Primal Instinct (20 page)

Laughing, he pounced on her with a playful growl, covering her body with his. Looking down at her, he felt so big and warm, it was as though he'd swallowed the sun, and he kissed her until they both forgot about the scars they'd shown each other.

R
ays of pink and orange sunshine were just starting to cut a swath through the layer of smog clinging to the Los Angeles skyline as Colt opened the front door of Taylor's house, letting Clay inside. Clay had called, saying he had information to share on Taylor's stalker and her father, and he'd asked Colt if he could come by. Colt had been reluctant to pull himself out of Taylor's bed—and from the sleeping, naked Taylor in it—but if Clay had intel on Ronnie and Taylor's father, it was worth it.

He hadn't woken her and had left her in bed, looking so gorgeously well tumbled it had physically pained him to leave, even though he was only going downstairs. They'd spent the night talking and fucking like hormone-crazed teenagers. He couldn't get enough of her. And even though he was only going on a few hours' sleep—at best—he felt happier and more alive than he had in…well. In a long time.

Maybe ever. He'd known that they'd had a connection after their first night together, but it had only been physical. Now it was so much deeper. So much more.

Without a word, he motioned Clay inside, and Clay followed him into the kitchen, lagging a few feet behind. Colt took down a couple of mugs and paused when he caught Clay's raised eyebrow.

“Since when do you fucking whistle?” asked Clay, pushing a hand through his messy mane of dark blond hair.

Colt poured them each a cup of coffee, and he couldn't have wiped the smile off his face for every single strip of bacon in Los Angeles. “I'm not allowed to be in a good mood?” he asked.

Clay eyed Colt skeptically, scratching at his jaw, but after a second, he settled himself onto one of the stools beside the island. “Thanks for meeting with me. I was able to get some info on your guy. But first, I have a present for you.” He tossed a manila folder onto the island's stainless steel surface.

Colt scooped it up and flipped it open. “How did you get this?” he asked, looking up from the very-hard-to-come-by private military contract in front of him.

“Friend of a friend has a connection. AtlasCorp is one of the biggest private military contractors in the U.S., and they're looking for military or ex-military personnel for a security gig. Stuff like threat assessment, perimeter security, bodyguarding for international corporations and diplomats. It's only a one-year contract, not permanent, but my buddy's connection said they'd likely keep you as long as it goes well. You've got the training, skills, and experience for it, and you've been bitching about how much freelancing sucks. Maybe this is your answer.”

Colt's eyes scanned down the page, and he almost inhaled his mouthful of coffee. “This is a huge six-figure salary. To
start
.”

Clay nodded. “Plus signing bonus. It's a great position. Long as you don't mind going back to the Sandpit.”

Reading further, his heart dropped into his stomach like a brick when he saw where he'd be located: Kabul. He swallowed another mouthful of coffee, hating that fear was his first reaction to the idea of going back there. Hating that he'd reacted like a fucking wuss. He was better than that. Or, at least, he wanted to be.

He kept reading, and noticed that if he took the contract, he'd be expected to work out of the Virginia office when stateside, on the other side of the country from Lacey and the boys.

On the other side of the country from Taylor.

He didn't know exactly where their relationship was headed, but he damn well wanted to find out. After last night, he was in no way ready to walk away from it. From her.

He flipped the folder closed and pushed it to the side, sending Clay a grateful smile. “Thanks, man. I'll think about it.” Because despite his reservations, it
was
too good an offer to turn down flat. And the opportunity to get out of freelancing, to prove to himself that he could handle going back into that environment, that he wasn't as fucked-up and damaged as he feared he might be—it was all very tempting.

Clay nodded and pulled another folder from his leather satchel. “I was able to track down your stalker with the info you gave me. Full name's Ronald Baker,” he said, sitting back and sipping his coffee.

The top sheet was a full-page color print-out of Ronald Baker's driver's license. Taking a sip of coffee, Colt squinted as he scrutinized the picture. Yeah, that was definitely the guy from the bar. He lived in an apartment on Sherman Way in Winnetka, just north of the Ventura Freeway and only about thirty-five minutes from Taylor's house. Colt flipped to the next page, where Clay had included a standard background check. His eyes narrowed as he skimmed down the page, his heart dropping into his stomach for a second. Baker had been arrested a year ago for trespassing after trying to sneak backstage at one of Taylor's concerts. The security guards at the venue had stopped him, and they'd found a knife on him, as well as a diamond ring.

