Authors: Mary J. Williams
Pulling back the curtain, Dalton joined Colleen, sliding his arms around her waist. Impressed that his sudden appearance didn't make her miss a beat, he began harmonizing, his deep voice crooning near her ear. She leaned back, finishing the last line before turning her head and taking his mouth with a long, lusty kiss.
With a growl of pleasure, Dalton took Colleen's hands, pressing them flat against the side of the shower. Reaching around the curtain, his fumbled around the counter until his hand made contact with the familiar feel of a foil-enclosed condom. Quickly efficient, Dalton rolled on the protection then sheathed himself inside Colleen.
"That must have been some run," Colleen gasped, her head falling back.
"Invigorating," Dalton whispered against the side of her neck, his tongue lapping at the Colleen-flavored water.
"Mm. Invigorating." Reaching back, Colleen threaded her fingers through Dalton's hair, tightening her grasp when, without warning, he thrust his hips forward. "The run? Or me?"
"Both."
Dalton cupped Colleen's breast with his hand, the other sliding between her legs. One more push, one stroke of his finger, sent her over the edge. With the feel of her orgasm rippling over his erection and the sound of her pleasure-filled moans, Dalton followed close behind.
Lightly kissing Colleen's back, Dalton grinned.
Best post-run shower ever
.
"HAVE YOU EVER considered doing that for a living?"
The question earned Dalton a wet towel in the face.
"Watch it, fella. The last man who offered me money to shower with him didn't walk straight for a week."
"I was talking about your singing, not your aquatic sexual prowess." Dalton tossed the towel on the floor. One of the few good things about the motel was the maid service. The quality of the linen sucked, but it was freshly laundered and replaced daily.
"My voice is average—at best. But thank you for the compliment." Colleen's smile turned into a frown as she attempted to finish drying herself. To say the ratty piece of cloth lacked absorbency put it mildly. Mostly, she ended up pushing the water from one part of her arm to another. "Tell me again why we ended up here instead of my place?"
"Because you were half-asleep and this place was closer. When I asked if you had a preference, you mumbled something unintelligible. I didn't hear any complaints when I carried you in."
To be fair, Colleen admitted silently, that sounded like her. Her brain wasn't at full speed when she needed sleep. However, as crappy as this place was, she liked the idea of Dalton carrying her to bed. She wished her memory wasn't quite so fuzzy. Holding a shoe in one hand, Colleen looked around the room. She hoped the other one wasn't under the bed because there was no way in hell she was putting her face within three feet of that carpet. Avoiding the cringe-worthy stains was hard enough while standing.
"Do you want to get some breakfast?" Dalton inquired, handing her the missing sandal.
Using Dalton's arm for balance, she had both shoes on in a flash. She knew it was a little too late, but she felt better with the barrier between her feet and the worn carpet that had seen better days.
"I can't. There is a leaky oil pan waiting for me. Can you run me by my apartment before dropping me at the garage?"
"No problem," Dalton said as he checked the messages on his phone. "Shit."
"Did your sister call? Or Tolliver?"
"Ryder. And Ashe." Dalton scrolled further down. "Ryder again. Zoe left a voicemail."
"What the hell, you idiot? If Quinn hadn't talked him down, Ryder would have left for
Wherever the Hell
, Arizona hours ago. Call. Now!"
"That seems a bit over the top," Colleen laughed. Then, her eyes widening, she had a sudden thought. "Are you and Zoe Hart—?"
"Don't say it," Dalton quickly interjected. "Jesus, Colleen. I think of Zoe as a sister."
"Okay."
Colleen slowly combed her hair. It wasn't any of her business, but she couldn't help feeling…? Relieved? It was as good a word as any. She avoided other women's men like the plague. She was fine with acting as Dalton's small-town fling, as long as he was free and clear. She would have been bitterly disappointed if he had turned her into something she abhorred. A cheat.
"I know how it must sound, but I promised Ryder and the rest of them that I would keep in touch. When I didn't call last night—"
"They are worried that you're in Midas. Alone."
Dalton took the comb from Colleen, gently running it through her hair.
