Broken Fences (A TroubleMaker Novel, #1) (8 page)

Chapter
Eight

Colden parked in
front of the motel, then went in to check them in for the night. Once he had
the keycard in hand, he drove around the back, ordered Dusty out of the truck,
then nudged her into the room. She was glad to see that the place was clean,
even if it was a two-star rat-bag of a place. In addition to the outdated
orange shag carpet, the other downside was that there was only one queen-sized
bed.

“I see you
really splurged, St. James,” she grumbled, watching him close the door and drop
the bags. “You shoulda told me you’re broke as well as wanted. We coulda gone Dutch,”
she said, glad that it garnered a sneer from him.

“We’re better
off in this kind of motel. They’re less likely to look for us here.”

“For you,” she
corrected, rubbing the spot where the cuff had been. “Remember, cowboy, I’ve
got nothing to do with this little posse you’ve pissed off.”

He disregarded
her comment and walked over to the bathroom. Barely touching it, he pushed the
door open and poked his head inside. Seemingly satisfied, he turned back to
her. “Looks safe enough, no knife-wielding psycho killers with a crush on their
dead mommy. You wanna take a shower?” His eyes rolled down her body and stopped
at her muddy bare feet.

She glided one
dirty foot over the other. “Yeah, that might be a good idea,” she said,
thinking of the other body parts that needed washing, parts touched by none
other than the wicked hand of Colden James. Without another look his way, she
grabbed her bag and went into the bathroom. She smirked when she saw that there
were no windows, no means of escape
.
She realized that was probably why
he‘d checked the bathroom out first.
Regardless, the hot water felt
great.

During the
shower, she tried not to think about the intruder who’d broken into her home or
the fact that Colden had basically kidnapped her or that there was only one bed
in the motel room. She needed to concentrate on getting out of there, away from
him. She had a business to run, a wedding to prepare, and a life to live. It
would serve her best to steer clear of lunatics hiding in her home with guns
just because she’d gotten caught up in the moment with an old flame. Now, if
her life was ever going to return to normal, she needed to put that fire out
once and for all.

She squared her
shoulders and tackled the orange carpet, thinking that it might have been best
to put on some socks. Had there been air conditioning in the hot, small room,
she might have.

Colden was
sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless again. He was wearing only a pair of
heather gray sweatpants, and even sitting down, they hung deliciously low on
his hips. Her eyes diverted to the thin, dark trail of hair that was soon lost
in his waistband.

She wanted to
punish him for tempting her. She almost laughed as she thought about tweezing
each and every one of those curly, tiny, dark hairs. Dragging her eyes away,
she straightened her t-shirt and walked into the room.
Damn, it’s hot in
here.
Even after her shower, her thighs were warm, so she had no other
choice but to wear shorts. She was hot and exposed, a dangerous combination to
be when around the Saint. As she pushed the wet hair back from her face, his
astute eyes followed her every move.

“Here,” he said,
offering his phone. “I know you need to deal with things at the bar, and I’m
not sure how long we’ll be gone. Just call whoever can take care of things
while you’re away.”

She glared at
him suspiciously. “There’s no one I can trust like that,” she lied. She hoped
if he was thoughtful enough to worry about The Bucking Barrel, perhaps he’d be
considerate enough to let her go so she could take care of it.

His lips pressed
together. “I know you’re more than just a pretty face, Dusty. You’re smart too.
There’s no way you forgot about your place during our little ride over here. I
know you’ve already got somebody in mind who can get the job done, so call
‘em.” He gave the phone a short wave. “I’ll give you two seconds. After that,
who knows what’ll happen to the place while the cat’s away?”

Her eyes dropped
again to the happy trail that disappeared into his pants.
Pluck, pluck,
pluck…
Lifting to his smiling eyes, she sneered at him as she snagged the
phone from his hand. She knew she could pretty much count on Derek, her night
manager. He was competent enough to run the place and young enough to do it
with the lack of sleep he was going to have to endure for God knew how long. “I
need his number. It’s in my phone.” She figured he had her phone, because it
was the first thing she’d looked for earlier when he’d handed her purse over,
and it wasn’t there.

