Home > Wreck & Ruin(19)

Wreck & Ruin(19)
Author: Emma Slate

She peered at me. “You’re blushing.”

“I don’t blush.”

“Fine, then you’re flushing. You got involved with their president, didn’t you?”

“Define involved.” I shrugged. “I’m staying at his house for the time being.”

“You trust this guy? He’s got a black eye. What kind of trouble did he get into?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said without hesitation. “I trust him.”

Shelly embraced me, hard. “You scared me. I’m glad you’re safe.”

“They’re going to help me get out of town. You don’t have to worry about me, okay?”

“I’ll always worry about you. You have a knack for finding trouble.”

“Trouble finds me,” I corrected.

“Either way, a shit storm is a shit storm.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

I hopped up and went to open the bedroom door and saw Colt leaning against the wall. I knew we hadn’t been talking loud enough for him to eavesdrop.

“You guys good?” Colt asked.

I nodded. I heard Shelly come up behind me and rest a hand on my shoulder. “Take care of her, yeah?”

Colt’s brown eyes darted to mine. “I will.”

 

 

Chapter 7

 

 

After we saw Shelly to her car, Colt and I headed to his truck. Once we were on the road back to his place, he said, “You’re worried about her.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t be. She quit Dive Bar. She’s staying out of things.”

“How do you know that? Did you actually hear our conversation?”

“Nah. She told Boxer. Or yelled it at him, actually. He relayed it to me.”

I fell silent and stared out the window, thinking about Shelly, wondering when I’d get to see her again. Maybe she and Mark would want to come for a week when I was settled in Coeur d’Alene.

Colt reached over and set his hand on my thigh. His thumb stroked my skin, offering me a small measure of comfort. It wasn’t the gesture of a man who only wanted to screw me. It was the genuine pull of intimacy.

Everything was happening too fast—my emotions felt like they were at the end of a yoyo. One moment, Colt and I were adversaries, glaring at one another. The next we were sharing details of our pasts while he cooked me food. Add in the bouts of lust and my desire to feel his skin against mine, and I was in danger of my heart and body falling for a man my mind wasn’t sure about.

We pulled into the driveway of Colt’s house and a strange sense of relief overwhelmed me. As much as I didn’t want Colt’s home to feel warm and welcoming, it was.

The house signified comfort. Like a strong embrace. Like shelter from a thunderstorm. It was a place you could plant roots and watch them grow.

Colt looked at me, and whatever he saw on my face made him mutter, “Ah, fuck.”

My gaze was solemn and I nodded. “I know.”

There was something between us, something stronger than just physical desire.

He got out of the truck and slammed the door shut before stalking up the porch steps. I followed but at a much slower pace. I found him in the kitchen, yanking open the refrigerator. He pulled out a beer and popped it. Tension rolled off him, but for all Colt’s scowling intensity, I wasn’t afraid of him.

“I don’t want this,” he gritted out.

“Me. You don’t want me,” I stated. “Say what you mean.”

“I do want you, Mia, but I don’t want all the bullshit that comes with it.”

“Jesus.”

“I don’t do relationships.”

“I’ve gathered as much.” I raised my eyebrows. “You think I want this? You think I want to get to know you? It will complicate my life and I already have enough complications.”

“This is a mistake.”

“Yeah, I got that memo,” I snapped.

“You should get out of Waco and finish your degree. Marry a nice guy. Have a couple of kids. Buy a minivan. That’s the only way you escape this shit.”

Even though I was angry, his words gave me pause. My hurt and pain went down to a simmer when I realized what Colt was really doing.

He wasn’t protecting himself from getting involved with me. He was protecting me from getting involved with him and his lifestyle. He was trying to let me go before I got trapped.

“What would’ve happened between us this morning?” I asked. “If you hadn’t gotten a phone call, what would have happened?”

“You know what would’ve happened. And it would’ve been a mistake.”

I smiled slowly.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Why are you grinning?”

“Because you’re catching feelings.”

Instead of answering, he tilted his head back and guzzled his beer. I watched his powerful throat move, entranced by it.

When Colt emptied the bottle, he set the glass down. He looked away from me and pressed his hands to the counter to push against it.

“I don’t have to stay here,” I reminded him. “I should stay with someone else. Zip, maybe.”

“Like hell you will,” Colt stated. It took him two strides to reach me. His hands went to my waist and hoisted me up onto the counter. He moved between my legs, invading my space, taking my air, giving me his anger.

Anger because feelings were unnecessary problems.

Anger because we were both in an explosive push and pull of emotion we couldn’t escape.

“You’re trouble,” he said, voice husky. “I knew it the moment I walked into Dive Bar.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” I shot back.

His mouth slanted over mine—forceful, like a tempest unleashed, but I was ready for it, ready for him. My hands were sure as they trailed up his strong chest to wrap around his neck.

My fiery skin grew hotter as Colt continued to kiss me, his tongue seductive and masterful. His hands snaked down from my waist to yank my legs around him so he could press against the crevice of my body. The heat and hardness of him was dizzying.

I pulled my mouth away from his, dragging air into my lungs as fast as I could. Colt’s own labored breathing was harsh in my ears. Placing a hand on the center of his chest, I urged him back. Colt moved, albeit reluctantly.

I looked into his dark brown eyes. “Feel better?”

His tongue snaked out to drag across his lips. “Fuck no.”

“What do you want from me? Because you’re sending a bunch of mixed signals. You say you don’t want me and then you kiss me. So tell me what you really want, Colt.”

“Fuck if I know anymore,” he muttered.

 

 

After my strange encounter with Colt in the kitchen, I tried avoiding him. But every time I came out of the guest room, he was suddenly there, in my way, wearing his leather cut.

He looked at me with an indiscernible expression. I couldn’t see what was going on behind his eyes. It was irritating and it kept me even more unbalanced than I already was. My lips were still burning from the feel of his mouth on mine and my body hungered for his.

I was a flat-out mess.

Night was no better. I hardly slept, restless, feeling hot and feverish, flinging off the covers only to shiver in coldness and drag them over me again. I forced myself out of bed early, just after the sun had risen because there was no point in tossing and turning.

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