Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series

by Pogue, Lindsey

  Her brow furrows momentarily. “I was just—” She glances down at the street before looking at me, holding my gaze, though I feel like she’s looking through me, not at me. “Look, Casey’s gone now, and I don’t want to play games. We should probably just call it a day.”

  I hate that I’ve made her like this—timid and uncertain, when she’s always so vibrant and outspoken.

  Mac runs her fingers through her hair and glances around like she’s trying to find the right words. “I know you don’t—”

  “No,” I say without letting her finish, “you don’t know.” I don’t want to hear my own words thrown back at me. They already make me feel like a big enough ass.

  Her eyes narrow on me. “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t know what I want or how I feel. Trust me.”

  Mac looks confused, and I realize she only knows what little I’ve told her—maybe what she’s pieced together and what she thinks she sees. I’ve keep her at arm’s length and I don’t even remember why.

  “I know what I said, but”—I shake my head, desperate to articulate what not even I understand—“I was wrong. Please, don’t go yet.”

  Forty

  Mac

  His hair is damp between my fingers, a feeling more sensual than I ever would’ve imagined. The scent of his shampoo fills my nostrils; it stirs my insides, making every nerve ending acutely aware of each of his movements, his every breath.

  I was wrong.

  Those three words continue to loop through my mind. Separately they’re finite and straightforward, but together, they could mean a dozen things. He was wrong and now what? Instead of asking, I simply nodded in the moment and followed him back into his apartment. The silence between us has been deafening ever since.

  Is he thinking? Does he have something more to say? Does he know what opening my heart to him has cost me? I dip the comb in the water glass and run it through his hair again, smoothing another tress between my fingers. It’s slick and cool, and the repetition is almost soothing to my nerves. Almost.

  Snip.

  I pull another chunk through my fingers.

  Snip. Snip.

  Snip.

  My motions are automatic and my mind is barely focused. With a deep breath, I listen to the music playing softly in the background. The beat to “Little Drummer Boy” resonates with the methodic rhythm of my heart, though pounding it may be. There are things that need to be said, but I’m not ready to bare my soul to him just yet, no matter how much he’s seemed to change his mind. I need something in return—a show of good faith.

  By the time I’m finished cutting the crown area of his hair and fading the sides, it feels like hours have passed in a rush of mere minutes. The dreaded moment of being finished arrives, along with the awkward, unspoken question: what now?

  I don’t have to see Colton’s expression to know he feels it, too. His shallow breathing and taut shoulders mirror what I’m feeling. I’ve felt this around him before, this heavy, humming air that keeps my nerves from settling completely.

  I run my fingers through his hair one last time—to get all the loose pieces out, I tell myself—and then I force myself to take a step back. “Finished,” I croak and clear my throat. I set the comb and scissors on the coffee table and brush some of the loose hair from my blouse, busying myself. Generally, I would’ve changed before cutting anyone’s hair, but my wits aren’t much about me today.

  “Thanks,” Colton says, and the chair creaks as he stands up. He turns to me, his heated gaze floating up to mine as he pulls the towel from around his neck. Little bits of hair are stuck to his white cotton shirt and the inky tendrils that unfurl from his collar.

  I swallow and glance down at the hair covering the floor. “I should get this cleaned up.” I reach for the broom leaning against the wall beside the white-lit tree, left out for the pine needles. But Colton’s hand stops me.

  “I’ll do it,” he says.

  “No, I made the mess . . .”

  “Mac,” he breathes, his hand tightening on mine. Wide-eyed and heart pounding, I look at him. His gaze is transfixed . . . he’s reading me. He wants to know my soul, and I would gladly give him everything if he would stop pulling me in then pushing me away.

  I take a step back. “I can’t—”

  He steps into me, his nose brushing mine as he presses his lips to my mouth. I still as my mind races to catch up. When I realize how badly I’ve wanted this—that I’ve actually dreamt of him kissing me again—I part my lips and everything changes. No niceties or tiptoeing around anymore. His hard body pins me against the wall, tense and unyielding, and I let myself succumb into him.

