Primal Instinct (21 page)

He traced his knuckles over her cheek. “I think I'm addicted to you.”

She kissed him, running her fingers through his hair, sending drops of water falling onto his shoulders. “I know the feeling.”

Colt sat on Taylor's bed, a towel knotted around his hips, his hair still wet and dripping onto his shoulders. They'd spent nearly an hour in the shower together, touching and tasting, kissing and exploring. He couldn't get enough of her; the feel of her skin beneath his fingers, the scent of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her voice. Each gorgeous thing about her fed into the next, stoking something deep and primal in him. The need to protect her. The need to cherish her. The need to just fucking
be
with her, in every sense of the word.

With Taylor still in the bathroom, he'd snagged his phone from his pants, wanting to check his messages and make a few calls. He raised the phone to his ear, waiting to connect to his messages. There was a slight gap in the call, and he frowned when he heard a faint but distinctive ticking on the other end of the line. It sounded almost like a faraway, fuzzy turning signal. His voice mail box connected, but he ended the call, frowning.

Colt pushed off the bed and redialed into his messages, putting the phone on speaker and waving it in a slow path back and forth in front of him, walking through the room. In the few seconds of silence on the line, the ticking grew stronger and clearer as he approached the television. Bending forward, he scrutinized the TV and the DVR box, his skin prickling. Biting back a curse, he jogged back to the guest room and grabbed a flashlight out of his bag, hanging on to the towel around his hips.

He rapped quickly on the bathroom door, and Taylor poked her head out. “Yeah?”

“You got an empty toilet paper roll in there?”

She stared at him with one eyebrow arched, and he swallowed, trying to get his heart to slow down.

“I think I might've found something.”

“What?”

“A hidden camera.”

Her eyebrow dropped back down, and her mouth fell open in a small, surprised O. “What?” she repeated, much quieter this time.

“In your DVR, I think.”

She pulled her own towel tighter around herself and swung the door open. Dropping to her knees by the toilet, she fished a toilet paper roll from the small garbage bin.

“Stay in here and turn the lights off,” said Colt, and she nodded as he pulled the door shut, entering her bedroom again. Hastily, he closed the automated blinds and pulled the curtains shut, making the room as dark as possible. Clicking the flashlight on, he held the cardboard tube to one eye like a telescope and stalked toward the DVR, slowing as he approached. In a slow, deliberate path, he swung the flashlight across the front of the DVR, pausing when the telltale wink of a camera's charge-coupled device flashed back at him for a fraction of a second.

Anger shot through him, stealing his breath for a second, at the realization that Baker must've installed the cameras—it was the only logical explanation. Not only that, but he'd enjoyed a front-row seat to Colt and Taylor together last night. Fury seared through him. His skin suddenly felt too tight as the knowledge of the violation crackled over him. And it wasn't the violation of
his
privacy that he cared about. No, he didn't give a shit about that. But the fact that this psycho creep had seen Taylor, naked, and…fuck, it made him want to smash things.

“Son of a bitch!” He ground the words out and bent forward, bringing his face within inches of the DVR. “I know you've been watching, you sick fuck, and when I get my hands on you, I'm gonna turn your fucking face into a goddamn abstract painting, you hear me? You listening, Baker? Fuck!”

Unable to fight back the anger coursing through him, he yanked the DVR free with a violent tug and smashed it on the floor.

T
aylor stared vacantly out of the Charger's window, not really seeing the trees, buildings, and cars as they blurred by on Fountain Avenue. She tucked a strand of her still-damp hair behind her ear, curling the end around her finger and wrapping it as tight as she could, cutting off the circulation to the tip of her finger, watching as it turned bright red. Wanting to feel...something. Anything besides the sickening, slimy mixture of anger and numbness that had taken over as soon as Colt had told her he'd found a camera.

After Colt had smashed the DVR, they'd both quickly dressed, and she'd followed him from room to room as he'd scanned every object and every surface with the handheld radio-frequency-signal detector he'd retrieved from his car. He'd located two more cameras, one each in the living room and the bathroom. When he'd pulled the small camera—no bigger than a guitar pick—from the vent in the bathroom's ceiling, she hadn't been able to hold back the revulsion crawling through her like maggots, and she'd flung herself in front of the toilet, heaving until her stomach was empty and her throat was raw. Colt had held her hair and then brought her a cool cloth, wiping at her face tenderly. It was that small act of tenderness that had broken her completely open, and he'd sunk to the floor beside her, pulling her into his arms as she'd cried.

They'd gone to the police, and she'd officially filed a report about her stalker, giving the police the information Clay had found on him, the spy cameras Colt had found hidden in her house, the creepy card that had come with the flowers, and her own account of what had happened that night at the Rainbow. That, coupled with his previous record of trying to get backstage at her concert with a weapon, was enough to file for a temporary civil harassment restraining order. She'd have to go to court to get a more permanent one, but in the meantime, the creep would be served with the restraining order and told to stay the hell away from her.

