Primal Instinct (16 page)

The feel of Taylor's mouth on his again made every single thought empty from his brain, and he released her wrists and slid his arms around her waist to pull her closer. His hands cradled her back as her lips worked eagerly against his, sucking his bottom lip between hers. Everything about her mouth—her lips, her deliciously sweet tongue—was just as soft and warm as that first night. She moaned softly into his mouth and fisted her hands in his shirt, holding him there, as if she could sense his hesitation. He knew they had to stop, but as her tongue slid against his, he struggled to hold on to the reason why.

Despite all the reasons he shouldn't, he kissed her back enthusiastically, and she slid her hands up over his shoulders, pulling him tighter against her and rocking her hips against him. She deepened the kiss, opening her mouth to him more, and although he wanted nothing more than to give her everything she wanted, it couldn't be tonight. After savoring the feel of her mouth for a few more seconds, he pulled away, letting his lips linger against hers, not wanting the kiss to be over. He inhaled slowly, trying to get a handle on his breathing. On the lust rocketing through him. On his heart.

She trailed kisses up his neck, and he bit back a groan. “Not like this, gorgeous,” he managed, his voice low and a little hoarse.

“Stop talking.” She wove her fingers into his hair, and with a gentle tug that had sparks shooting over his scalp, pulled his mouth back to hers, and they melted into each other almost instantly. As wrong as it was, he couldn't deny that he was hungry for another taste of her, and he lost himself in the feel of her body pressed against his, her fingers threaded through his hair, and the sweetness of her mouth as he caressed her tongue with his. She nipped at his bottom lip and he couldn't stop the groan that came from somewhere deep in his chest as he tore his lips from hers.

“Fuck,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers and then nipping at her lips again, just once, in a hungry, biting kiss. He shook his head, trying to find his way back to earth through the haze clogging his brain. This couldn't happen tonight.

“
Fuck.
” He swore again before sliding his hands up to her face, tilting her chin up and closing his mouth over hers. His tongue found hers again, and he stroked into her mouth in a slow, deliberate rhythm. His control was almost gone, and he knew he needed to get hold of himself. If they were going to do this again, they were going to do it right. He knew he couldn't handle being some fuck she'd regret the next morning. Again.

That thought was sobering enough that he was able to summon the last remaining crumb of his willpower and break the kiss.

“No, Taylor. Not like this.” He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her neck. “I want you to be sober when I fuck you again. I want you to remember every single second.” He nuzzled into her neck and dragged his lips over the warm skin there. “Every touch. Every kiss. How hard I make you come with my hands. My mouth.” He sucked the skin right behind her ear and then soothed it with a lap of his tongue. “My cock. Because I
am
going to fuck you again, and we both know you're going to want to remember it clearly.”

“I want all of that tonight. Your hands. Your mouth. Your cock,” she said, echoing his dirty talk back to him and arousing him even more. “I want you to fuck me tonight.”

A thrill shot through him at her words, and it took everything he had not to pull her back into him and crush his mouth to hers again.

“Not gonna happen.” He held out his hand to her. “Come on. Let's get you home.” She slipped her hand into his, but didn't move, the light in her eyes shifting.

She bit her lip, looking up at him through her lashes. “Can we…I don't want to stay at my place tonight. With my dad and the sick weirdo…” She trailed off, her shoulders slumping slightly.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “We'll stay at my place, if that's what you want.” Fuck, it wasn't going to be easy, sleeping on the couch while he knew Taylor was in his bed, but he'd do anything in his power to make her feel safe.

T
aylor rolled over in bed and slowly peeled her eyes open. Even though the room was still semidark, the light teasing around the edges of the curtains was enough to start a dull pounding in her temples. Groaning, she pushed her face into the pillow, and her stomach churned uncomfortably. The inside of her mouth felt like sawdust, and for some reason, a strange, lingering sense of embarrassment ate at her along with the acid in her stomach. Still facedown, she extended her arms above her head and stretched, noticing that she was still in the same black blouse and jeans she'd worn out the night before, minus the black ankle boots she'd had on. She didn't even remember stumbling into bed.

Holy hell, she'd overdone it last night. She'd tried to drink away the confusing mix of her feelings about Colt, and although she'd succeeded, the relief had only been temporary.

She rolled and pried her eyes open.

This was not her bed. Not her bedroom. No, it was Colt's. She slid her hand across the sheets to the other side of the bed, but they were cool beneath her touch. She blinked several times, trying to think around the pounding in her temples. She flipped over and sat up, making the room lurch in front of her eyes for a second. Pieces of the end of the night started to come back. Her cheeks heated and she curled her arms around herself as she remembered how she'd come on to Colt last night. In a freaking 7-Eleven of all places. God. She'd really let her white-trash roots show, insisting on a stupid 7-Eleven burrito.

And then his words echoed through her brain, sending heat spiraling through her entire body.

I want you to be sober when I fuck you again. I want you to remember every single second. Every touch. Every kiss. How hard I make you come with my hands. My mouth. My cock. Because I
am
going to fuck you again, and we both know you're going to want to remember it clearly.

