The Mile High Madness

by Anders, Annabelle

  “Bastard,” Colt comments, his voice matter-of-fact. “And when he found out you were pregnant? Did he take off right away or wait around for a while?”

  “Pretty much right away.” But I didn’t want to talk about Brent anymore. “I find it oddly honorable that you’ve never done the deed without a condom,” I admit. He’s never put a woman at risk. I know it’s not one hundred percent effective, but he’s done his part.

  “Honorable isn’t a word I’d use to describe myself.” And it drops into place for me.

  He felt guilty for touching me yesterday.

  He felt guilty for the way he’s treated women. I just know this. I feel it in my bones.

  “Saving a child and a woman isn’t honorable?” I steer the subject in a different direction. “I doubt that child’s mother would agree with you. Or the woman’s family.”

  He waves a hand in the air. “Anybody would have done it.”

  But I’m shaking my head. “You risk falling in yourself when you pull a person into a raft. And besides. Not just anybody did. You did.”

  For such a cocky bastard, this man sure can be self-deprecating.

  “Aside from Devil’s Hole, what did you think of it?”

  He’s nodding. “Kick ass fun.” And then he grins at me. “Do you raft a lot?”

  “Not now, obviously.” I have one hand on the top of Squirt’s bump.

  “Obviously,” he agrees.

  “I like my SUP, stand-up paddle board,” I explain. “nothing higher than a class three, of course. But you’re right there with the water. And you have more control. I’ve kayaked, but I get claustrophobic. Never felt comfortable with the roll.”

  Colt asks me more questions about stand-up paddle boarding, and then we talk about other water sports we both enjoy. I don’t realize how quickly the drive is passing until we’re turning into a parking lot. It’s an upscale restaurant. Brent brought me here a few times. I dismiss the thought, eager to spend an evening focused on this amazing man.

  So much about him excites me, but at the same time I feel like I’ve known him forever.

  And, honorable or not, Colt assists me out of his truck. When we walk toward the entrance of La Maison, his hand falls naturally onto my back. I shiver at his touch and he slides a sideways glance at me. He knows he affects me.

  The atmosphere inside the restaurant hasn’t changed. Soft, low lighting. A little pretentious. We’re led to a corner booth and I’m pleasantly surprised when Colt slides in beside me.

  Brent liked to sit across from me. Even when we were first dating.

  The waiter, a middle-aged man with attitude, arrives and asks what we’d like to drink. He offers Colt a beer or wine but only suggests water, tea, or soda to me.

  “Do you want some wine, Charlie?” Colt asks me pointedly. My doctor did give me permission to indulge in a glass of wine since I’m in the third trimester, but I shake my head. I appreciate that he asks, but I feel weird. So many people don’t know the latest research and get all judgy. We both settle on water and find ourselves alone together again.

  My body sings at his nearness.

  It hits a high soprano note when he settles his arm behind me. I’m in his orbit; his gravity has me edging closer. “Tell me about Charlie Richards.”

  “I’ll tell you something, then you tell me.” I’m not comfortable talking about myself.

  “Always negotiating.” But he’s smiling. “Tell me about your parents.”

  Wow. He would ask this. “Only child. Normal family life until mom found out my dad was having an affair. He traveled a lot with his job. He had, like, a completely separate family. So…” I don’t want to dwell on this. But, like it or not, it’s a part of me. “I was seventeen at the time and Mom kind of fell apart after that. Nervous breakdown. She’s been in a mental hospital for six years now.” I shrug a little.

  He furrows his brows. “Shit. Is she stable?”

  I swallow hard. “She knows me. She knows who I am. I think she’s lost track of time, though.” I wish we weren’t talking about this.

  He’s taken hold of my hand and is drawing little lines along the back of my wrist. It’s comforting and intimate at the same time.

  “They tried releasing her, but she… she’s a danger to herself.” I’m quick to change the subject. “Your turn. Tell me something about Colt Forrester. Brothers? Sisters?” I would have loved to have had a sister.

