Текст книги "Taken By Him"

Автор книги: Hannah Ford

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TAKEN BY HIM

(Obsessed With Him, Book Four)

by Hannah Ford

Copyright 2015, Hannah Ford, all rights reserved.  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.  All characters depicted in this book are eighteen years of age or older.

***

The next thing I knew, Colt was calling my name, pulling me back from the blackness that had briefly pulled me under.

“Olivia,” he demanded.  “Fuck, Olivia, what the hell happened?”

He pulled me into a sitting position from where I was slumped over on the floor and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him.  “Look at me,” he said.  “What happened?  Who did this to you?”  He turned my arm over in his hand and looked at my wrists, his eyes widening when he realized I’d done it to myself.  “Christ, Olivia.”

He reached behind him and pulled his shirt off, wrapping it around my wrists in an effort to stop the bleeding

My breathing was being to return to its normal rhythm as the initial shock of seeing all the blood began to fade.

“Stay here,” Colt commanded.  “Stay here and do not move.”

I nodded, too weak to argue.

He returned a second later with a first aid kit and a bottle of water.  He opened the first aid kit and then raised my hands up over my head, holding the fabric of his shirt against my wrists tightly, applying pressure to my cuts.

“Do I need stitches?” I asked.

“Depends on if I can stop the bleeding.”

I nodded.  Everything inside of me was screaming to push him away, to tell him to leave me alone, that I didn’t need his help. I was angry with him, angry with him for kissing me, for causing me to lose my mind, to be driven almost insane with lust for him.

I would have let him fuck me, right here in this room.

But he’d rejected me.

He didn’t want me.

I’d broken my promise to Declan, a promise I’d kept all these years, for a man who couldn’t have given two shits about me.

Fuck Colt, I thought.  As soon as I was feeling better, I was out of here.

Those dark eyes were locked on mine as he held my wrists so tight I couldn’t move, the tension between us crackling so intensely I could almost see it, like a taut electric wire joining us together.

I hate you, I chanted to myself, begging my brain to accept it as truth. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

After a few more minutes, Colt pulled my arms down and began unwrapping his shirt from around my wrists.

I winced when I saw what I’d done to myself.  Marks crisscrossed my arms like chicken scratches.  I would have scars.  Not like the ones I already had, either.  Bad ones.  Ones I might not be able to hide.

The wounds were still leaking blood, but it had slowed considerably.

Colt reached into the first aid kit and grabbed an antiseptic wipe, ripping it open with his teeth.

“This is going to sting,” he said, no trace of sympathy or regret in his voice, just a warning that what was about to happen was going to hurt.  But even though the tone in his voice was devoid of emotion, he was gentle as he began carefully cleaning my wounds.

“Do I need to go to the hospital?” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.  Hospitals meant questions.  They meant filling out paperwork with spaces for addresses and names of next of kin.  Hospitals meant doctors who wanted to send you to talk to social workers, stays in psych wards, and huge bills I would never be able to pay.

And that didn’t even include the actual medical part of the whole thing, which meant needles and stitches and shots and monitors.

“No,” Colt said.  “I can fix it with a butterfly stitch.”

“What’s a butterfly stitch?” I asked, slightly panicked.  I went to pull my arms away from him, but he held my wrists tight.

“Relax,” he said.  “It’s just a special kind of band-aid.”

“Oh.”  I watched as he finished with the antiseptic and began unwrapping a band-aid.  It looked like a normal band-aid except the two sides were held together by some kind of elastic.  He placed one horizontally over one of my cuts, and the skin tightened around my wound.

It was slightly uncomfortable, and I winced and averted my gaze.  Once I stopped looking, I instantly started to feel better.  My stomach stopped churning.  My head stopped feeling so light.  I didn’t know if it was because the bleeding had stopped, or because I’d been getting woozy looking at what I’d done to myself.

“I think I passed out,” I said, before remembering Colt didn’t deserve to know anything about what had happened to me.

He didn’t say anything.

I glanced up at him.

I wanted my eyes to be trained on something other than my wounds, but the last place I wanted my gaze to land was on him.

But I couldn’t stop.

It was like he pulling me toward him with some kind of invisible force.

His forehead was knotted in concentration, and he bit his bottom lip just a tiny bit as he continued placing the bandages on my skin.

His eyes were dark, his displeasure with me written all over his face.

When he was done with the butterfly band-aids, he reached for a roll of gauze and wrapped it around my wrists, fastening each side together with medical tape.