He leaned to the
left and opened the nightstand, pulled out her cell, and clicked it on. “What’s
the name?”

“Derek, uh…” She
stumbled for his last name, noting the handcuffs that were sitting carelessly
on top of the nightstand. “Derek Wakefield. He’s my night manager.” Why she
felt the need to explain it was beyond her, but she assumed it was some
deep-rooted recollection of how he’d reacted to Travis hugging her.

As if
questioning it himself, Colden’s eyebrow lifted.

She scowled at
him, recognizing that same audacious look he’d given to her up on the balcony
while he had his hand up her skirt
. Damn!

“Just tell him
an emergency has come up and that you’ll be away for a few days, nothing more,
nothing less. If you let on as to where we are, our asses go back on the road
for another three hours.” Looking down at her phone, he scrolled through her
contacts. “It’s two a.m. I don’t know about you,” he said, glancing up at her,
“but I’m exhausted.”

She nodded in
understanding. Although she had a good idea about where they were going to be
sleeping for the night, together in the only bed in the room, she wasn’t about
to sit in the truck for the next few hours just to prevent or delay it.

Colden rambled
off the number, and she stuck to instructions. Derek was all business on the
phone, but she noticed a hint of surprise when she asked him to oversee things
while she was away.

Also exhausted
and not willing to fight it any longer, she easily handed her phone back to her
shirtless abductor.

He tossed it
into the nightstand and gently pushed the drawer closed. He then rolled onto
his back, and his legs landed on the bed. He propped a hand behind his head.
“Well, you have three options.” He paused and took a long, thorough sweep of
her body. The slow, stimulating examination had her tugging on her shirt again.
“I can handcuff you to the bedpost, hold you, or you can hold me. To be sure
you don’t try to slip out in the middle of the night, there will either be
physical contact between us, or you will be restrained. It’s your choice.” He
readjusted his arm behind his head. “And rest assured that if you do go with
the holding option, that’s all it’ll be. As much as I want you, Dusty girl, I
am too exhausted right now.”

Well, that’s
disappointing
… She scolded herself for the thought and concentrated on
weighing her options. The handcuffing was out of the question. She’d had enough
of that in the truck. As for him holding her, that meant he’d be pressed up
against her—every inch of him. Something inside of her shook from the thought,
something hot and wicked.

“I’ll hold you,”
she rushed out, not letting the hot and wicked to get the better of her.

He gazed at her,
and those shrouded eyes made everything inside tighten.

Too
exhausted? I’d never be too exhausted for…

“Okay.”

The husky tone
of his deep voice snapped her from the slew of naughty thoughts running through
her head, thoughts she knew she shouldn’t be thinking before she crawled into
bed with Colden James. It was something like watching an ice cream cone melt on
a hot day and not saving that tantalizing drip by taking a lick. She told
herself not to think about it.

“Hit the lights
and get in here.”

Get in here?
He
had dared her to do the inevitable. The problem was that she was afraid that
when she did get in there, there’d be no one saving her drip by taking a much-needed
lick. The thought of Colden’s mouth nestled between her legs had her pussy
clenching like an angry fist.
Damn!
It wanted him bad, and she had no
control over it.
Pussy gonna want what the pussy wants.
She chuckled,
blaming her desire for Colden on her horny girly parts. It was ridiculous. She
had always wanted the man any way she could get him.

She swiped a
hand over the light switch, and everything went dark. Maneuvering herself
through the room was no trouble because it was so small. When her legs hit the
bedpost, she bent over to pull back the blanket, and a burst of anxious realism
exploded into the darkness. With the sheet pinched in her fingers, her body
froze, and she broke out in a cold sweat. She was about to get into bed with
Colden James, the man who’d broken her heart.
What the hell am I thinking?