  “One brother. Three years older than me. Mom raised us alone. Best thing about making some money was that I can take care of her now. She lives in a great big house down in San Diego.”

  “Did you grow up in California?”

  He shakes his head. “Your turn again. But I’ll give you that one. No, I grew up in Kansas City. Mom hates the cold.” He grins. So awesome of him to bring her to California with him. I’d give anything to be able to help my mom more. He narrows his gaze at me. “What’s your favorite song?”

  I can’t help smiling. “Somebody Like You by Adele.”

  He pretends I’ve broken his heart but his eyes twinkle at me. I love the color of his eyes. They remind me of a summer storm. “Favorite Memory.” It’s my turn now.

  “The first time I laid eyes on my VIP concierge.”

  He’s incorrigible! But, oh, wow. That was a good line. He’s looking at my mouth. Every cell in my body is aware of him. If he’s not careful, I just might jump him. There’s this force pulling us together.

  And it’s not one sided. He wants me as much as I want him… It’s just that…

  “I haven’t had sex in a long time,” I blurt. “And you’re driving me crazy. I need to apologize ahead of time. I don’t know if it’s my hormones or what but–”

  His mouth cuts me off.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  He’s tasting me like I’m his favorite flavor. Nothing soft. Nothing gentle about this kiss. It feels desperate. Like he’s as hungry as I am. He’s all minty, and spicy. A first kiss. God, I love a first kiss. I’m gripping the back of his head, my fingers clawing through his hair. I want more.

  So much more.

  I’m burning up all over. My breasts feel heavy, achy. I want his hands on me everywhere. His tongue sweeps the inside of my mouth. He’s sucking me in. I nip my teeth at his bottom lip.

  It’s as though the dam’s been opened.

  Except.

  “Ahem.”

  We’re in a restaurant.

  Colt has no shame. He stokes the roof of my mouth one last time before edging away enough to acknowledge the waiter.

  “Are you ready to order?” The gentleman seems annoyed by us. I don’t think he realizes who Colt is. If he does, he obviously doesn’t care.

  It’s not like we’re in the middle of the room. This corner is dark, secluded.

  Intimate.

  Except for the waiter.

  “Do we look like we’re ready?” Colt responds.

  I’ve waited tables in the past, while I was in massage therapy school, and I never would have interrupted a couple. I’m curious how this is going to pan out.

  The waiter wrinkles his nose, as though he smells something distasteful, and Colt tenses. I wince a little inside. “We’re a respectable establishment.” The man eyes me. In an instant I feel his disapproving gaze land on my stomach, my left hand, and then back to Colt. “If you can’t control yourselves, might I suggest dining elsewhere?”

  Colt’s hand is on the back of my neck. His fingers are stroking the fine hairs under my braid. At the waiter’s words, they freeze.

  I cannot believe this waiter. At the same time, I wonder if my dress is too tight – too bold – too bright. And I feel this ugly shame for my condition, my circumstances, that I’ve never felt before.

  A tremor runs through me. Colt’s hand slides to the small of my back, and I feel his protection.

  “We’ll find somewhere else.” He’s angry. Rage rolls off him in waves. Even so, he assists me out of the booth. I’m a
little afraid he’s going to explode. Lay into the snooty waiter. He’s not opposed to brawling now and then. I’ve read articles about just that in his folder.

  Nonetheless, he walks me to the truck, presses a kiss on my forehead, and then helps me climb in.

  “You okay?” He searches my eyes. He accepts my answer and then clenches his jaw. “I’ll be right back.” He turns on his heel.

  I’m shaking a little as I watch him disappear into the building. What bothers me most is that the waiter’s words got to me. They made me question myself. My integrity. A tremor runs through me when I recall the way he talked to us.

  After five minutes, I’m getting nervous. No police yet. That’s a good sign. Except I can’t stop shivering. My teeth even chatter a little. I glance at my phone again.

  Six minutes.

  And then the door opens.