Once he’d placed the last piece of tape, he placed everything back in the first aid kit and then he stood up.

“Can you stand up?” he asked, holding his hand out to me.

“I think so.”

His hand wrapped around mine, and I instantly became woozy again.  Not from the blood loss or the cutting, but from Colt’s touch.  I hated the effect he was having on me, hated that he could make me feel this way.

He’d kissed me, touched me, pushed me beyond anything I’d ever felt, beyond anything I’d ever even imagined I could feel for anyone besides Declan.  And it made me both attracted to him and furious with him at the same time.

A rush of heat overtook me as I remembered what it had felt like, Colt’s tongue in my mouth, his hands on my body, the scent of his cologne, the faint taste of alcohol on his breath, how badly I’d wanted him inside of me.

I couldn’t help it.  I wanted him to kiss me again.

And for one incredible moment, as I stood there facing him, his eyes searching mine, I was sure he was going to, was sure he was going to pull me toward him and crash his mouth into mine.

But instead, he shook his head.

“You’re done.”

“What?”

“That’s it.  It’s over.”

“What’s over?”

“This.”  He turned my hands over in his, looking at the bandages he’d just placed on me.  His face softened, and I saw something in his eyes.  Fear?  Concern?  I couldn’t be sure.  “You’re not doing this anymore.”  The concern was gone from Colt’s face, the flash of it so brief I wasn’t even completely sure if it had been there at all.  Now all that was there was a steely determination.

“I’m not cutting myself anymore?” I repeated incredulously, and then laughed.

“No,” he said.  “You’re not.”  He picked up my bag, rummaged through it until he found my razors, then slid them into his back pocket.  Then hoisted himself up until he was sitting on the side of the desk, his legs dangling over the side. “That’s over, Olivia.  I’m not fucking around.”

“You do realize that it’s not that easy, right?”

“It is.”  He looked at me again, and a shiver ran up my spine.  “You will not cut yourself again.  Do you understand?”

Something about his tone, about how commanding he was being with me, made butterflies swarm my stomach.  I thought about how he’d dressed me in my tiny little outfit, how he’d held my hands down at my sides and let his eyes rake up my body.

“You’re not in charge of me,” I said defiantly, raising my chin in the air, daring him to contradict me.

“Oh, I sure as hell am,” he said.  He stood up and crossed the room to the bar in the corner, poured himself a drink and took a long gulp.  He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he was being forced to deal with me.

“No, you’re not,” I said.

“Jesus, Olivia, you sound like a child.”

“I sound like a child?” I said.  “You’re the one you ran out of here when you found out I was a virgin.  Talk about childish and immature.”

His hand tightened around the glass he was holding and I saw something akin to fury blazing in his eyes.  But what did he think?  That I was just not going to bring it up?  Now that my immediate medical concerns had been taken care of, I was pissed.

How dare he send me such horribly mixed signals?  He’d dressed me up in this skimpy outfit, he’d made it perfectly clear that he liked what he saw, and then he started kissing me, touching me, making me crazy with want for him.

And then once I decided to give him what he wanted, he stopped.  Just because I was virgin?  Talk about fucked up.

“I did you a favor,” Colt said.  He took another long pull of his drink, draining the glass.  “You don’t want your first time to be with me.  Trust me.”

“Why not?”

“Because you just don’t.”  He closed his eyes tight, and bent over the bar, resting his hands on the side as he hung his head for a moment.  His broad shoulders looked tensed and knotted, and I had to resist the urge to go over there and comfort him.

I thought about what I’d seen in the office earlier, how I’d heard him fighting with his uncle, how Colt had slammed his hands against the desk.   He looked like a lost kid now, instead of the sexy, confident man who’d held my hips earlier while I’d danced for him, telling me how to move, how to undress for him.

I took a step toward him, no longer able to keep myself from trying to provide some comfort to him the way he’d just done for me.

But before I could, Colt turned around.

“Okay,” he said.  “Here’s what’s going to happen.  You’re done as a cocktail waitress.”

“So you said,” I tipped my chin in the air.   “I want to be paid for my time.”  It was only fair.  I’d worked here for the night, I should get the money that was due to me.  I wondered how much it could be.  A hundred bucks?  A hundred bucks could last me a while.  A hundred bucks was enough for a food and a few nights in a cheap motel until I could figure out what to do next.

“No.”

“No?”  I blinked at him in disbelief.  “That’s illegal.”

“You’ll get paid at the end of the week, for the week.”

I shook my head.  “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll be my secretary.”