"I'm not alone," he said, then kissed the end of her nose. "But they don't know that. I better call them back."
Taking the comb from Dalton's outstretched hand, Colleen felt as though something monumental had occurred.
I'm not alone
. It was obvious from his casual kiss—
on her nose, no less
—that he had no idea what he had said. The import of those words. Or how they had affected her.
Colleen put a hand on her stomach. The fluttering wasn't butterflies. This feeling wasn't nerves. It was different—and more. Then there was her heart. What was going on there? A slight tightening followed by some crazy, wild pounding. The last time she had felt anything close was when she put the final touch on her restored T-Bird. That had been pride and accomplishment. And hope for the future. Colleen's hand drifted up to where her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest. Whatever was going on, she wanted it to stop. Immediately. Before it was too late.
"Are you okay?" Dalton frowned. "You're awfully pale."
"How can you tell the difference?" Colleen quipped.
Go for a laugh, she thought. Do not let Dalton know where your thoughts are wandering.
Dalton laughed, as Colleen hoped he would. His reaction calmed her stomach and settled her heart into a reasonable rhythm. She would work on figuring everything out later when she was alone. Or perhaps she would pretend it never happened. Treat it as an anomaly.
Brilliant
! Colleen had never been a
stick
her head in the sand
type, but right now seemed like the perfect time to temporarily leave her self-awareness in the rearview mirror.
"Your complexion is creamy, not ghostlike." Eyes narrowed, Dalton lightly ran a finger over Colleen's cheek. "I didn't let you get a lot of sleep last night."
"You make it sound like I had no choice." The merest suggestion that Colleen wasn't making her own decisions was the fastest way to bring color to her face. She could feel the blood rushing upward accompanied by a fair amount of heat. "It could be argued that
I'm
the one who kept
you
up. In more ways than one."
"Neither of us has time for sexual innuendo, Red."
"There was no innuendo. And never call me Red."
With a grin, Dalton tapped her cheek, then tugged playfully on her hair. "If the shoe fits."
So much for the
warm and fuzzy
. Colleen's eyes narrowed as Dalton lifted his phone. Red. Admittedly, when Dalton called her the dreaded nickname, she didn't feel the usual amount of animosity. However, it was annoying. An infinitely safer emotion than… Colleen put on the breaks. She wasn't willing to acknowledge the problem. Naming it would be a huge mistake.
"I need to get going." Colleen slid the comb into her purse. "Do you mind making your call while I drive?"
"It's ringing." Dalton grabbed the keys, tossing them to Colleen. "Let's go. I can walk and talk. Then sit and talk."
The conversation was one-sided—on Colleen's end. However, it was obvious to anyone listening that Dalton's friends were on the other end. Mostly, he listened. His expression ranging from amused to annoyed. Occasionally, antagonistic. Now and then he would throw in a comment. Colleen had just pulled into the garage at her apartment building when Dalton took over.
"I said I was sorry. Time got away from me. Yes, Ryder, I understand how to check my messages. If you shut up for five seconds, I will tell you what happened."
For one panicked minute, Colleen thought Dalton meant what happened at the lake. When he started recounting his initial meeting with Tolliver, she rolled her eyes. Talk about self-centered.
It isn't all about you, Colleen
. Leaving Dalton to finish his call in private, she jogged up the stairs, unlocking the door that led directly into her kitchen.
The attached garage had been the apartment's chief selling point. In a pinch, she could have left the T-Bird at her mother's. Sherry and Rick had plenty of room. However, her car was meant to be driven. Though it was a classic, she believed in enjoying the fruits of her labors. She hadn't put in all those hours bringing it back to life only to keep it locked away untouched. The Ford Motor Company produced the Thunderbird to be taken out on the road. As far as Colleen was concerned, sixty years later, the car's raison d'être hadn't changed.
As she rushed around, changing from last night's dress to her daily uniform of shorts, a t-shirt, followed by coveralls, heavy socks and work boots, Colleen made a mental list of what she needed to get done. There were three jobs pending at the garage. Nothing major. Things—that if pushed—she could do with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back. Not exactly busy work, since they were the bread and butter of any mechanic. They paid the bills. However, it would be nice if something came in that was more of a challenge.