Shit. This was bad. Colt let the folder fall closed as panic washed over him, tightening his chest. Not only was this guy obsessed with Taylor, but he had violent tendencies and a knack for finding her.

“Guy seems like a whack job,” said Clay. “I ran a credit check on him, and he's been making some weird purchases lately, and he took a few big cash advances, too. If you flip the page, you'll see her dad's rap sheet, which is about a mile long. Amazing that he's managed to avoid any major prison time.”

Colt flipped the folder back open, turning pages until he was greeted with a fairly recent mug shot of Frank Ross, and his jaw tightened as he scanned down the list of charges. Assault. Mail fraud. Money laundering. Drug and firearm charges. Robbery. Kidnapping. It was a litany of felonies, one piling on top of the next, with a less senior member of the Grim Weavers almost always taking the fall.

“Between Baker and her dad, you might want to consider some backup on this.”

“You mean Virtus?”

“I do.”

Colt raised an eyebrow and then shook his head. It wasn't gonna happen. Sean Owens had made that plenty clear when he'd fired Colt.

“Yeah, I don't think so, man. I'll figure something out.” He had to, because he sure as fuck wasn't going to let anything happen to Taylor. Just the thought sent his heart into a tailspin. He knew he'd never be able to live with himself if she got hurt on his watch. He'd failed so many others; he couldn't fail her.

“Thanks for the intel, man. I owe you one.”

Taylor stood under the hot spray of the shower and stretched, her sore muscles protesting against the movement. She ached all over, and her aches and pains included a particularly delicious soreness between her legs. She and Colt had had sex
six
times, and she'd lost count of the number of orgasms she'd had after hitting double digits. Never in her life had she had a night like that. And given her lifestyle and her proclivity for sex, she'd had some pretty wild nights.

But last night, with Colt? Off the charts. Incomparable, even to their first night together, which had been pretty damn hot. Her heart rate kicked up a notch as she replayed their night and the connection they'd forged. It was physical, but it was so much more than that. She knew she should slow down, take a breath, maybe get some space, but she couldn't. She wanted him—
craved
him—with a fierceness unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. Not even with Zack.

So it was safe to say that if this blew up in her face, it was going to be a fucking mess. No way would she come away from this unscathed if it didn't work out.

It was like staring into a fire. She knew it was hot, that it would hurt if she touched it, but it was so warm and pretty and appealing, that despite knowing better, she was going to stick her hand in anyway and just hope that maybe she wouldn't get burned this time. Because despite her fears, her reservations, her scars, she was already all in with Colt, and damn the consequences.

She'd left the door to the bathroom ajar, and it swung open as Colt stepped in. Her eyes met his, and he yanked his shirt up over his head with a quick and wonderfully masculine tug. He pulled a condom from his jeans pocket and, holding it between his teeth, shoved his pants and boxers down, stepping out of them and sliding the shower door back.

“Morning,” she said, running her hands up his gorgeous chest.

He set the condom on one of the built-in ledges. “Morning.” The sound hadn't died from his lips before they were on hers, his strong hands circling her arms and pulling her close for a hungry kiss. He kissed his way down her neck, grazing her sensitive skin with his teeth. His hands slid from her arms and down her back to her ass, and he palmed and kneaded the flesh there. His fingers skimmed over the seam where cheek met cheek, and she moaned softly.

“How did it go with Clay?” She reached for the expensive bar of olive oil and honey soap, slicking it down his chest and working up a lather.

He closed his eyes, and his tense muscles relaxed slightly under her touch. “Clay was able to get information on your stalker. He's dangerous, Taylor. He also brought me up to speed on your father. I don't know if what he said about someone coming after you was true or not, but you weren't kidding when you said he was bad news. Real threat or not, I don't want him anywhere near you.”