“What?”

“I don’t want you working here as a waitress.  It’s too dangerous.  You can work in the office with me.  I need someone to help with the paperwork.”

“No.”  I shook my head.  I didn’t need his pity.  I didn’t need some stupid job he’d just invented.  Paperwork!  What did he think I was, some kind of accountant?

“Yes,” Cold said, undeterred by my protests.  “You’ll stay with me.  At my apartment.  When you have enough money saved, we’ll talk about you getting your own place.”

My eyes widened.  “We’ll talk about me getting my own place?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not your prisoner.”

“Until I can make sure you’re safe, you are.”

“Why?” I asked.  “Why are you so determined to make decisions for me?”

He crossed the room in two long strides.  He took my hands in his and turned my wrists over, running his fingers over the bandages.  “Because I’ve never been so scared in my life as when I saw you lying here on the floor.  And because for some strange, fucked up reason, I can’t seem to stay away from you.  I have the need to protect you.”

Emotion flooded my chest, and I forced myself not to look at him.  I knew if I looked at him, I wouldn’t be able to say no.  And I had to say no.  I had to.  Because if I didn’t, I was afraid of what would happen.

“Olivia,” he breathed.  “Olivia, look at me.”

I was powerless.  I raised my eyes from the floor, and he reached out and smoothed my hair from my forehead.

He leaned his forehead against mine, and our lips were just millimeters from touching again.

“Say yes,” he whispered, and I could hear the desperation and want in his voice, how badly he wanted me to say yes to his plan.

“Yes,” I said, before I had a chance to think about it.

His lips tugged into a smile, just for half a second before setting back into a strong line.

I closed my eyes, because I couldn’t take it anymore, the two of us standing here so close, staring into each other’s eyes.  It was intimate and confusing.  How could I feel so deeply bonded to Colt when I’d just met him?  Was this just lust, making me act crazy?

I felt his eyelashes brush against my cheeks as he closed his eyes too, and at that moment, someone in the club decided to turn up the music and the pounding bass line began echoing through the room, pumped in through the wireless speaker system.

The sound was jarring, but neither of us moved.

Kiss me, I thought.  Please, kiss me and finish what you started.

 I wanted his hands all over me, on my ass, my back, my breasts.  I wanted his mouth between my legs, his fingers inside of me there, too.  I wanted to feel his hard cock push into my mouth, wanted to know what it felt like to taste a man’s dick.

The rhythm of the music intensified, the tempo like a beating heart.  I placed my palm against Colt’s muscular chest, feeling his real heart beat, slow and strong.

He did the same to me, and my breath caught in my chest at the feel of his hand against my breast.

We were locked together, the music swirling around us into a tornado.

Kiss me, I screamed inside.  Kiss me.

I tilted my head just the tiniest bit, until my lips barely brushed his.  It wasn’t a kiss – in fact, it was far from it.  I’d hardly even felt the soft pillows of his lips against mine before he pulled back, almost as if he’d been burned.

“Olivia…” Colt started, taking my hand off his chest and holding it in his.  but I didn’t want to hear it.  I didn’t want to hear why he was wrong for me, why we couldn’t do this, why it was a bad idea.  Because one of the things I’d learned over the years was that when someone had all kind of justifications and excuses for why they couldn’t do something, it was usually just window-dressing.  Because the thing was, it usually just came down to one simple fact.  People did what they wanted to do.

Colt didn’t want me.

The urge to cut welled inside of me again.

God, you are fucked up, Olivia.  You’ve already destroyed your wrists, and now you want to hurt yourself move?  Over what?  Some asshole who doesn’t even want you?  Haven’t you learned enough about investing your emotions in people who could care less about you?

I couldn’t take it.

I couldn’t take hearing his excuses.  It hurt too much.

So even though it was petty and childish, I did the only thing I could think to do to make sure I didn’t have to.

I lashed out.

“Is our deal still on?” I asked, pulling my hand from his.

“What deal?”

“Declan,” I said.  “If I come and work for you as your secretary, will you still help me find Declan?”

I was hoping my words would hurt him, was hoping they’d get some kind of reaction out of him, even if just for a second.

A vein in his neck throbbed and his jaw set into a hard line.

But then he shrugged, like Declan was an afterthought he’d forgotten about, and not the only reason I’d even agreed to this crazy plan in the first place.

“If you want.”

“I do.”

“Fine,” he said.

