Driven (9 page)

“I don’t do the girlfriend thing,” he deadpans, stopping my momentum.

“Oh, I see.
The casual fucking thing is more your style then
?” I see anger flash in his eyes before he reins it in, covering it with a diminutive smirk. “I guess I was right to not expect too much from you.”

“Why tie myself to just one woman when there are so many out there vying for my attention?” he goads, trying to push more of my buttons.

“Do you actually believe your own bullshit lines?” My God, the man is relentless and exasperating at the same time. He just flashes me a smarmy smile and folds his arms across his chest. I try to not focus on the play of muscles beneath his shirt with the motion. Try not to imagine what he looks like with his shirt off. “You sure are full of yourself, aren’t you, Ace?”

He cocks his head and looks at me. “I can arrange that it be you who’s full of me instead, if you’d like?”

I stop mid-motion at his words. Regardless of how forward and crass his comment is, all of the muscles south of my waist clench with a furl of desire. I can feel the flush of heat creep up my cheeks, and I stare at a non-existent spot on the wall for a moment hoping he doesn’t notice. He chuckles softly at my reaction and my eyes flash up to meet his, my expression belying how dumbstruck I am at his words. It’s only when I stare at him incredulously for a few moments, my mouth opening and closing trying to form words to berate him on his arrogance that I see the crack in his game. A leisurely, humor filled smile graces his lips, causing the lines around his eyes to crinkle.

“C’mon,” he teases, taking step closer to me. “You walked right into that one. I couldn’t resist.”

I know the feeling
. I just stare at him, shaking my head. “Okay,” I concede. “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just say that. But seriously, why don’t you do the girlfriend thing?”

He shrugs casually. “Not my thing. I don’t like strings attaching me to anything with permanence. Relationships equal drama.”

A guy with commitment issues, like that’s something new
.

“So I was right?” I mutter more to myself than to him, astounded at his brutal honesty.

“About what?” He asks angling his head to the side as he approaches me slowly. My heart beats faster for the tone of his voice and the aura emanating from him has changed. I can sense raw desire as he nears. The danger. My body clenches in anticipation while my brain tells me to retreat quickly.

“What I told you on Saturday—you do like to just
fuck ’em and chuck ’em
.” My voice is quiet for the temerity behind my words has faded with every step closer he gets to me.

“I told you once I don’t take kindly to insults. You just did it again. For that alone you deserve to be taken over my knee,” his voice rings low with the unexpected threat that has my thighs clenching in expectant desire, and I’m not a girl into that type of thing. And yet that type of thing with Colton, his hands on me, possessing me, pushing me to ride that fine line bordering between pleasure and pain—arouses me beyond coherence.

I part my lips as he comes within inches of mine. My body is attuned to him. His scent. The intake of his breath. My back arches in reflex as he lifts a hand to my cheek. “It sucks, doesn’t it?” he asks as he trails a finger along my jaw line, stopping, then brushing against my bottom lip.

“What does?” I sigh softly as his finger leaves my skin.

“When you have to stick to your guns out of principal rather than giving into the temptation right in front of you,” he whispers, turning the tables on me. “There is no shame, Rylee, in letting your body have what it craves.”

We stand, inches from each other, letting the weight of his words settle in my psyche. I know he is right. My body’s deepening ache tells me so. That I want exactly what he is offering.

“It’s hard to deny it, sweetheart, when it’s written all over your body.”

I jerk back from him as if I’ve been bitten. His words fuel my ire and irritate me all at once. “No! I—”

“Shhh,” he murmurs stepping back toward me, pressing a finger to my lips, his eyes ablaze with salacious intensity. “Just know, Rylee, the best sex you will ever have … will be with me.” He says in a low, hypnotizing voice that seems to knock all of the air from my lungs and reason from my usually sensible head.

I jump back, needing space from his carnal words and unending arrogance. He’s so forward, so cocksure it’s almost unattractive.
Almost.
The man can definitely talk a good game. Too bad I’ll never know if it’s true or not, if for no other reason than to give his oversized ego a lesson.