There wasn't enough evidence to bring him up on stalking charges—after all, there was no proof it was Ronnie who'd put the spy cameras in her house, although the cop had agreed that it had likely been him—but the investigation would continue. They'd also told the cops about her father's threats and the altercation last night and filed a separate report about that.

After leaving the police station, they'd gotten back into the car, and instead of heading back toward the Hollywood Hills and home—the
last
place she wanted to go—they'd gone south to Fountain Avenue and were now turning left onto Vine.

“You okay?” asked Colt as he swung the Charger through the turn.

She shrugged, her arms wrapped around herself. “Not really. We have no idea how long those cameras were there. I don't know how many times he watched me change, watched me shower. He could've watched us…last night…” Her voice caught on the last syllable, and she cleared her throat, through with crying. She laid her hand on Colt's thigh, and he glanced at her for a second before returning his attention to the road. She cleared her throat again before continuing. “It meant something to me. And I hate that there's this shit hanging over it.”

He slid a hand from the steering wheel and laid it over hers. Big and warm, it anchored her as he laced their fingers together, and she took a deep breath. “It meant something to me, too, Taylor.” He squeezed her hand and glanced at her again. “So fuck him.” He eased the Charger to a stop at a red light. “Last night was about you and me, gorgeous. Not him. You and me.”

Her throat thickened, and she nodded, blinking furiously against the tears stinging her eyes. Colt drummed his fingers on the wheel and then rubbed a hand over his mouth before continuing. “So, listen. Until we get all of this resolved, I need to make sure you're safe. And as much as I hate to admit it, I don't know if Roman and I can handle this on our own.”

“So what do you want to do?”

“I think you know I used to work for Virtus.”

She'd glanced away from him to look out the window and whipped her head back around at the name. “Yeah. Sierra mentioned it.”

“Has she talked to Sean about…me, working for you?” His knuckles were white against the steering wheel, she noticed.

“I asked her not to.”

“You need to know that I…a job went wrong because I made a mistake, and I got fired. But if anyone can help us, it's them.” He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

As they drove up Vine, a high-rise office tower that she knew housed the Virtus Security offices came into view. She licked her lips, wishing she had a bottle of water. Wishing she could ask him about getting fired, but she knew now wasn't the time.

The last thing she wanted was for Colt to feel like he had to do something that would make him uncomfortable. She could at least try and protect him from that, even if it was too late to protect him from all the other shit he'd been through. Going to the man who'd fired him had to cost him, mentally and emotionally. “Listen, Colt, we don't have to—”

But he cut her off, his voice a little rough. “I promised I would keep you safe. And I will.”

She nodded, swallowing around her thickening throat. “So, uh, in the spirit of honesty…” She hesitated, fiddling with the hem of her shirt, her face hot and prickly. “I used to date one of the guys there.” She ran her tongue over her teeth, hoping he wouldn't ask for details. Hoping that Zack wouldn't be there, and that she could avoid that whole messy situation.

For a reason she couldn't quite name, she didn't want Colt to know that Zack was the one who'd hurt her so bad. She already felt so transparent with him—he'd barely known her, and he'd known she'd been pushing him away because she'd had her heart broken. And although things were going well between them, she still felt somehow compelled to hold little bits and pieces of herself back, almost as though she were doling out parts of herself as rewards the longer he went without hurting her.

Colt let out a long breath, shaking his head slightly. “Well, isn't this just going to be a fucking party.”

Colt didn't let himself hesitate as he pulled open one of the glass doors leading to the Virtus offices on the tenth floor of the office tower at the corner of Sunset and Vine. It didn't matter that this was the last place he wanted to be or that the last person he wanted to ask for help was Sean Owens. Keeping Taylor safe was the only thing that mattered, and as much as it killed him, he didn't want to risk trying to take on her psycho stalker and potentially a biker gang by himself. Sean might hate Colt, but that didn't mean he was an asshole. No, if anyone was the asshole, it was Colt.

A rolling wave of heat churned through his stomach as he ushered Taylor into the offices, and it hit him how much he fucking missed this place. He missed working with a team, and he missed the steady, secure paycheck. He glanced over at Taylor, who was pale, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as her eyes scanned the space. Her fingers were wrapped tightly around the strap of her purse, her knuckles snow white against her skin.

She was looking for him, the guy she used to date. Mentally, he went through the roster of guys. He knew it wasn't Owens, and it likely wouldn't have been Ian MacAllister, given that he didn't date, ever. It could've been Jamie, but wouldn't he have mentioned that at the poker game when he'd clued Colt in to Taylor's Virtus connection? So that left Carter, which wasn't impossible. The ex-NFLer was a good-looking guy, single, smart, good sense of humor. There was also the possibility it was someone Colt didn't really know, or someone who'd started after he'd been canned. His stomach churned harder, and he pushed down the surge of jealousy washing over him as he took a few steps toward the circular stainless steel reception desk. But before he got there, he heard his name from several feet away in a deep, Scottish-accented voice.

“Priestley? You doaty bastard, that you?”

A wide smile spread across Colt's face as he turned, shaking his head at former SAS paratrooper and medic Ian MacAllister. He and Ian had bonded over old war stories and scotch, and had worked dozens of jobs together. They'd fallen out of touch after Colt had gotten fired.