  Time and cohesive thought evaporates, though something niggles in the back of my mind, like raindrops on a plastic tarp, incessant and almost too loud to ignore in spite of my whirring mind. But the kiss . . . at first, that’s all it is, his warm lips against mine . . . then the soft heat of his tongue. With shallow breaths, I inhale him; he smells masculine and like Christmas, and my heartbeat quickens until it’s a chore to breathe.

  But just as I give in and let go, those insipid green eyes flash to mind, and I can almost feel his clammy hands on me all over again.

  How does that feel, Princess?

  It feels dirty and I feel shame. I can hear David shouting at me, the crunch of bone against bone. My blood runs cold and the fire burning inside me smolders to ash as nausea overwhelms me.

  Pushing Colton away, I look anywhere but at him. I can’t bear him knowing the truth—him seeing too much.

  “What is it?” he asks, his voice nearly a whisper. “You’re shaking.” He runs his hand over my shoulder and down my arm, searching my body like he’s injured me.

  I shake my head and lean back against the wall. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.” The concern in his voice nearly brings me to tears. “What’s wrong?”

  Shaking my head, I scramble for an articulate thought. “I can’t do this,” I breathe. “It’s not you, I’m just—I want to, but . . . I can’t.” I’m not ready.

  Colton looks at me, confused, and brushes a stray tear from my cheek. When he sees something in my expression, he nods. “Okay. That’s okay.” He takes a step back.

  Cold air seeps in around me in his absence, anger quickly following. “I fucking hate this,” I grind out and lean my head back. I hate Sean and David. I hate my secrets and my shame. I hate that I’ve let this fester and consume me so much that it debilitates me from feeling anything else. I thought Colton would be different—I want him so badly to be different and to push this paralyzing sense of self-loathing away, but I don’t know how.

  Colton watches me and waits, trying to understand, but he doesn’t pry, even though I know he wants to.

  “I haven’t been with someone like this before,” I admit. I feel the air suctioned from the room and I look at him. “I mean, I’ve done this,” I clarify quickly and cover my face with my hands. “But it was . . . different.” The hesitation in my voice—the defeat—makes me feel sick to my stomach all over again. I’m a pathetic mess.

  Colton’s quiet for a few heartbeats before I gather the courage to look at him. It’s when I notice his fists clench and register the murderous look on his face that I realize what he must think.

  “It wasn’t like that,” I reassure him and the confusion that flashes through his eyes forces me to look away, unable to meet his gaze. “It was a mistake—a horrible, stupid mistake—but it wasn’t what you’re thinking.” I shake my head. “Now . . . it’s all I can think about and I hate myself for it,” I admit. Saying it out loud would be almost freeing if I hadn’t just revealed a part of myself I’ve never shown another living soul. “I just—I thought it would be different with you.”

  There’s a yawning distance between us, and the silence eats away at me until I can’t take it anymore. I’m about to turn for the door when Colton steps closer.

  “Mac,” he says quietly. I almost don’t hear him over the
music. His fingers lift my chin and face to meet his gaze. “Look at me,” he rasps.

  I do, hesitantly, and the look in his eyes nearly brings me to tears.

  “We all make mistakes.” Colton kisses the corner of my mouth. “Let me take yours away for one night.” His gaze locks on me. “Let me erase his memory,” he says, his words earnest and laced with a need I’m not sure I understand.

  “I’m scared,” I whisper against his mouth.

  He lets out a breathy laugh. “Join the club. I’ve wanted to kiss you all day, but I’ve been petrified.”

  “What happens when you decide to push me away again?”

  His amusement vanishes, and the Colton I’ve seen every day at the shop for months stares back at me. I want to know the thoughts that darken his expression. “I don’t know what we are, Mac, or what will happen. I have no expectations, no agenda. But I can’t stop thinking about you, and I’m willing to see where this goes, if you are.” He leans closer and scans the side of my face, his thumb brushing over my jaw. “You’re a lot of things, but what you said earlier . . . you’re not just the neighbor and you’re not the God damn babysitter.”

