The Obsessed With Him Series: Complete Box Set (A Bad Boy Romance) (16 page)

He had secrets and damaged spots inside of him just like I did. And yet for some reason, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was falling in love with him.

And it felt real.

Colt threw the covers back and began getting out of bed. “Don’t do this, Olivia.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t put your shit with Declan onto me.”

“That’s what you think I’m doing?”

“Yes, Olivia, that’s exactly what I think you’re doing. You’re acting like I hurt you, when really the person you’re upset about is Declan.”

I sat up in bed and gathered the sheets around me angrily. My first instinct was to run away, to leave this room, this apartment, to find somewhere to cut myself and then return to the shelter and never look back.

But something was pushing me not to do that, was pushing me to actually try to feel my emotions, to try and express them instead of running away.

“Did you ever stop and think that maybe this isn’t about Declan?” I demanded. “That maybe I went to see Declan and all I could think about was you? That maybe what we did just now, what we did earlier, actually meant something to me?”

Colt was getting dressed, and he zipped his jeans and then grabbed his shirt off the floor. “You’re too smart for that.”

“Too smart for what?”

“To let this mean something to you.” He started to pull his shirt on, but I stood up and grabbed his arm.

“Why?” I said. “Why, Colt? Why would you say something like that?”

“Forget it.” He went to wrench out of my grasp, but I held onto him.

“Colt.”

He turned, his dark eyes locking on mine.

“Why?” I pressed. “Why would I be too smart to let this mean something to me?”

“Olivia, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t push me like this. I warned you. I told you I wasn’t the guy for you.”
Hot tears pricked my eyes and for a moment, I wondered if maybe he was right, if maybe I’d been stupid enough to do the exact same thing with Colt that I’d done with Declan, if I’d pinned all my hopes on him instead of protecting myself.

It
felt
different, but was that just because I’d slept with him?

It didn’t matter, I told myself.

Cold had made it clear how he felt.

And one thing I was smart enough to realize was when someone didn’t want me.

I turned away and began gathering my clothes.

Colt sighed. “Olivia.”

But I didn’t answer.

“Olivia,” he said again, louder this time.

“It’s fine,” I said, and now my walls were back up. “I heard you loud and clear.”

“Olivia, stop.” He reached out and took my hand and he whirled me around, pulling me toward him until my bare breasts were flush against his chest. “You said it yourself, Olivia,” he whispered.

I loved the way he said my name, making it sound exotic and wonderful on his lips, like I was the only one in the world with that name. “What?” I asked, confused. “What did I say, Colt?”

He pulled me toward him even tighter, his hand on the small of my back, and I could feel his nails digging into my skin, almost like he was afraid I was going to get away.

“You said I was wasting my life working at the club.”

“What?” I asked, confused. “No, I didn’t.” And then I remembered that I had, or at least a version of that
. I think you’re better than that.

“You did.” He looked away from me then, but not before I could see the pain reflected in his eyes. “But what you were wrong about, Olivia, is when you said I was too good for that place. I’m not too good for it. And that is why I’m not the right man for you.”

His nails pressed deeper into my skin, and I could feel the desperation rushing through him, like he was terrified that whatever he was about to say would make me run. But I’d never wanted to stay in one place more in my entire life than I did right then, with him.

“Why would you say that?” I whispered. “Why would you say that about yourself?”

He shook his head and my breath hitched as I waited for him to answer. “It doesn’t matter.” He released me then and sat down on the side of the bed, put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples.

I went and sat next to him. “It matters to me.”

He stayed silent, broody, and I was afraid if I didn’t get him talking soon, he would shut down completely.

“Colt,” I said. “Please, what… I just want to understand.”

I reached out and took his hand, intertwining my fingers with his. He flinched and tried to move away, but I kept my hand on his, not letting him. I knew all about pushing people away and I knew that sometimes those were the times you wanted and needed to connect the most.