“You son of a bitch,” said Colt by way of greeting, and Ian clapped him on the shoulder, sending him a rare smile. “This is my…” He cleared his throat as he gestured toward Taylor. “This is Taylor Ross. She's my client.” Fuck, she was so much more than that, but this wasn't the time to get into it. Not when she was pale and quiet, her eyes still roving over the modern, sleek, open-concept office space.

“Aye, we've met. How are you, Taylor?” he asked, and Colt couldn't stop his eyes from darting between them, wondering briefly if Mac was the Virtus guy she'd dated.

But before he could observe any further and let his jealousy flare up again, one of the glass office doors to the left of the space swung open, and Sean Owens stepped out, one eyebrow cocked as he approached them. His gaze flicked from Taylor to Colt and back again, and a frown creased his face. “I was wondering when I'd see you.” Owens, his hands on his hips as he came to a stop, towered over all of them by at least a couple of inches. He cut his eyes from Colt to Taylor again. “Don't be mad at Sierra, but she told me what's going on.”

“She did?” Taylor asked, frowning slightly.

Sean nodded. “She's worried about you, and so am I.” He shot Colt a pointed glare.

“We talk in your office?” asked Colt, tipping his head in the direction Sean had just come from. Taylor looked shaky, and he wanted her to sit down, maybe have some water. Wanted to shoulder everything he could for her, and he was suddenly glad that, although walking in here had meant swallowing his pride, he was able to do it for her. Sean nodded again, pushing a hand through his hair. Colt ground his teeth together when Sean put an arm around Taylor's shoulders and pulled her in for a hug, whispering something Colt couldn't hear into her ear. Taylor just nodded and let Sean lead them into his office, Colt trailing a few feet behind. He tipped his chin at Ian as he walked away, trying to process everything. Being back in the Virtus offices. Taylor. The immediate situation at hand. The past. All of it was slamming together, making it impossible to tease any one part away from another.

A row of offices, all walled in glass, filled the left-hand side of the bright, open space, and Sean led them to the one second from the back, ushering them inside. He didn't say anything until he'd settled himself behind his desk, his fingers tented in front of him. He looked at Colt and then Taylor, who seemed slightly more relaxed.

“So. Let's hear it,” he said, meeting Colt's stare.

“She's got a psycho stalker. We filed a restraining order and all of that, but he's been arrested for trespassing at one of her concerts before. The guy's been obsessed with her for a while now and is potentially dangerous. When he was arrested, he had a knife on him, and he's shown a pattern of escalating behavior.

“On top of that, her dad—who happens to be the president of the Grim Weavers—has been harassing her, trying to scare her into giving him money. He tried to convince her that there are some people after him and that they'd come after her if she didn't help him pay them off. Not sure if he's telling the truth or not, but until we know more, I'm not taking any fucking chances. I need backup on this.” He looked at Taylor and shot her a half smile. “That about sum it up?”

She smiled, nodding. “Perfectly.”

Sean studied them, an unreadable expression on his face. He glanced away, curling one of his hands into a fist. “I wish you'd told me about this sooner.” He sighed heavily before turning to Colt. “I'll need all the intel you've got on this situation so I can brief the team. We'll take it from here.”

“Colt stays.” Taylor's voice was low and quiet, but firm.

“Did he tell you that he used to work here? That he got fired?” asked Sean, a challenge gleaming in his eyes.

“I did.” Colt crossed his arms over his chest.

“Did you tell her why?”

Colt shook his head, glancing down at the floor before meeting Taylor's curious gaze. “He and I were assigned to guard this hip-hop star. The guy was an idiot, looking for trouble wherever he went. Thought it made him a badass or some shit. He'd already spent some time in prison on weapons and drug charges. Anyway, one night he started a fight in a nightclub and…” he shrugged “…things went sideways.”

“Things went
sideways
?” Sean let out a sharp laugh. “Another couple of millimeters and I could've lost an eye, thanks to you. I had the situation under control. I was breaking up the fight, and then this idiot jumps in and escalates things. I took a beer bottle to the face because of him.”

“You make it sound like I'm the one who stabbed you in the face.” Colt clenched his jaw, fighting back his rising temper.

“Taylor, let us help you. You don't need him.”

“Enough!” Taylor stood, glaring at each of them. She wheeled on Sean. “
Colt stays.
I trust him, and that has to be enough for you.”

Sean met Taylor's gaze. “Fine. If that's what you want.” He paused and sighed heavily. “If you trust him, I can work with that.”

“That's…thank you.”

She sat back down and reached out, lacing her fingers through Colt's.

Well, well. Everything was out in the open now, wasn't it? The corner of Colt's mouth twitched up as he rubbed a thumb back and forth over Taylor's knuckles.

Sean blew out a breath as he pressed his thumb and index finger to his brow and then slowly shook his head. “I don't even want to know how you two found each other.” He held up a hand. “It doesn't matter. You know, Priestley, you could've gone to any security firm for backup. Why here?”