  Colton is so close I can see the stubble on his jaw and smell the spicy vanilla that’s made me weak in the knees since the first day I met him.

  I swallow thickly. “Then what am I?”

  He presses a light kiss to my lips. “I don’t know, but I’m scared shitless,” he admits. His voice is tentative and stripped of pretense and so un-Colton-like it nearly brings elated tears to my eyes. “But I’m also tired of fighting this. I’ve never wanted anything so badly as I want you. Let me give you new memories, please.” He brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, kisses me again, and his lips linger this time.

  I can’t help but stare at his mouth when he pulls away, fascinated by the curves and angles of his lips. My heart’s racing again and my body trembles, but I welcome it this time. “Yes,” I say, my eyes flitting shut as his lips brush the tender skin behind my ear.

  “Yes, what?”

  “New memories—please,” I practically beg.

  Without another thought, I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him so urgently I can barely breathe. Colton pulls me against him, his arms wrapped around my back and holding me to him should I decide to float away. My own body and mind give in to the trembling need in him, the desire that swirls around and between us.

  I come up for air, gasping for breath as he presses his lips beneath my jaw and down the column of my neck. I run my fingers through his hair, grabbing on the moment I feel his lips against the flesh of my breasts. I gasp.

  Colton growls and straightens, a few inches taller than me when I gaze up at him. He gently picks a splinter of hair from my lips with a smirk. I see them stuck to his stubble and in the collar of his shirt. His eyes dance from my mouth to my eyes, and my body gives rise to goosebumps as his fingers play with the hem of my shirt. Gently, he pulls my shirt over my head, my hair falling down around my shoulders. Cool air nips at my skin but quickly vanquishes when he lifts me up against him.

  My arms and legs wrap around him, my body knowing exactly what it wants—to be closer, a part of his. A nervous thrill bubbles up in my throat as he carries me into the bathroom with an eager gleam in his eyes. They never leave mine, amused and enlivened, and I press a softer kiss against his jaw, allowing my tongue to taste him.

  As Colton sets me on the countertop, he pulls my bottom lip between his teeth and slides the shower door open with his foot. Eventually, he forces himself to pull away and I groan in reluctance. The shower is on and steam begins to envelop the room as I let out a heavy breath and glance down, seeing my half-naked body. It hits me all at once that I’m going to see him naked, that he’s going to see me naked and all my imperfections.

  I notice Colton straighten in my periphery and his gaze catches on something in the mirror. Shutting my eyes, I wait for whatever comes next. Questions about my silver dollar–sized scar? About all of my baggage? He’s seeing too much of me too fast. A wave of panic rushes through me—and Sean feels like an invisible brand marring my existence. This is not how I wanted Colton to see me.

  Colton takes a step back and just as I think he’s going to walk away from me, he tugs his shirt over his head. Bits of loose hair scatter around us, and the moment he reveals his body—his tattoos—I’m breathless. They’re astounding, a work of art I imagine took session after session to complete. They’re intricate; one tribal swirl wisps around his wrist and etches up his left forearm, winding over his shoulder, stopping with a flick up the base of his neck. Another and another. Parts of the tattoo seems to shimmer, and I pale as I realize why. Scar tissue snakes up his arm and shoulder, illuminated in the bathroom’s florescent lights. I can’t help the way my fingers gravitate to his arms, gently tracing the design up and around; all the while he stands there, waiting for me to process and watching my reaction.

  I swallow and peer up at him. Steam swirls around him, his brow pinched in the center. His eyes are harder, contemplative, and I know that look—it’s how I feel. Exposed.

  Taking his hand in mine, I pull him back down to me. I cover his mouth with mine and feel his shoulders relax and his muscles tense as he pulls me against him. His lips soften, playing against mine, and he inhales, long and deep.

  Like blowing out a candle, the weight of the world disappears. Colton’s hands are moving down my sides to my hips and pulling me closer to him. I can feel him between my legs, pressing where I want him most of all. Every moment after is frantic, uninhibited.