He was lying on
his side, with his back to her, every muscle and curve outlined by the dim
moonlight filtering in through the curtain crack. A tattoo spread across his
back, but she couldn’t make out what it was. With all of his changes, the ink,
the cockiness, and the fact that he had no problem telling her how much he
wanted her. Well, it all frightened her. She’d wanted him for so long, but her
forever crush was now a stranger.

The beating of
her heart went from a slow trot to a steady jog. She worried that if it kicked
into a full run in the quiet darkness, he’d hear her rapid breathing. There was
nothing she could do. It was too late. A rush of his scent flourished her nose.
Quick inhales from the greed of wanting more proclaimed the silence. Her breath
quickened, and her dry throat gave into a small, fearful cry.

The carnal
silhouette in the bed shifted. Muscles rippled and rolled with each deliberate
movement. The sound of her panting became louder, clashing with the soft
ruffling of the sheets. Confronted by the object of her panic, and before she
could summon any courage, Colden reached out and pulled her down onto the bed.
Not only did her throat give in to the fear, but her body began to tremble as
well.

“No,” he said in
a harsh whisper. Barely touching her, his large form hovered over her body.

She couldn’t
move or say anything. Immobilized by the fear induced by the man who pinned her
to the bed, her panting carried on in the shadowy room.

“No, don’t do
this.” He cradled her face gently with large hands. “Don’t be afraid of me. Not
like this. You hear me?” The moonlight illuminated his eyes. They glistened
with affection. “You be frightened when I kiss you.” His mouth brushed over
hers.

Her breath
caught in her throat from the brief kiss and from the way he passionately gazed
down at her.

“Be afraid of
the feeling you get between your legs when I touch you.” The weight of his body
lowered on hers, his thick hardness imbedding her flesh. “Fear me when I’m
finally deep inside of you.” He pressed closer.

She let out a
cry of desire, not from fear. Her hips moved as she tried to rock against him.

A smile touched
his strong lips, and his tempting mouth lay suspended over hers. “You fear what
we will become when I again make you mine, sweetheart.”

The warmth of
his words cascaded her flushed face. The tenderness in his voice and the soft pressure
of his palms upon her cheeks added need to her already desirous want.

“And what you should
really
be afraid of… what you need to fear,” his eyes dropped to her
mouth, a rough thumb passed over her quivering lip, “is what you mean to me in
here.” Colden tapped his chest as dark eyes lifted back to hers. “Because being
trapped in here, Dusty girl…” He pointed to his heart. “Well, that should scare
you a lot more than being safe out here with only your arms around me.”

Speechless, she
stared up at him, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. As
straightforward as they had been, they still confused her. Was he saying that
he cared for her? Was she supposed to believe that after…all this…No! She
wasn’t going to fall for it
.
Like his reaction to Travis at the bar, she
was sure that this, too, was all an act. She couldn’t let herself fall so hard
for him again because it would only kill her if and when he left. And yeah, sooner
or later, he’d leave her again. It seemed the new Colden always had an agenda,
and he knew what he was doing. Hell, he probably planned to stay at her place
even before he stepped foot in town.

He’d barged back
into her life, plucked her from her comfortable little world, handcuffed her,
and driven her miles away from her home. And for what? To keep him company
while he hid out from God knows who?

The Saint had turned
everything she’d known to be true upside down. Until a few days ago, as far as
she’d been concerned, Colden was in Georgia, happily married and playing catch
with his kids in the yard. The only two sure things in her life had been The
Bucking Barrel and Sissy. They were all that had demanded anything of her, all
that mattered.

But now, as she
stared up at Colden, the only place she wanted to be was in his heart, and the
only demands she wanted to obey were the ones coming out of his mouth. She
longed for that wonderful feeling of belonging, for the way he’d made her feel
the night before he’d left Odessa some six years ago. And, as he said it
should, that scared the hell out of her.

With telepathic
eyes, he peered down at her. “Now, I’m gonna roll over so you can hold me,
since we made a deal,” he said, his mouth inching closer to hers. “And I want
you to behave.” He grinned. “I mean it, Dusty girl. No hanky-panky.”