Colt took a deep breath and I felt his fingers tighten around mine. When he began to talk, his voice was deep and controlled. “My dad, he bought Loose Cannons before I was even born, with money he borrowed. He had to go down to the bank and beg for a loan. It was his dream, though, to own a restaurant. And it
was
a restaurant, back in the day.” He paused and I could see the pain on his face, more intense than it had been even just a few minutes ago. “But then my parents died. Half of the restaurant was left to me, when I turned twenty-three, and half was left to my uncle.”

“And what? Your uncle turned it into a strip club?”

“No, Olivia, he turned it into a fucking prostitution ring and a drug den.” I could hear the anger in his voice as he spoke, and I sucked in a breath. “I knew it was wrong, even when I was growing up, you know? Even when I was a teenager, I knew it was… not right, what they were doing. But if I brought it up or tried to push back, they beat me.”

“Your uncle?”

“My uncle. His friends. Whoever.”

I closed my eyes and let his words wash over me. I wasn’t going to say I was sorry that happened to him, because words like that were hollow and shallow and meant nothing. I hated when people told me they were sorry about what had happened to me, like they had something to do with it. All they really meant was that they were glad it hadn’t happened to them.

“So now you know,” he said. “Now you know that those things the FBI agent said were true, that there are drugs and prostitution and probably all kinds of other shit going. And that, Olivia, is why you should stay the hell away from me.”

“Why?” I swallowed and then I said the thing people always said to me, the thing that was the hardest to believe. “You were a kid, Colt, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I could have tried harder.”

“And got beat more?” I shook my head. “No. You were a child, a teenager, what happened to your dad’s club…it’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault but your uncle’s.”

“Anyway,” Colt said, and his eyes were glassy now as he stared at the floor. “Call that FBI agent, Olivia. Tell him you’ll work with him.”

“Colt,” I said, and my voice cracked.

He turned to look at me. “What?” The pain in his eyes was so raw, so dark, so aching. I’d never seen anything like it, and I’d seen more than my share of pain in my life.

“You can make it right.”

His shoulders sagged and his eyes were still welling with emotion, and it was the first time I’d seen him like this, the first time I’d seen him looking like he was anything but completely in control. His normal cockiness and easy arrogance were gone, replaced with a tremulous vulnerability.

He reached for me, pulled me toward him and back down onto the bed, his mouth on mine, kissing me, slower this time, but with that same hungry intensity.

He wrapped me back up in the blanket, our legs intertwining under the covers.

We were silent for a long time, and I thought he’d fallen asleep.

But then he spoke. “You’re right,” he said softly.

“What?”

“About making it right. I’m going to put a stop to it.”

My head was against his chest, and I could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, and I knew he was telling the truth.

I wanted to tell him I would be right there with him, that I would stand by him, that I would help him and support him in whatever way I could.

It made no sense to make a promise like that. And yet I had never meant anything more in my life.

But I was afraid he would tell me no, that he would refuse, that he would tell me I needed to stay away from him again.

So I stayed quiet.

A moment later, he was asleep, and after a while, so was I.

C
olt held
me tight through the night.

I stirred once at around 3 am, and he woke up, too, and kissed me softly on the lips. “You okay, baby?” he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep.

I nodded and he pulled me even closer. I snuggled into him, and I’d never felt so safe in my life. The only reason I even woke up in the first place was because I couldn’t believe the way I felt. It was so foreign to me, this feeling of peace – it seemed as if my body wanted to keep waking me up just to make sure it was still there.

In the morning, he was gone.

There was a note on the bedside table.

At the gym. ~C

I got out of bed, then showered quickly and dressed in a pair of jeans and a black V-neck sweater that Kendra the housekeeper had picked out for me.

Then I went to the living room and sat down.

It was weird being in the apartment alone, without Colt, and the safe feeling I’d had last night felt suddenly precarious, as if it could be yanked away from me at any moment.

My body was wired with nervous energy, and the silence was setting me on edge. I was just about to turn on the tv when Colt came back.