Oh, hell yes.

Another flash of memory, this one much foggier than the kiss, floated up, and she latched on to it because of the warm sense of happiness it sent coursing through her. It was of Colt, leaning over her and tucking her into bed, smiling as he smoothed her hair away from her eyes and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Oh, holy Mother of God, was she in trouble. She was already in free fall mode, and they'd barely begun. And yet, a tiny seed of hope took root.

The truth was that with Colt, all of her doubts and insecurities felt unfounded. Her fear felt unreasonable and illogical in the face of just how good he made her feel. Happy. Protected. Worthy. He'd reignited something deep inside her that had been long extinguished, and that had to be worth something.

She reached for where Colt had plugged in her phone on his bedside table and stopped, her hand suspended midair as a tender pang hit her right in the chest. Beside her phone was an unopened bottle of water, a bottle of aspirin, and a banana. Beside it was a scribbled note on the back of a gas station receipt.

A laugh pushed up through her throat and she read the note again, taking in his slightly messy, block-letter scrawl, allowing herself to bask in the intimacy of looking at his handwriting. She twisted the cap off the water and took a long, healthy swallow. Popping open the top of the aspirin, she shook a couple out into her palm, swallowing them down with another gulp of the water. She pushed a hand through her tangled hair before rubbing first one eye and then the other, and the side of her index finger came away smeared with black, since she hadn't removed her makeup the night before. Stretching one last time, she pushed the covers back and padded across the room, poking her head out into the hall, and then darting into the bathroom. With the door latched firmly behind her, she peeled off her clothes and reached into the shower, cranking the water as hot as it would go.

After showering, rinsing her mouth out with mouthwash, dressing, and forcing down the rest of her water and the banana, she felt semi-human again. Her head was no longer pounding, and her stomach felt much steadier. She left the bathroom, listening for Colt in the house but not hearing anything. She walked down the hall and glanced into the only other room on the upper level, which turned out to be a large, multipurpose loft, with a home office set up by the window, a punching bag and free weights stacked in one corner, and a pool table in the center of the room. She descended the stairs, taking in the rest of Colt's house as she went.

When she'd been here before, she'd barely looked around, and it had been too dark to see anything in detail. But now she had the luxury of both time and daylight, and she took her time making her way through the house. The main floor was open and looked recently renovated, with a cozy living room and eat-in kitchen filling the space. A couple of blankets and a pillow sat on the couch, but other than that, the living room and kitchen were tidy. Being in his house felt…good, actually. She didn't feel like she was intruding or that she didn't belong. She felt cozy and safe.

The coffeepot was still half full, the scent filling the kitchen, and she'd been about to hunt for a mug to pour herself a cup when the faint strains of music coming from the driveway reached her. Glancing out the kitchen window, she saw Colt's Charger in the driveway, the hood propped open.

After retrieving a hair elastic from her purse and pulling her wet hair up into a ponytail, Taylor stepped out of the house and into the bright morning sunshine, squinting slightly as the warmth danced over her skin. Colt's head popped up over top of the hood, and he stepped around the car. Maybe it was a residual effect of her hangover, but her mouth suddenly went dry and her heart fluttered in her chest. She'd seen him in a T-shirt and jeans, in nothing but athletic shorts, and completely naked—albeit in very dim lighting. But this look just might be her favorite.

He dropped a wrench into the toolbox open at his feet and took another step toward her, wearing a pair of black sweatpants with “Army” spelled out in block letters down one leg, and a white tank top stained with black grease. He wiped his hands on a worn blue rag and then tossed it over his shoulder, a smile tipping up the corner of his mouth. A small grease smear adorned one perfect cheekbone.

“How you feeling this morning, gorgeous?”

Oh, yes. Casual Colt, Athletic Colt, and Naked Colt were all nice. Very, very nice. But Mechanic Colt was so gloriously masculine and sexy that she was pretty sure her panties were disintegrating on the spot.

She must've been staring longer than she realized because he leaned his head forward, one eyebrow cocked. “Hello? Earth to Taylor?” Blinking rapidly and giving her head a small shake, she bit her lip and met his eyes.

His phone buzzed and he fished it out of his pocket, glaring at the screen before releasing a tense chuckle. Looking up, he met Taylor's curious gaze. “Roman. I asked him to leave Chloe alone last night, and he's pissed at me.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I heard you ask him not to hit on your friends.” He shrugged like having her back and being on her side was no big deal when really, he had no idea how big a deal that was. She was so used to being on her own, having to tough things out by herself that something inside her melted, turning her insides gooey and sweet. All because he'd cockblocked a friend for her.

“Colt…” She met his eyes and shivered as the sudden, intense urge to be honest with him hit her. “I'm sorry I got so drunk last night. I was just…I'm scared.” Her voice cracked on the last syllable, and suddenly his arms were around her, pulling her against him. She nestled into him, letting his warmth settle over her like a blanket.

“I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Promise.” He tightened his hold slightly and some of the tension ebbed out of her muscles. “Shit. I'm getting grease on you.”