“I’ll comply with the damn agreement, Colton.” I huff out. “For my boys. For the many kids to come.” I stalk toward the table, to collect my things. “Not for you. Or your stupid machinations behind it.” I square the papers up rather forcefully on the table, the paper hitting wood the only sound in the room. I look up, my steely eyes pinning his. “I will not sleep with you, Ace.”

“Yes, you will.” He smiles smugly at me.

Despite the vicious bang his words spark between my legs, I manage a single laugh. “Don’t even think for a single minute—”

“Colton!” A sexy voice purrs at the door to the conference room, interrupting me midsentence.

I snap my head up to see the svelte Bailey, smiling seductively, all wide eyes and batting eyelashes. The insecurities I have with regard to my sensuality rise to the surface as I swallow loudly, looking to see Colton’s reaction. My eyes meet his quickly because despite the interruption, his eyes have never left mine. I am unsure what to make of this. He purses his lips, the unresolved issues left between us hanging in the silence.

All of the sudden, I’m not feeling well and want desperately to escape from this room. From this man. From witnessing the familiarity between Bailey and Colton. From being jealous despite expressing that I don’t want anything like that with him.

Oblivious to the tension, Bailey sashays into the room, heading toward Colton, finger twirling her perfectly straight, perfectly bottle-dyed auburn hair.

Regret flashes through Colton’s eyes as he glances toward her and smiles a warm hello, ever the consummate gentleman. I turn abruptly to leave, knocking into my chair so that it scrapes loudly against the hardwood floor.

“I didn’t realize you’d snapped your fingers,” I mutter as I try again to get around my chair.

From behind me, Colton releases a hearty, sincere laugh at my comment that despite my frustration with him causes me to smile. As I exit the room, I hear him call my name. I keep walking, wanting to further myself from the undressing with the eyes I’m sure will be occurring momentarily.

With my lack of response, he yells out the doorway to me, “This is by no means over, Rylee.”

I continue without even responding, walk right past my office, and straight to the elevator doors. I ignore Stella’s call of my name, the blinking light indicating messages on my phone, and have luck when the elevator door opens as I approach. I need fresh air to clear my head right now, and this office, which is consumed by his presence at the moment, is not helping me.

I am a confident woman who is sure of myself and not afraid to speak up, so why do I feel like one of those blubbering girls I can’t stand? Why is it Colton reduces me to a mass of hormones, angry one minute and wanting his lips on mine the next?

I sag against the wall of the elevator in frustration. He gets me so worked up. So angry. I can’t figure out what I want to do more, punch him or sleep with him.

CHAPTER 6

The warm California sun relaxes me as I drink in its warmth in my backyard. I recline in the chaise, tilting my head to get the last rays before they ebb and fade to dusk. The leaves of several palm trees that line our backyard fence rustle with the light breeze, providing me with a sense of calm.

The day’s events have taken their toll on me. My meeting and revelations with Colton were no less exhausting than my day with the boys. And with Josie down with the flu, I’ll be back at the house in less than twenty-four hours to cover her shift. Despite it being early evening, I really should be getting ready for bed—sleeping off some of my exhaustion from my long week. But I’ve let Haddie talk me into a glass of wine and some pizza that she’s putting together in the house.

I close my eyes, leaning my head back, sighing as I allow myself to believe that the new facilities can actually become a reality now. That our new approach in treating orphaned children can expand and hopefully become the pioneering protocol for change in our foster system. The premise that kids can thrive in a home environment even when they don’t have their parents or family around. The idea that by creating small groups of these misfit kids under one roof—where they have consistency of guardians, rules, school, counseling—will lead to healthy, more society-ready adults. A place where if they don’t get adopted, as most kids these ages don’t, they will not have to move from foster home to foster home, or feel like a pariah at school because they are embarrassed that they don’t have a home to live in, but rather an orphanage. They will have a place where they belong.

With the money that Colton is helping provide, our new facility is a reality. Random houses in regular cities where kids who are used to having nothing will get something new for the first time in their lives. Somewhere they’ll feel safe, they’ll be loved, and they’ll have a sense of family.