“How long will it take you to find him?” I asked, annoyed and frustrated by the fact that he was acting like he didn’t give a crap about me finding Declan, even though I’d told him Declan was the man I was going to marry.

He stared at me a long moment, but this time, I didn’t close my eyes.  I kept my gaze on his.  If he thought he was going to intimidate me, he was wrong.  The song playing through the club switched, moving from a pounding bass line to something slower, softer, further serving to break the spell between us.

Colt turned away from me and began walking toward the door.

“Colt!” I yelled.

He turned around.

“How long?”  I needed to know.  These feelings I had inside of me, this pull I felt toward Colt even though I knew he was bad for me and could lead to nothing but devastating heartbreak, made it crucial that this little arrangement had a time limit.  I couldn’t risk being around him for too long.

“I already found him,” Colt said, and then he turned and walked out the door.

“What?” I exclaimed.  I rushed after him, chasing him down the hall.  “What do you mean, you already found him?” I demanded.

“Just like I said, Princess,” he said, and I hated that he was calling me that, hated that he was back to acting cocky and like he was way too cool to care about anything.

He continued walking until he was almost back to the area that housed the main stage, then turned the corner.  We were in the dressing room now, the room where I’d gotten ready earlier, where Jessa had helped me to put on my make up just a few hours before she’d sent me back to that bachelor party.

“You found him?” I breathed.  “But how?”

 “It wasn’t hard,” he said.  “Anyone with an internet connection could have done it.”

Trepidation skittered up my spine – I had a feeling it was a lot more complicated than just having an internet connection.

But whatever.

Colt’s tactics weren’t important.  What was important was that he knew where Declan was.

“So where is he?” I asked.

Colt shrugged.  “He’s here.  In the city.”

I let out the breath I was holding, almost giddy with relief.  Declan was here!  He was here, in the city.  I could go and see him!

“What’s he doing?” I asked, the anticipation flowing hot through my veins.  “I mean, did you find out anything else about him?”

But before Colt could answer one of the dancers came walking out of the tunnel that led from the main stage.  She was wearing a pink glitter G-string, her skin tan and perfect.  Stuck on the side of her stomach, right by her hipbone, was a delicate rhinestone heart.

“Colt,” she squealed.  She was topless, her perfectly symmetrical tits bouncing as she wrapped her arms around Colt’s neck.  The two of them looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine ad. “What’s new, baby?  I feel like we haven’t talked in forever.”

 “Not much.  What’s new with you, Ava?”

“Lots,” she purred, trailing one of her long raspberry-colored nails down the front of Colt’s chest.

Mine.

The word flashed through my mind before I could stop it.

“Well, we’ll have to catch up then,” Colt said.  His eyes flicked down her body, ogling her tits, her thighs, his hand wrapping around her waist and spreading out over the small of her back.

“After party?” she giggled.

“Always.”

“See you then.”  She took off down the hall, her tight ass bouncing as she went.

Colt turned back to me.  “You need to go back and wait in the office,” he said.  “I’ll come and get you at the end of the night.”

“Declan,” I reminded him.  “What’s he doing?  What’s he up to?”

Colt shrugged.  “Find out for yourself,” he said, and then he turned and left me standing there in the hall.

**

I watched mindless TV on the flat screen in the office until three am, when Colt finally reappeared.

“It’s about time,” I said, but he ignored me.

His hair was mussed, there was a smudge of lipstick on his cheek, and he smelled like perfume.  I could only imagine the things he’d been up to since I’d last seen him.

I watched as he grabbed his leather jacket off the back of a chair.  “You ready?” he asked me gruffly.

“I guess,” I said.

“You guess?  You’re either ready or you’re not.”

“I’m ready, but not if you’re going to act like a dick the whole time.”

“Who’s acting like a dick?”

“You’re all broody and short.  It’s not that fun to be around.”

“I’m sorry, Princess,” Colt said, grinning in that maddening way of his as I followed him out of the office and down the hallway toward the back entrance of the club.   “I’ll make sure to change my attitude in order to maximize your fun and make sure you have as much enjoyment from my company as is humanly possible.”

When we got outside, I gulped the fresh air into my lungs, thankful to be out of the club.  Something about that place felt cloying, the vibe full of darkness that lurked below the surface, just waiting to boil over and burn everything it touched.

“What can I do to make this night fun for you?” Colt asked.  “Bowling?  Mini golf?”

“Stop being a smart ass,” I said.  “It’s unbecoming.”

“Yes, Princess,” he said as he opened the car door for me.  I slid into the passenger side and buckled my seatbelt.

