The Savior: COLTER (Cover Six Security Book 6)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  For a brief second, his entire body stiffened. No, absolutely not. She did not mean that the way he'd taken it. And shit, he really needed to focus on something else because his mind was going places it had no business going.

  He closed his eyes, pulled in a deep breath and held it. Searched for that inner calm and sense of peace that was usually so easy for him to find. Only it wasn't working, not with Allison's hands on his body. How the hell could he find calm when the touch of those capable fingers against his flesh was damn near enough to catapult him over the edge of reason?

  His mind latched onto one word from those rambling thoughts, held onto it like a lifeline.

  Capable.

  Maybe too capable.

  Colter opened his eyes and glanced down, studied the efficient movements of Allison's hands with a forced detachment. The cut wasn't deep, didn't need more than the most basic of attention, but she was having no problem taking care of it. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty as she finished cleaning it then reached for a butterfly bandage. She wasn't as fast as Wolf would have been but there was something about each movement that let him think she'd done this before.

  "When did you become so skilled at first aid?"

  Allison paused, glanced up at him with a carefully blank expression, then returned to her work. "What makes you think I wasn't before?"

  "I don't know. Maybe the way you got squeamish at the smallest things on the island."

  "I wasn't squeamish. And nobody was really hurt when we were there."

  Hurt? Not really. Dead? Absolutely. Well, except for Boomer.

  "Guess you're forgetting about your brother, huh?"

  "Ryder had a concussion. That's not the same thing."

  Not in terms of bleeding, no, but Allison had still been upset about it, had gone pale and shaky at the sight of her brother's injury. She could deny it all she wanted but something had happened during the last year, something that made her more comfortable around bloody wounds than she had been.

  She placed a second butterfly bandage over the cut then reached for a small gauze pad and a roll of paper tape. Colter stepped back and shook his head. "That's fine for now."

  "But you should keep it covered and—"

  "I'll cover it after I take a shower." He'd been watching her face closely but even if he hadn't been, he wouldn't have missed the blush that fanned across her cheeks. She lowered her gaze and the blush deepened and damn if she didn't look like she was ready to sway again.

  Sway, not faint. And damn, was he really that big of an idiot? She hadn't been in any danger of passing out earlier, the way he'd first thought. But he'd seen her sway, start to stumble and lean toward him, and he'd simply reacted to keep her from falling.

  Or had he? Had his reaction been nothing more than a subconscious effort to take advantage of the situation and hold her? Maybe. Probably.

  Which made him an even bigger idiot than he first thought.

  "Allison—"

  She cut him off with a small laugh and a self-deprecating smile that curled one corner of her mouth. "Don't worry, I'm not going to jump you."

  She'd said those same words a few minutes ago, when they first came up here. He'd ignored it then and he should ignore it now. But something—maybe that twinkle of promise in her eyes, maybe his own sudden selfishness—made him speak up instead of keeping his damn mouth shut.

  "Why not?"

  Surprise danced in the depths of her wide eyes, turning the brown to something even warmer, something filled with the heat of unspoken delight. In the next instant, her brows snapped low and impatience chilled her gaze.

  "Why not?" She threw the words back at him. "Thanks, but no thanks. I can only handle so much rejection."

  "It never had anything to do with you."

  "Yeah, I know." She grabbed the discarded wrappings from the first aid supplies off the counter and crumpled them in her hand with enough force to make him think she wished the trash was his neck instead. "I'm Ryder's sister. You're honor bound. You're not interested."

  "I never said I wasn't interested."

  "You didn't have to." She shot him a disbelieving look then tossed the trash in the small wastebasket. "I finally caught on after the twentieth time you pushed me away. So don't worry, I'm not about to make that same mistake again."

  He opened his mouth, ready to tell her it wasn't a mistake. Snapped his mouth shut and wondered what the hell he was doing. What the fuck was wrong with him? This was Allison. Not one damn thing had changed in the last fourteen months. She was still Boomer's sister. She was still off-limits.