  Only it isn’t Colt, it’s the waiter. And he doesn’t look so smug anymore.

  He shuffles to an old Ford Focus on the edge of the parking lot, gets into the driver’s seat, and drives away. I jump when the driver side door opens.

  He takes one look at me and gathers me in his arms. Even across the console, I absorb his warmth. “God dammit.” Another tremor gets a hold of me. I nod into his chest but he soothes my back. I feel his lips in my hair.

  “I’m o-o-k-k-ay. Just cold.” I’m already feeling better.

  “I wanted to take him out, but then I pictured you sitting out here… worrying.” He pulled me closer. “The owner offers his most profound apologies. Begged me to bring you back, but I think we’re through here. What do you think?”

  “I don’t want to go back in.” I can’t get the insult out of my mind.

  Colt kisses my forehead again, turns the ignition, and then flicks on the heater. I’m feeling self-conscious but then he reaches down and takes hold of my hand. His thumb draws little lines along my pinkie.

  And then raises my hand to his mouth.

  I can’t believe our first kiss ended that way. I don’t want our date to end. It was a crappy thing to happen but Colt’s already making me feel better.

  “I hate that it got to me.” I send him a wobbly smile. “I don’t want him to ruin our night.”

  He glances at me and kisses my hand again. “We passed a diner a few miles back. Should we give them a try?”

  I nod. I know the place. I’m a little overdressed – underdressed? But that shouldn’t be a problem there.

  Colt has no trouble finding it. As he parks, I slip on my sweater. He’s opens the car door like a true gentlemen. When I climb out, he cages me against the vehicle with his body. Noticing my sweater, he frowns.

  His fingers slide down the front of it, sending thrills up and down my spine. “Still cold?” His eyes search mine.

  I’m warm now. Inside and out. I shake my head and after a few seconds he takes one of my hands.

  That’s how we walk in. Holding hands.

  The patrons dining here are apparently more into country music than La Maison. The minute we set foot inside, it falls silent and I notice about ten dropped jaws.

  “No way!” A teenager finally says what everyone else is thinking. “Colt Forrester!”

  Colt looks at me apologetically. For being such a well-known womanizer he sure is sweet. I try to convey a message with my eyes. “I’m fine,” I’m telling him mentally. This, I can handle.

  He takes about five minutes signing autographs and greeting fans before we take our seats in another corner booth.

  So very different than La Maison. Vinyl seats, plastic menus. Even though I feel like everybody is watching us, I know they’re trying not to. But I don’t mind. They’re watching Colt, not me.

  Again, Colt sits on the same side of the booth as I do, both our backs to the rest of the small diner.

  The blushing waitress brings us waters and takes our orders. I order a big salad, since I’m vegetarian, and Colt asks for a burger.

  “So.” I say, suddenly nervous.

  His arm rests on the booth behind me. “So.” He teases, eyes dancing.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Colt

  I’m still pissed but I don’t want to upset her. That damned waiter is lucky. When I saw the hurt flash in her eyes, fury exploded inside me. This woman – who probably carries bugs outside instead of killing them – deserves to be treated like a fucking queen.

  Earlier this evening, when she walked toward me in her little red dress, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. In that moment, I wished she was mine. Not just for the night, but forever. And not just her. I wished the baby was mine.

  I’d never wanted that before. Wife. Family. All the messiness that came with it.

  Messy.

  What the fuck was I thinking?

  I can hardly keep my hands off her.

  “So.” She says to me. So fucking adorable. Innocent. Beautiful.

  I slide my gaze over her face, her throat. “So.” My thoughts are wicked ones.

  But we have all night. Aside from our experience at Les Miserables back there, I’ve had an incredible day. “Vegetarian, huh?”