A second later, he was next to me, the scent of leather and perfume hanging on him like a cloud.

“How as the after party?” I asked as he started the car.

“Great,” he said.

“Did you have fun?”

“Always.”

I thought about that girl, Ava, with her perfect body and her perfect breasts and her flat stomach and her tiny glitter tattoo.

Forget about it, I told myself.  Colt’s a womanizer, the kind of man who had no problem kissing you, almost sleeping with you earlier, and then sleeping with someone else just a few hours later.

Think about Declan.

Declan, who you’re going to be seeing soon.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the seat.

When we got back to Colt’s apartment he went right to the kitchen, opened the fridge and surveyed the contents.

“Hungry?”

I shook my head no.

He looked up at me and raised his eyebrows.  He hadn’t bothered to turn the kitchen light on, and the glow from the refrigerator illuminated his strong features, his defined jaw, his straight nose, the fullness of his lips.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You have to eat something.”  He started pulling things out of the refrigerator and setting them on the island.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.  Go take a shower and I’ll bring you something to eat.  There are clothes in the bedroom for you.”

“What do you mean there are clothes in the bedroom for me?”

“I had Kendra pick up some things for you.”

Oh, right.  Kendra.  The housekeeper.  “I didn’t know it was a housekeeper’s job to do your shopping.”

“Kendra’s more of an assistant.”

“Ahh.  And where is this elusive Kendra?”

“She’s a good assistant.”

“So?”

“So she knows that good assistants aren’t seen.”

I shook my head.  Wow.  Could he be any more full of himself?

“Olivia,” Colt said.  “Go take a shower.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but I was too tired to fight him.

So I walked down the hall to the guest room.

As promised, the dresser drawers were now filled with t-shirts and jeans and sweaters and underwear and all kinds of other things.  How the hell did Kendra know my size? I wondered, as I ran my hand through the slips of fabric. Colt must have told her, after I’d had to tell him my size earlier when I was getting my uniform.

I showered, then slipped into a t-shirt and a soft pair of pajama shorts.

A second later, Colt knocked on my bedroom door.

He was holding a bottle of water and a plate of chicken stir-fry.  It smelled delicious.

I looked at him skeptically.  “You made that?”

“Yes.”

“Like, you heated it up?”

“No, like I made it.”  He shook his head and stepped into the room.  He set the food down on the nightstand and then walked into the bathroom.

I could hear him in there, rummaging around.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

But he didn’t answer.

When he returned, he began looking around the room, opening drawers, his hands moving through the dresser, checking everything.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked again.

“Making sure there’s nothing in here you can hurt yourself with.”

He turned around and held his hand out.  “Give me your bag.”

“No.”

“Give it to me, Olivia.”

“There’s nothing in there,” I said.  “You took my razors at the club.”

“I want to check again.”

I picked it up and thrust it at him.  “Go ahead,” I said.  “Knock yourself out.”

He rummaged through my things.  There wasn’t much there.  He handed my bag back to me.

“Satisfied?” I asked.

The side of his mouth slid up into a grin and he let his eyes rake over my body.  I was suddenly aware of the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra, and that the shorts I was wearing, while my size, were a little too short, and hardly covered my ass.

My nipples hardened, and I could feel them poking against the sheer fabric

I liked the way he was looking at me, liked the fact that he was staring at my body and not even trying to hide it.

Kiss me.

I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, Princess,” Colt drawled.

“You’re an ass.”

“Eat,” he said.  “And go to sleep.”  He turned to head for the door.

“Wait,” I said, and he turned around.

“Yeah?”

“What about… “  I licked my lips nervously.  “Declan.  Can you tell me where he is, give me his number or his email, whatever you found?”

“In the morning, Princess,” Cold said, his voice low.  “You’ve had a long day.”

“Please,” I said.

Colt sighed.  “Olivia,” he said.  “You…” I felt like he wanted to say more, maybe about Declan, but then he thought better of it.  “In the morning,” he said.  “Eat.  And go to sleep.”

And then he was gone, the door shutting behind him, leaving me alone.

I settled into bed, and picked up the stir-fry he’d made me.

It tasted just as delicious as it smelled, and I ate the whole plate hungrily.

I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

This time, there were no bad dreams.

There were no dreams at all, just the sweet relief of a deep sleep.

And when I woke up, for the first time in as long as I could remember, my first thought wasn’t Declan.

It was Colt.

**

I blinked in the sunlight that was streaming through the slats in the blinds, casting stripes of light across the comforter.