  And he still wanted her.

  Only she was turning around, ready to walk away. There was something so final in her body language, in the set of her shoulders and that stubborn chin. Something told him that if she walked away this time, that would be it. He wouldn't be able to find her so easily next time. Even if he did, things would never be the same, that whatever was between them would be gone.

  It was an asinine thought to have, with absolutely no basis in fact. There was nothing between them, there never had been. There couldn't be.

  Except he wanted there to be.

  He stood there, poised on the ledge of a dark unknown, torn between the need to jump and the need to scramble to safety. And that pissed him off. When the hell had he ever been one to scramble to safety? When the hell had he ever been afraid to take a chance? He risked his sorry ass every damn day to help others and now, all of a sudden, he was worried about being safe?

  Bullshit.

  Yet he remained frozen to the spot as Allison stepped away from him. As she moved toward the door. As she took one step closer to walking out of his life forever.

  He swore to himself, the words nothing more than a whispered growl filled with impatience at his uncharacteristic melodrama. Allison paused, glanced over her shoulder with a frown he couldn't decipher. Maybe it was the guttural noise he'd made, or maybe it was because he'd spoken louder than he realized. It didn't matter because her hesitation sparked something inside him and forced him to make a decision.

  He didn't question it. Didn't argue with himself. Didn't come up with a hundred-and-one reasons why it was the wrong decision. He simply acted. Reached out and grabbed her hand. Pulled her toward him.

  Felt the press of her body against his. Heard her soft sigh of surprise a second before his mouth closed over hers.

  And then he ceased to think at all.

  Chapter Seven

  Disbelief held her immobile for the space of several heartbeats, her mind struggling to accept what her body already knew. Colter was kissing her. There was no hesitation on his part, no taste of regret in the warm mouth closed over hers.

  Soft. Firm. Insistent yet oddly gentle, as if seeking permission.

  As if he wasn't quite sure she wanted him to kiss her. And how ludicrous was that? She'd wanted nothing more than this exact thing since the first time he'd kissed her, over a year ago on that stupid island that held so many memories for her, both good and bad. She'd woven fantasies about him over the last year, had dreamed about this exact scenario more times than she cared to admit. The reality far exceeded anything she'd been able to imagine, even shattered the memory of the only kiss they'd shared, a memory she'd been carrying for so long.

  His taste.

  His touch.

  Yet she still hesitated, afraid to give in to the fantasy. Afraid of moving forward when she knew she'd be the one to walk away this time.

  Maybe she hesitated too long because Colter gentled the kiss and pulled away, the stain of embarrassment darkening his face. His dark eyes met hers then shot away, focused on something over her shoulder. And she knew, even before he opened his mouth, that he was going to apologize. That he'd pull away and put more than physical distance between them.

  She should let him. Doing otherwise would be nothing but pure selfishness on her part. That wouldn't have bothered her a year ago. A year ago, she would have never stopped to think about what she was
doing. Six months ago, she would have gladly taken what she wanted while weaving a fantasy of happily-ever-after.

  But she wasn't the same person she'd been a year ago, or even six months ago. She wasn't the same woman who had woven threads of fantasy in the cloak of selfishness she never realized she wore. The selfishness hadn't been intentional, had been borne more out of naivety than anything else. The first layers of that naivety had been stripped away on the island; the last of it had been shredded in the harsh reality she'd witnessed these last few months.

  But she wanted, with a need that almost scared her from its force. Only the man in front of her, watching her with those deep eyes, could make her want so much. Could he see the internal battle raging inside her when he looked at her? Or did he see something else, something even she was unaware of?

  He released her and stepped back, leaving her chilled and empty. "I shouldn't have—"

  "Don't you dare apologize." She stepped toward him. Stopped. Ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "Just...don't apologize."

  Colter simply stood there, watching her with those dark, unreadable eyes. Allison didn't know what else to say, or if there was even anything she should say. She had no idea what he was thinking, no idea if her hesitation had ruined whatever chance there had been that something might happen between them.