Dalton's car would have qualified. But as she told him, no matter what she did, the Porsche was bound to break down again. It would be the equivalent of tossing his money—and her labor—down a garbage disposal.
Braiding her hair, Colleen twisted the end into a loop, clipping at the base of her neck where it would stay out of her way. Challenges at work were hard to come by. She needed to find another project. Something along the lines of the Thunderbird. It would be nice to have a project in the hopper—one that made the tips of her fingers tingle with anticipation. She looked around. Something was bound to catch her interest. When she found it, Colleen would jump in. But not now. Today, she had to pay the bills.
Colleen found Dalton in the kitchen. The cooler sat empty as he transferred the last of its contents into the refrigerator.
"Everything looks like it survived the night. I tossed the potato salad—just in case. You can never be too careful when mayonnaise is involved. What?" Dalton asked when he saw her amused expression.
"World-class drummer and food safety expert? That's quite a resume."
"Food poisoning is no laughing matter."
But there was a smile on Dalton's face as he carried the cooler to the garage. Stowing it where Colleen indicated, he took the keys from her hand.
"Did you get things smoothed over with your friends?" Colleen asked as they climbed into the car.
"They have my back." Dalton skillfully backed out of the garage, heading out of the parking lot. "Once I explained, and promised not to miss another call, things were cool."
"It must be nice. That kind of support system is rare."
Dalton nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "We work. On stage and off. We are as tight a group as you'll find. When I met Ryder and Ashe, I was content to drift from gig to gig. I wasn't interested in anything permanent. Or so I thought."
"A wandering troubadour." Colleen could picture it. Have drumsticks, will travel. She felt a touch of envy.
"We all were. Ryder was the one who wanted something stable."
"Because of Zoe?"
Dalton's fingers tightened on the steering wheel—enough to turn his knuckles white. The look he shot her sent a chill down Colleen's spine. She didn't know what she had said, but it was enough to drop the temperature in the car to a frosty level.
"What makes you think that?" Dalton demanded.
"Their story is common knowledge." It felt odd defending herself when she had no idea why. Colleen was sorry that Dalton was upset, but unless he explained, she wasn't going to offer up a blind apology.
"Well, shit." Pulling next to the curb outside
Dole's Auto Repair
, Dalton killed the engine. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, removing his sunglasses. Colleen saw wariness in his gaze. But it was the regret, the contriteness, which melted her growing anger. "My friends and I have a pact. We don't talk about each other to anyone outside the group. What I know about Ashe, or Ryder and Zoe, I keep to myself. And vice versa. It's a touchy subject."
"You don't say," Colleen sniped, but it was done gently. When Dalton smiled, she felt the knot in her shoulders loosen.
"Over the years, reporters have pumped us for information. Sometimes with flattery. Sometimes trickery. A few have attempted the old Mata Hari routine."
"You'll have to explain that one."
"They have tried to sex the information out of us."
"Ah," Colleen nodded. She would have to keep on her toes. She wasn't used to hanging out with a man who made World War I spy references. Discovering that about him made Colleen like Dalton all the more.
"The point is, I might have overreacted. Just a tad. I'm sorry, Colleen."
"Raise that tad to a trifle, and we're good."
"Consider it done." Dalton slid his hand behind Colleen's neck, pulling her in for a kiss. "I'm off to track down my sister and her wayward husband."
"Good luck."
"Dinner?"
"Absolutely, I—" Suddenly, Colleen remembered something she had conveniently put out of her mind. "I'll have to pass—reluctantly. Today is my mother's birthday. My stepfather likes to make a fuss. Mom likes to be fussed over. It's one of the reasons their marriage works. There will be a big family meal. Friends. Cake. Presents. The whole shebang."
"Sounds like fun. Is there someplace in town where I can buy your mother a gift?"
Colleen's eyes widened. "Are you crazy?" Reaching over, she pressed the back of her hand to Dalton's forehead. "You don't seem to be feverish."