  In a tangle of tugging and pulling, zippers and panting breaths, we’re heading toward the shower, my naked body pressed against his, guiding him as he ravages me with his hands . . . his mouth. He lifts me up again, carefully, like he refuses to let me go for even a moment, and he steps into the shower, under the spraying water until my back presses up against the wall; it’s cool against my back, a welcome sensation as hot water trickles down my body, over my breasts, causing every fiber of me to swell with wanting.

  It’s cramped and small inside, but I slide off him and onto my feet. I arch backward as his tongue teases one nipple and then the other. Everything inside me is already screaming, begging for more, and my voice sounds foreign and distant as I beg him to take me before I lose myself to madness.

  His grip on me tightens, but his body stills. When I open my eyes, Colton’s blue gaze is fierce and fixed on me, a question waiting to be asked.

  “I’m sure,” I rasp, and pull him closer.

  He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle against the side of my neck. “That wasn’t what I was asking.” I whimper as he pulls my bottom lip between his teeth. “I’ll be right back—”

  “Oh, yes. The pill—I’m on the pill.” I laugh, too excited to be embarrassed. I grin, and my mind is lost the moment he thrusts inside me. The momentary discomfort is blotted out by the things his tongue does to me, the way his fingers tingle and caress me. I arch into him, gripping on as tightly as I can, calling his name as my body becomes his, utterly and completely.

  The dull, green eyes that haunt me fade to nothing, a piercing blue gaze filling my mind in their place as Colton devours me, body, heart, and soul.

  Forty-One

  Colton

  Something stirs me awake and my eyes spring open. My first instinct is to run to Casey’s room, but the instant I sit up, I feel the bed move again and I frantically look around my room. Dark objects clutter the floor, and I’m confused for a minute until I realize they’re clothes scattered around, and it all comes back to me.

  I look to my right to find Mac, naked with her dark hair splayed out on the pillow, asleep. Her features are soft and glowing in the moonlight. She’d fallen asleep in my arms.

  She twitches again and groans this time, but I can’t tell if she’s having a nightmare or simply dreaming. I pull the comforter up around her shoulders, but the instant I do, her eyes flit open and she lazily turns to me, her lids barely
open.

  “I was just covering you up,” I whisper.

  She turns over to face me and nestles into my armpit. “I was arguing with my mom,” she whispers, bowing her head down to cuddle in closer. “She’s been gone so long . . . I miss her . . .” Her voice tapers off and then she is gone, lost in sleep.

  I try to picture what life would’ve been like without my mom—the dedicated, more nurturing of my parents.

  I lean in and kiss Mac’s forehead, wondering what other demons haunt her thoughts. After what she divulged last night, her reaction to Jason at the party makes more sense, even if it broke my heart to hear it. I try not to think about any of that now, though.

  The closer Mac snuggles, the more I want to keep her here forever and breathe her in . . . the more I want her to be mine, and I squeeze her tighter against me.

  Forty-Two

  Mac

  A chill stirs me awake and my arms tighten around the pillow beneath my head. The soft sheets around me smell like men’s body wash, and I blink my eyes open. I don’t sit up, I don’t roll over. I lay there and regain my bearings.

  I’m in a room with a teal green wall dressed in sunlight. I blink a few more times as the exhilarating, mind-blowing recollections of the hours before fill my mind and heat my body from the inside out. My heart starts racing, and I hold my breath, wondering if Colton’s still lying in bed beside me.

  When I finally force myself up on my elbows and peek over to check, my heart plummets to see the space beside me is empty. Although not an ounce of me regrets what happened, I’m still a little shocked. Thankful and giddy and relieved, but definitely shocked.

  Throwing the linens back, I quickly climb out of bed and search around for my clothes. My jeans and sweater are draped over the back of what looks like a straight-back dining room chair. When I notice my black lace undies are folded in half on top of them, my matching bra dangling off the finial, I imagine Colton folding my delicates for me and my cheeks redden. He knows a lot more embarrassing stuff that that, I remind myself. And even though there’s an ominous, empty pit in my stomach just thinking about it, it’s liberating that someone else knows, too.