  None of that changed how she felt. She still wanted—still needed—with an acute sharpness that sliced deep. She thought Colter felt the same but damn if she could tell because he hid everything so completely behind the impassive mask he wore.

  Maybe, if she hadn't hesitated, she'd still be in his arms. Still feel the warmth of his body wrapped around hers. Still taste his languid kisses on her mouth. But she had hesitated and instinct told her that he wouldn't act on whatever desire he felt again. She had ruined that chance.

  Which meant she could walk away and always wonder what being with Colter would be like—

  Or she could indulge in one last bit of selfishness.

  There was no hesitation this time. She stepped forward, draped her arms around his neck, and leaned up on her toes to kiss him. His body stiffened in surprise and for one horrifying second, Allison was certain he'd push her away, the way he'd done over a year ago. Then his arms tightened around her and pulled her close, his mouth opening under hers as he returned the kiss.

  And just like that, she was lost. Need and want exploded around her, consuming her, obliterating everything except for the touch of his hands. The taste of his mouth. The feel of that hard body against hers. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his chest, reveling in the feel of warm flesh beneath her palms. She reached down, tugged at the waistband of his pants, fumbled with the button. Colter brushed her frantic attempts away, closed his own hands around the hem of her sweater and tugged it up. Up further, his knuckles grazing her skin as he dragged the material even higher.

  He broke the kiss, yanked the sweater over her head and tossed it to the side. Her bra quickly followed and he stepped back, his hungry gaze searing her. For one insane second she had the urge to cover herself, to hide herself from the intensity of that burning gaze. Then he reached out, flicked the pad of his thumb over one nipple before dipping his head and closing his mouth around it.

  Heat filled her, spiraling inward, tighter and tighter until her flesh prickled and danced. She curled one hand against the back of his head, holding him close as he licked and sucked and teased. Her eyes closed and her head fell back as sensation flooded her, as he moved his attention from one breast to the other, as her body melted under the heat of that glorious mouth.

  He reached between them, unsnapped and unzipped her jeans and yanked them down past her hips. A harsh gasp escaped her—from surprise, from need, from how quickly the kiss had escalated. She'd foolishly thought she'd be the one in control. Had foolishly thought that she'd be the one leading him. All thoughts of control vanished when he slid his hand between her legs and ran one finger along her clit. She cried out, dug her fingers into the hard flesh of his broad shoulders as he teased and touched, driving her to the brink only to pull her back.

  But it wasn't enough. She wanted more, needed more. Wanted to spread her legs, needed to feel him inside her. Pushing. Driving. Filling her.

  Maybe he knew, in that way he had of always seeming to know. Or maybe he simply grew tired of teasing her. Colter stepped back, his dark gaze burning with the same hunger consuming her. She reached for her jeans, started to push them down so she could free her legs, but he stopped her. Confusion filled her for a brief second, to be replaced with surprise when he closed his hands over her hips and lifted her onto the counter of the vanity. She gasped at the sensation of cool granite against bare flesh, gasped again when he removed her shoes and tugged her jeans down and off. A strange sense of vulnerability washed over her as she sat there, exposed to him. The vulnerability quickly morphed to something else, something hot and powerful as he raked her with his hungry gaze.

  She reached for him, her hand closing over his to tug him closer, her voice a ragged whisper of need when she spoke. "Colter, please."

  He dipped his head, his mouth closing over hers in a searing kiss that left her breathless. She clung to him, surrendering to the demands of his mouth. Soft. Warm. Compelling.

  And this his mouth left hers, his warm lips trailing along her jaw. Her ear. Lower, tracing the column of her neck and the flare of her collarbone. Lower still, lavishing attention to each breast. Kissing. Tasting.