A shiver of pride runs through me as I think of all of the possibilities and all of the hope that we can create with the completion of this project.

And then juxtaposed with the excitement over the new facility is my angst in regards to Colton. I’m so sick of thinking about it, him, and why I should keep my distance—of mentally making my pros and cons list and weighing them against each other. I still can’t figure out what to make of his comment that he doesn’t do the “girlfriend thing.” Why do I still keep thinking about him if there’s nothing there?
Because there is
. I can’t deny that he’s more than easy on the eyes. And I definitely can’t act as if the sparks that shoot up my arm when he touches me are imaginary. But I don’t want to get involved with him and his purported womanizing ways, especially now that I have to because of work.

I sigh heavily when I hear the sliding door open and Haddie walks out with a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a pizza box stacked with plates and napkins on top. I suddenly realize how hungry I am. She walks toward me, the sun framing her tall figure, setting her blond hair alight like a halo surrounding her head. Long, lean legs stretch from short khaki shorts and her oversized bosom is covered in an orange camisole. As usual, she is accessorized perfectly and styled flawlessly. And despite her tireless perfection that makes me feel inadequate in so many ways, I love her like the sister I never had.

“I’m starving,” I announce, sitting up from the chair to help Haddie place everything on the table.

“And I’m starving for information on what’s going on with you. On why you’re out here so deep in thought.” She prods as she pours the glasses with the red wine, and I serve pizza on the plates.

“Just like in our college dorm room,” I state nodding at our meal, laughing at the memory of two frightened freshman thrown together away from home.

She was my freshman roommate. I could have never of guessed that first week of college orientation that the Barbie Doll I was roomed with would turn out to be the person closest to me in the whole world. She had waltzed in our dorm room, a model out of a Ralph Lauren ad campaign, so confident and sure of herself, her ad-worthy family following behind her, taking in the meager surroundings of the painted brick walls and small closet space. My gawky self watched her, cringing inwardly at the thought of having to be reminded every morning I woke up at how inferior I was to a beautiful creature such as her.

I sat picking at the hem of my dress as her parents left for good. She shut the door, turned to me, a huge grin on her heart-shaped lips, and said, “Thank God they’re finally gone!” I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she sagged against the door in relief. She angled her head, studying me, sizing me up. “I think it’s time to celebrate!” She said hurrying over to her suitcase.

Within moments, she produced a bottle of tequila, hidden deep in her belongings. She came back toward me, flopping on my bed next to me. She unscrewed the cap and held the bottle up in the air between us, “To Freshman year!” she toasted, “To friendship, freedom, cute boys, and having each other’s backs.” She winced as she took a swig of the strong liquid and then handed the bottle over to me. I looked nervously back and forth between her and the bottle, and then wanting desperately to be liked by her, took a swallow, the burn bringing tears to my eyes.

“My God, we were so naïve back then. And young!” she joins in my reminiscence. “We’ve been through so much since freshman orientation!”

“All we need is that cheap tequila to bring us back.” I laugh and then fall into silence as the impending night starts to eat the sun’s rays. “Eight years is a long time, Had,” I admit, taking a deep drink of the tart wine, letting it soothe the anxiety gnawing at the edges of my mind.

“Long enough,” she says taking a seat, looking at me over her own, “that I know something is bugging you. What’s going on, Ry?”

I smile softly, so grateful to have a friend like her and cursed at the same time because she knows my every nuance. I feel tears burn in my throat, the sudden force of my emotions surprising me.

Haddie leans forward, her perfectly tanned legs bending beneath her as she reaches out and places a hand on my leg. “What is it, Rylee? What has you so twisted up?”

I take a moment to find my voice, wanting to tell her everything, to get her opinion on whether I’m being obtuse in my confliction over Colton. Maybe I know what she is going to tell me if I confess, and that’s why I find myself holding back. Not wanting to hear that it’s okay after all this time to let go and feel again. That being with someone else does nothing to tarnish Max, his memory, or what we had together.