  She starts talking about her lifestyle. God, beautiful inside and out. And I’m right. She doesn’t kill spiders that find their way into her cabin. She likes to cook but says she’s not very good at it. She meditates every morning. She loves music but shyly admits she only knows a few of my songs. I don’t care. In fact, I’m happy she’s never been one of those fans…

  She unconsciously rubs the top of her stomach. “Do you have help lined up?” I keep imaging my mom’s struggles with me and my brother. “After the baby’s born?”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. She bites her lip. “I have a few leads on babysitters. It’s tricky, you know, since Whiskey Creek is so isolated.” Ever the optimist, she flashes me a smile. “Something will come along. It has too. ’Cause I love living up here. Worst case scenario, I move back down to Denver. I have some renters in my mom’s house and their lease is up in two months…but… I’m gonna wait and see. Something will come along,” she repeats herself.

  Shit. This girl. Brave. Beautiful. And so damn vulnerable.

  “What’s next for you? When you leave Whiskey Creek?”

  “Another tour. Launching My newest album.” I smile but my gut sort of clenches when I think about it. I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining. I mean, I’m fucking living my dream come true.

  She tilts her head to one side. “Hm.”

  Not what I expected. Most people gush over this sort of crap.

  I raise one brow. “Hm? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re dreading it.”

  Our food arrives and she changes the subject, talking as we eat.

  How does she do that?

  But her lips distract me. Her salad came garnished with a twist of orange and she’s biting into it. I can’t help watching her mouth.

  When we’re finished eating, she’s turned toward me and our hands are clasped together in her lap.

  I’m dying now. I’d barely tasted her, and I’m dying for more. I won’t kiss her here. Too many onlookers, and not that I care, but I don’t want to expose her to something she might not be prepared for.

  Everybody has cameras these days. For all I know our entire date is being live cast on somebody’s Facebook page.

  “You ready to get out of here?” I’ve sported a semi for an hour now. The need sounds in my voice. My chest is tight.

  She licks those delicious lips of hers once more and nods. This time when we leave, the entire staff says goodbye. Smiles all around and a few autographs for the late comers. The restaurant had filled up while we were here.

  My truck’s parked at the edge of the lot by some trees. We walk around to her side, and before opening the door, I press her against the side of the vehicle with my body and capture her mouth.

  Sweet sighs send lust coursing through me. I have one hand at the back of her neck and my other on her waist. I’ve never been this
close to a pregnant woman before. Her baby bump is hard. Almost as hard as me. I edge my boot between her legs and push my cock against her. She moans, and fuck if she doesn’t grind against my thigh.

  I don’t think anybody sees us but this could get dangerous real fast.

  But I can’t let go yet. One of her hands is settled over my heart, the other, in my hair. I tilt my head so I can taste more of her. My hand slides along her slender throat and settles on a lush, full breast. She whimpers.

  Holy fuck.

  I’m not sure where we’re going with this.

  Hell, I’m not even sure where we can go.

  I release her lips and bury my face in her hair. I’m breathing hard. Both our hearts are racing. “We should go.” Except I want to keep touching her.

  “Yeah.” She says the word on a harsh exhale.

  After another minute, I rip myself away and unlock the door. My hands are shaking. I don’t know what she’s doing to me.

  I don’t touch her again back in the truck. I’m trying to get myself under control. It’s dark and the mountain road requires all my attention. She’s too precious to risk for even a second.

  “Can I ask you something?” Her voice reaches me from the darkness.

  I can’t help but land my hand on her knee. I need to touch her again. Anything. The skin on her thigh is soft. It reminds me of butterfly wings. I slide my fingers between her legs, my thumb drawing circles.

  “Shoot.”

  “Yesterday…” she begins tentatively. “When you were touching me…”

  I go to move my hand but she stops me.

  “I want you to touch me.”

  Her words pierce my heart. This girl doesn’t know me at all. She doesn’t know the shit I’ve done.

  “I’ve never been touched like that before.” Her words pierce me with another arrow. “You aren’t the same person today that you were last year. Or even last week. You need to let go of it.”

  She’s talking to me as though she can read my mind. It’s crazy as shit. It also pisses me off. I firmly pull my hand back. I wish she wouldn’t do this. I wish she wouldn’t take us here.