“I don't care.” She slipped her arms around his waist and he stroked a hand up and down her back.

“We should go to the police with all of this.”

She nodded against his chest, pulling his scent into her with a deep breath. “I know, but we don't have much to tell them yet. Has your investigator friend found anything?”

“Not yet, but he's running down a few leads. He should have some information for us soon.” His voice rumbled in his chest, vibrating against her and she closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his voice, his hands stroking her back, his arms around her. The shelter of him that made her feel safe. Made her feel protected. For a long moment, they just stood in his driveway, Colt's arms wrapped around her as a Bad Company song played softly from the Charger's stereo.

“I'm glad you're here. With me,” she said, pressing her face into his neck.

“Until we figure out what's going on, I don't want you out of my sight.” He held her away from him and met her eyes. “And once we figure it out, I still won't want you out of my sight.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly and she ducked her head for a second before forcing herself to meet his eyes, a giddiness floating through her at his words. “I owe you an apology. For last night, and for what a brat I've been. I was…well—” she forced herself to take a breath before plowing forward “—kind of a mess. I'm sorry if I—”

He cut her off with a gentle kiss, his hand slipping under her chin. His lips moved slowly against hers, and she sighed into him, pressing her hands into his back.

He broke the kiss, and when he spoke, his voice rumbled across her skin, sending ripples of pure, raw hunger dancing over her nerves. “The only reason you didn't wake up naked beside me this morning is because of how much you'd had to drink, and I didn't want it to be like that. Do you remember what I told you last night?”

She nodded against him, breathing him in again as her stomach flipped over on itself. “God, yes.”

“I meant it. Taylor, whatever this is between us…” He kissed her again, a brief, sweet caress of his lips against hers. “I want it. I want you.” She watched as emotions flickered across his face, barely surfacing before slipping away again.

“Colt.” She shoved away the fear knotting her stomach, hanging on instead to the glimmering thread of hope that maybe this time, things could work out. That maybe if she jumped in with both feet, she wouldn't crash and land broken and scarred. That maybe if she let herself fall, Colt would actually catch her. Because she had to admit, everything felt different with him. Bigger, somehow. More real. More vibrant. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so
hungry
for someone, and not just in a physical sense. She was hungry for all of him. She wanted to know him, learn everything about him.

“Have dinner with me. Tonight.”

She smiled up at him, loving the way his green eyes lit up. “Okay. It's a date.”

Frank stared at the white lines in front of him, perfectly parallel. Each was slightly different from its neighbor, but beautiful in its own way. A Creedence Clearwater Revival song rumbled through the speakers, and he traced a pinky through the white lines, blurring them together only for the pleasure of using his AmEx card to separate them out again. Sorting and organizing them exactly the way he wanted. Simple and clean and pure.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then brought the rolled-up Benjamin to his nose and bent forward, bumping one of the rails. Immediately, the rush hit him, and he snorted a second line, the buzz fueling his hunger and only making him want more. A calming power flowed through him and he sat back in his chair, the anxiety of the previous moment gone.

Fucking Jonathan Fairfax. Fucking Golden Brotherhood. They'd picked the wrong biker gang to piss off, because he wasn't going to take their threats lying down like some kind of beaten dog. No way in hell. He'd figure out something with the money, but until then, they'd just have to wait. Those fuckers were used to getting their way, but they hadn't dealt with the Grim Weavers before.

The song playing just outside the office door changed, and an intense pang of nostalgia hit Frank like a kick in the gut. Iron Maiden's “Charlotte the Harlot” was now playing over the bar's sound system. It had been Susie's favorite song. It was where they'd gotten Taylor's middle name.

God, Susie. He hadn't thought about her in so long, and the memory of her—her golden waves, her lightly freckled skin, her low, husky laugh—took the edge off his high. He pulled his phone from his pocket and searched for Taylor, bringing up pictures of her. He hated how much she looked like Susie. Hated that Taylor was still here and Susie wasn't.

A series of shouts erupted from the front of the bar, and he hastily dumped the remaining lines of cocaine into a small glass vial and jammed a rubber stopper on the top, then tossed it into his desk. He picked up his Beretta from the desk and made his way out of the office, his skin dancing and his mind buzzing. He fucking hoped someone had come in looking for a fight.

He stepped into the main area of the bar, wincing at the pain in his left foot, and froze at the press of metal against his neck. He'd felt the barrel of a gun enough times to recognize its kiss against his skin.

“We want our money, Ross,” hissed a voice from behind him. Frank stiffened, and the gun pressed firmer against his neck, a strong hand circling his arm. “We figured out who your daughter is. And we've been watching her. So what's it gonna be, Ross? You gonna pay up, or do we need to ask your daughter to pay off your debts?”

Gritting his teeth, Frank spun, knocking the gun away from his neck and pushing the goon up against the wall, the mention of Taylor sending anger and frustration crashing through him. “You think I didn't already try that? She won't give me a fucking cent. And she sure as fuck isn't going to pay you.”

“We have ways of making people cooperate.”