The apartment was silent—Colt must have still been sleeping. It made sense.  He probably stayed up all night partying and then slept all day.

I brushed my teeth and hair, then pulled on a pair of jeans and a grey sweater made of a lightweight material that felt soft against my skin.  I felt bad for Kendra, being Colt’s assistant, but I had to admit the girl had good taste, whoever she was.

I set out to the kitchen in search of coffee.

I was standing in front of Colt’s fancy-looking coffeemaker, trying to figure out how to use it, when the front door opened and Colt came walking in.

He was wearing a black t-shirt and gym shorts, his hair slightly damp with sweat, the bottom curling and sticking to his neck.

“Good morning, Princess,” he said, reaching past me into the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water.  He took a long sip and then held it out to me.  “Thirsty?”

I shook my head.  “No, thanks.”  I was thirsty, but there was no way I was going to share a water bottle with him.  Something about it seemed way too intimate.

Colt shrugged, then downed another long sip.

“I thought you were sleeping,” I said, in case he thought I was prowling around his house all on my own.

“I was at the gym.”  He reached down and grabbed the bottom of his sweaty shirt and pulled it off his body in one fluid movement.

Holy shit.  Heat flooded my body as I tried not stare.   His body was just so perfect that every time I saw it, it left me breathless .  His torso was defined and ripped, his six-pack seemingly chiseled out of granite.  A thin sheen of sweat clung to his skin, making him glisten.  I remembered the feel of his body on top of mine, the way it had felt to run my fingers over every ridge of his abs.  I looked away, but I was almost positive he caught me blushing.

“So are we going to work or what?”  I asked, annoyed.

He smiled and took another long pull off the water bottle.  “You seem a little feisty this morning, Princess,” he said.

“I’m not feisty.”

“Edgy.”

“I’m not edgy.”

“Cranky.”

“I’m not – “ I started, and then I realized he was just giving me a constant stream of adjectives in order to annoy me.

“Can you please let me know what time we’re leaving?” I said.

“I’m going to shower and then we’ll go.”  A mental picture of him in the shower, water sliding down over his ripped body flooded my mind.  But he made no effort to move, instead just leaning against the fridge, his bicep flexing.  I was leaning back against the counter, and I wanted to take a step away from him, but I couldn’t.  I didn’t want him to know he was having that kind of effect on me.

He was so close I swore I could feel the heat coming off his body.

He placed his water bottle back inside the fridge, then he reached for my hand, and for a second, I thought he was going to pull me toward him and kiss me.

But he slid the sleeve of my sweater up and looked at my wrists.

He ran his hand over the tape, making sure it was still held tight.

“It hurt?” he asked, his voice softening.

“No,” I said.  “Well, yes.  A little.”

He looked up at me, his eyes filled with concern.  He shook his head.  “Olivia,” he said, and the way he said my name, with worry and what I thought (hoped?) was longing, sent butterflies fluttering around my stomach.  “Promise me you’ll stop.”

I shook my head.  “I can’t… I can’t promise that.”

“You will.”

“I just told you, I can’t.”  I went to pull my hand away from his, but he held onto it tight.  He effectively had me trapped, my back up against the counter, him standing in front of me, holding my hands.  His hair fell over his forehead messily, and the stubble that was on his face last night was just a little darker this morning.  He licked his bottom lip, like he was contemplating what to do next.

I wanted his tongue in my mouth.

Wetness flooded my center.

“Promise me,” he said, taking another step forward and whispering it in my ear.  His breath tickled the sensitive spot on the side of my neck.

“I can’t,” I repeated, but he was starting to make my knees feel weak.  For a brief moment, I thought maybe he would be able to make me promise.  I felt like if he would just kiss me, if he would just do something to me, I would do whatever he said.

“If you promise,” he said, and his hands intertwined with mine, his thumbs moving over my knuckles.  “I’ll give you something you want.”

I froze, every single nerve ending in my body on high alert.  Everything flooded into sharp focus, every sense suddenly heightened.  I could smell Colt’s scent, Axe deodorant with just the faintest trace of sweat, could feel his body heat through my thin sweater, could see the tiny scar on the top of his lip that didn’t diminish even one ounce of his attractiveness and instead just served to accentuate his smoldering bad boy look.

Time seemed to stop as I waited for him to speak, to move, to decide what was going to happen.

“Don’t you want to know what it is, Princess?” He was still whispering huskily into my ear, his breath brushing deliciously against my skin.