He had that sexy slightly sweaty thing going on that guys got after they went to the gym– the messy hair, the muscles seemingly more defined even though you knew that was impossible after just one work out.

“Hi,” I said, suddenly inexplicably nervous.

“Sleep well, Princess?” he asked, his cocky swagger back. He walked to the kitchen and I followed him, watched as he opened the refrigerator and pulled out his water bottle.

“I did, actually.”

“You kept waking up.” He tipped his head back and took a swig from his water bottle. His t-shirt clung to his biceps and I remembered how his arm muscles flexed as he was poised on top of me, pushing into me, his cock rock hard.

I shivered.

He finished his water and tossed the empty bottle into the trash. “Hungry?”

I nodded. “Starving.”

“Breakfast?”

“Depends on what you’re making.”

“No, I mean, go out to breakfast.”

“With you?” I asked, shocked for some reason. The thought of going out somewhere with him, just the two of us, seemed somehow foreign and outside the realm of possibility. It seemed like a date.

“No, by yourself,” he said sarcastically and rolled his eyes. “Yes, with me.” He reached down and pulled his sweaty t-shirt off, and my body flooded with desire.

“Okay.”

“I’m going to shower and then we’ll go.”

“Sounds good.” I was trying to play it cool as he walked down the hall, but I couldn’t contain my excitement. I hadn’t been out to breakfast in years, hadn’t been in a restaurant in God knew how long, except to sneak in and use the bathroom or that time last year when I spent two hours in a Denny’s nursing one cup of coffee because it was freezing outside, praying they wouldn’t kick me out.

Twenty minutes later, Colt appeared again, dressed in a leather jacket and dark jeans, his hair still messy and damp from the shower. He hadn’t bothered to shave, and there was stubble on his strong jaw.

I immediately wanted to kiss him, to feel his stubble brushing against my cheeks as his tongue pushed into my mouth, wanted to feel his stubble against the inside of my thighs as he moved higher.

“Ready?” he asked.

I nodded and began to follow him out the door.

He didn’t reach for my hand, and there was something about his body language that was closed off and contained. Did he regret telling me what he’d told me about his uncle? Did he wish we hadn’t slept together? Was he worried that because he’d held me close all night he’d given me the wrong idea of what he wanted?

If so, he didn’t need to be worried.

I was under no illusions.

I knew I wasn’t his girlfriend.

I remembered that girl, Ava, the one who had come up to him the other night, the stripper who had asked him to the after party.

Those were the kinds of girls Colt hung out with.

He opened the passenger side door of his car for me and I slid inside, the scent of the leather seats filling my nose.

We drove to the restaurant in silence. I kept stealing glances at him, trying to get a read on his mood, wondering what he was thinking, not just about me, but about everything he’d told me, everything we’d talked about. But it was impossible. He seemed pensive, lost in thought. The music was on, something with a strong beat, but Colt was lost in his own world.

He took me to a place in one of the higher-end parts of the city called Stella’s. When we got inside, I instantly felt woefully underdressed. Stella’s was the kind of place that looked too nice to even
be
a breakfast place, the kind of place with cloth tablecloths and menus encased in leather holders.

“I think I’m undressed,” I said to Colt, smoothing my sweater nervously.

“You’re beautiful.”

I blushed at the compliment.

It turned out it didn’t matter what I was wearing, because it soon become obvious that Colt must have been a regular there. The maitre’d nodded to us and then immediately led us to a table in the back, right next to a huge floor-to-ceiling window which looked out across Generations Park. I spread my napkin onto my lap and looked out the window, watching the kids play on the swings.

It was weird, how some parts of the city, like this one, were rich and posh, where kids could play and have fun and feel safe, and just a mile away were some of the poorest areas I’d ever seen.

My heart clenched for a split second at how unfair it all was, but I forced myself back to the present moment, reminding myself those were problems and thoughts that were above my pay grade.