He sighed heavily as she kneaded the muscles of his chest. “We should consider a change of scenery. Maybe get out of town for a while. At least relocate to my place.”

She teased her fingers over his flat nipples, pinching them lightly before deepening her massage. “We'll handle it, Colt. I know you won't let him get near me.”

“I have to keep you safe.” He opened his eyes and cradled her face in his big, strong hands. “I
need
to keep you safe.” His voice shook a little on the last word, and then he crushed his mouth to hers.

Her heart unraveled like yarn and tangled back together into something bigger and stronger than it was before.

Massaging in gentle, thorough strokes, her hands slipped lower and lower until she circled her fingers around his cock, teasing him with light, soapy touches. Cupping his heavy balls, she began pumping her slick fist up and down in a slow, easy rhythm, loving the way her hand didn't quite fit all the way around him.

“God, that feels good,” he groaned, his eyes closed, his head tipped back. She continued stroking his cock as she pressed her face into his neck, kissing his warm, wet skin, savoring the taste of him on her tongue.

He gathered her into his arms, their bodies winding closely together as he kissed her, deep and with a hot, possessive urgency. His hands roved over her body, playing in her hair, tracing the crease of her spine, slipping over her ribs and hips. Breaking the kiss, he dipped his head lower and sucked a nipple into his mouth, lightly scraping his teeth over it and then soothing it with his tongue.

She rolled her hips into him, and she was starting to go boneless under the wicked torment of his mouth. Once he'd discovered that her breasts and nipples were extremely sensitive, he'd paid them extensive attention, as evidenced by the multiple love bites dotting her pale skin. It had been years since she'd had a hickey or love bite of any kind, and she was surprised at how much she liked it. At how much she liked being marked by Colt.

She felt his hands tremble against her skin, and she pulled back, cupping his face this time. “Hey. I'm okay.”

“And you're gonna stay that way.” He spoke the words against her mouth, his arms wrapped around her as the warm water slithered over them, steam billowing around their entwined bodies. He dipped a hand between her legs, parting her lips with sure fingers. Carefully, he eased two fingers into her, resting the heel of his palm against her sensitive clit. “Not too sore?”

She didn't quite trust her voice to work properly around the unexpected lump in her throat at Colt's tender concern, so she simply kissed him and rolled her hips against his hand, grinding her clit into his palm. She was sore, yes, but the ache to have him inside her, to be connected to him again, was far greater.

He pulled away only long enough to tear open the condom with his teeth, his mouth back on hers as he rolled it on and guided her back against the shower wall. Hooking an arm under her right knee, he gently lifted her leg and wrapped it around his waist. His cock slid against her wet folds, teasing her.

“I need you inside me. Please,” she whimpered, clutching at him, feeling needy and desperate.

His eyes held hers as he inched the head of his cock inside her. “God, Taylor. You feel amazing. Fuck.” The last syllable came out on a reverential whisper as he slid into her, and she felt instantly calmer. “I promise I'll keep you safe. I take care of what's mine.”

“Yours,” she echoed back to him as he began to thrust in and out of her in those hard, deep strokes she loved so much. Their sighs and moans mingled with the patter of the water, echoing off the tile and glass enclosure and muffled by the steam. The scent of soap and sex filled the humid air as skin met skin in soft, wet claps, and that gloriously hot pressure began to twist deep in Taylor's stomach.

Colt slowed and tore his mouth from hers, trailing kisses down her neck. He pulled out of her and dropped to his knees in front of her, guiding her raised leg onto his shoulder. Ravenously, he closed his mouth over her swollen clit, scraping at it delicately with his teeth and sending searing shocks of electricity coursing through her.

With a few embarrassingly short sweeps of his tongue, she came undone, the pressure snapping and giving way to hot, heavy throbs. Her hips bucked against him, and he held her steady as she shook.

And then he was on his feet again and back inside her, stoking the flames of her orgasm and prolonging it with his hard strokes. She slid her arms around his broad shoulders, because even though it was physically impossible, she wanted him even closer. He dug his fingers into her hips hard enough that she knew she'd have more bruises, and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning her name as he came hard. Little by little, he relaxed, his forehead pressed to the wet tile beside her head.