His words send a shock wave of confusion through me. One minute playful, the next minute guarded. To say he’s mercurial is an understatement.
We finish our meal, continuing to talk comfortably, interrupted only once by a fan asking for a picture and an autograph, which Colton gives. Rachel does a good job keeping the rest of his fans at bay, saying that the patio area is closed for a private party.
I can see why women are so taken with him. Why they try and stake their claim to him as Tawny surely had earlier. He leans back in his chair, stretching his torso up before swallowing the last of his beer. He glances over at me and grins as I slowly look over his torso, over his biceps, and up to his face. My belly tightens at the sight of him and the memory of his body pressing me into the mattress.
“See something you like?” he asks, purposefully pulling up the hem of his shirt to scratch an imaginary itch on his washboard abs just above the waistline of his jeans. I breathe in deeply, his hand lazily scratching down to where his happy trail disappears beneath his button fly. Damn him!
I pull my eyes back up to his to see amusement laced with desire in his eyes. Two can play this game. I think of Haddie and her 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 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 with 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 when it comes to playing 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 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 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?” 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 seam of denim against my throbbing clit. I suck in a breath. “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 of my arousal. Damn it!
Colton stands abruptly, smiling brazenly before reaching out his hand to me. “Come,” he says, 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. 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, 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.
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 quiets.
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 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 threatening tears burn in the back of my throat. This is the second time he has led me down this road and then detached without explanation. 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.