  Lower, those silken lips gliding along her stomach. Her side. The outside of her hip—

  She gasped, the sound sharp in the still air, when his mouth closed over her. Warm, hot, wet. His tongue slid along her clit and she gasped again, her fingers sliding through his hair to curl around the back of his head and hold him in place. Pleasure shot through her, awakening a long-buried need that coiled tighter and tighter with each stroke of his tongue against sensitive flesh. She spread her legs even wider, rocked her hips against each kiss of that decadent mouth, each swipe of that glorious tongue. Faster, faster still, searching for release.

  She shattered under the force of the climax, her body shaking and trembling under his continued onslaught. She called his name, reached for him, needing more. Needing him.

  And then he was there, cradling her, his mouth silencing her soft cries as he reached between them and undid his pants. She cried out again when he drove into her, hard and fast, filling her. Stretching her.

  Faster.

  Deeper.

  She cried out, the sound lost in the heat of his mouth as she plunged over another ledge, into a cascade of bright lights and falling stars. Into a world where the only thing that existed was sensation.

  And Colter.

  And the first faint twinges of guilt.

  Chapter Eight

  "It's one woman. One. Single. Woman." Bug placed his fists against the polished desk and leaned forward, studying the mangled face of his messenger. "But you're telling me you let her get away?"

  Weasel's gaze darted from him to the two men standing off to the right, then back again. He never looked more like his namesake as he did then, with his nervous eyes and chattering mouth. "There was the big guy, he just showed up outta nowhere—"

  "A ghost, perhaps?"

  "No, nothing like that. He just—" Weasel frowned, his mouth moving silently as he struggled to find a description. He finally shook his head in defeat, giving up with a shrug of his narrow shoulders. "He just showed up."

  "Or you weren't paying attention."

  "But I was! I grabbed her as Shonda was walking down the street, just like you told me to do. I started to warn her but then this guy showed up and...and everything else just happened so fast after that."

  Bug pushed away from the desk and lowered himself to the heavy leather chair. He tented his fingers together and stared at Weasel for a long time, silently enjoying the other man's nervous fidgeting and panicked glances.

  "But you tried, Weasel. Isn't that right?"


  "That's right, Mr. Bug." He nodded, the oversized hoody falling over his swollen eyes. He pushed the thick material back with his good hand and nodded again. "I tried, just like you said."

  "Except you failed. And failure costs money. Doesn't it, Weasel?"

  Weasel's eyes grew wide and he shook as his head as the realization of what was about to happen sunk into his dull little brain. Bug ignored the man's low whining and waved to one of the men standing off to the side. "Take care of him, Reggie, but at one of the warehouses. I don't want to worry about any clean-up."

  Bug waited until Weasel's cries faded then turned to the second man. He trusted Trey as far as he could trust anyone—which wasn't saying much. A man in his position couldn't afford to trust and he hadn't gotten as far as he had by being foolish. Trey had been with him for a few years, had been instrumental in helping grow the operation, so Bug was inclined to be a little more open with him than with the other men who worked for him.

  "Tell me what you think, Trey. Am I worried over nothing? Do you think I should just ignore this woman?"

  Trey was quiet for a long minute. Thoughtful. He finally tilted his head to the side and shrugged. "She might work for one of those women's shelters. The ones that think they're doing so much good by cleaning up the streets and helping the whores."

  "Possibly. But I don't like that she seems so taken with our little Shonda. I get nervous whenever anyone pays attention to one of my girls."

  "Shonda is smart enough not to say anything."

  Was she? Bug wondered. The girl was getting older, unfortunately. And he'd noticed a streak of stubbornness in her, had thought he'd seen a flash of defiance in her eyes on more than one occasion. He didn't share those concerns with Trey, not yet. He might need the man to teach Shonda a lesson, use him to keep her in line, but later—and only if it came to that. Shonda might not survive Trey's lessons and he'd hate to lose her so soon.

  Bug leaned forward, opened the lid of the humidor and chose a narrow cigar from the tray. He rolled it between his fingers then absently reached for the cigar cutter. "I want you to have Reggie keep an eye out for this woman. Find out who she is."