Primal Instinct (15 page)

“How's everyone doing tonight?”

A cheer rose up from the crowd.

“Everyone having a good time?” she asked, louder and with a bit more energy.

The crowd responded with a louder, more enthusiastic cheer. Smiling, she nodded at the DJ, who started the song, the opening strains of Heart's “All I Wanna Do Is Make Love to You” echoing through the speakers. She heard Sierra give an especially loud “Wooo!” and Taylor laughed, pushing her hair over one shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and listened, not wanting to come in off-key. She opened her eyes and her mouth at the same time and started to sing.

The Brass Monkey erupted with a cheer, and she might as well have been onstage in front of thousands of fans for the rush she got, feeding off of their energy. She did her best to perform, using the entire stage and meeting as many eyes as she could in the crowd, since she knew the song by heart and didn't need the lyric prompts from the screen. But inevitably, her eyes kept snapping back to Colt, whose mouth was tilted up in a half smile, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

She let the energy build over the song, each verse feeding into each increasingly passionate rendition of the chorus. When she got to the part about making love like strangers all night long, she pulled out all the stops, using the full power of her voice to wring as much emotion out of the words as she could, closing her eyes and letting herself get caught up in the song, losing herself in the music. When she opened her eyes, something had shifted in Colt's gaze. Even from all the way across the bar, she could see that the amusement was gone, replaced with something darker and more intense. Something her body recognized instantly as raw desire. If she hadn't been so used to being up onstage, she might've faltered. Instead, she kept pouring herself into the song, keeping the intensity going all the way through to the end. Before the final notes had faded away, raucous cheers filled the bar. She executed a curtsy and then hopped off the stage, tossing the mic back to the DJ.

When she returned to her table, she received high fives from everyone before settling back into her seat and picking up her Jack and Coke. She glanced over her shoulder at Colt, who seemed to have collected himself, and he shot her a thumbs-up along with an approving smile.

Sierra leaned across the table. “Wow. You've got it
bad
.”

“Shut up. I know.” Taylor glanced once again over her shoulder at Colt, who'd attracted the attention of a pretty brunette. She watched as the brunette swatted at Colt's muscled arm, laughing at something he'd said.

The effort not to walk over there, shove the brunette aside and kiss Colt, right there in front of everyone, was so great that Taylor clenched her fists, feeling as though she were going to vibrate out of her seat. Tearing her eyes away and looking for a distraction, she pulled the songbook toward her, and an idea took root. She'd failed at her Ping-Pong ball prank and needed to find another way to get him back for messing with her phone. She flipped through the book, smiling when she found what she was looking for.

Oh, this was going to be good.

“Are you going to sing another one?” asked Sierra, sipping her wine.

“Nope. Not me.” She quickly filled out the slip and handed it in, mischievous excitement prickling over her skin. She signaled to the waitress for another drink to keep her occupied while she waited.

Soon enough, Colt's name was called, pulling him away from the brunette—an added bonus to the prank—and onstage. Initially, he resisted, shaking his head with a furrowed brow, but the crowd's cheers finally coaxed him up on stage, the peer pressure too much to withstand. The look he shot Taylor as he passed was a sexy, teasing “I'm
so
going to get you for this” expression, his eyes narrowed, but a smile tilting up his lips, just slightly. He clearly had no doubt as to who'd signed him up to sing. Taylor suppressed a laugh as she met his eyes and did her best to look innocent.

He tipped his head back and groaned when the DJ announced the song he'd be singing.

The music started, the opening of “SexyBack” thumping through the sound system, and Colt shot her a steely glare. He raised the mic to his lips and started to sing.

And holy hell, he was actually good.

Really
good.

Taylor's mouth dropped open and Sierra spun in her seat. “Whoa! Bet you didn't see that coming, did you?”

No. She definitely hadn't.

His voice wasn't perfect, but he was hitting all the notes, and his cocky personality shone through onstage. Colt shook his shoulders and hips in perfect time with the music, looking like a seasoned pro, fun and confident. The man could move both in and out of bed, apparently.

Just when she thought his performance couldn't get any better, he dropped to his knees and slid to the front of the stage as he launched into the chorus, giving Channing Tatum a run for his money. He was totally into it, and was killing it up there.

Taylor raised her arms over her head and let out a long cheer, totally surprised by how freaking awesome he was at karaoke. He could sing, he had rhythm, and clearly didn't mind being up there.

He may have thwarted her attempt to prank him, but watching him up there, she didn't even care.

Around one, the crowd began to thin at the Brass Monkey. After ensuring that everyone had a safe ride home, whether by cab, hired car, limo, or otherwise, Colt led a very tipsy Taylor to where he'd parked the Charger around back, away from the prying lenses of any paparazzi.

He'd tried to cut her off about an hour ago, subtly suggesting that maybe just a Coke without the Jack might be a good idea. She'd shot him a haughty look and ordered another drink. However, despite the number of drinks she'd consumed, she'd behaved herself all night, not causing any trouble. The worst thing she'd done was boo Roman off the stage after the terrible rendition of Madonna's “Holiday” he'd sung, trying to impress Chloe. And even then, she'd only been joking and teasing, not meaning any real harm. Taylor had gone back up onstage once more and she and Sierra had led the bar in a sing-along of “Summer Nights” from
Grease
. Colt had smiled so hard through the whole thing that his cheeks had ached by the time the song finished. Taylor, playing Danny, and Sierra, playing Sandy, had been pretty adorable up there, singing to each other and encouraging the entire bar to join in.

“Did you have fun tonight?” he asked as he held open the passenger's-side door for Taylor. She took a step toward him.

“Shhhhhhhh,” she whispered, and sloppily pressed her right index finger against his lips, smushing them together in a smeary motion. “You're so pretty.”

“O-
kay
,” he said with a chuckle, stepping back and gently guiding her into the car. She tumbled in with a laugh, her eyes bright in the semidarkness.

“So pretty.” She sighed and curled into the seat.

Making sure her long legs were safely tucked in, he closed the door and jogged around to the other side. Dropping into the driver's seat, he glanced over at her. To make sure she wasn't puking in the Charger. Not because he couldn't ever seem to keep his eyes off her for more than a few torturous seconds at a time.

“Did
you
have fun tonight?” she asked, swiveling her head around in a lazy semicircle to look at him. “I made you sing.” She leaned toward him, as if confiding some deep, dark secret. “And you were really, really good.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Well, thank you. I like singing. There was usually a karaoke machine kicking around on base, so I've had some practice. That being said, maybe we should cool it on the pranks, given everything that's going on with your dad, and your stalker.”

“Ha! So you're conceding defeat in the prank war?”

“Hey, now. Didn't say that.”

She blew out a breath, making a raspberry sound. “Please. Prince Sparklepants? Strippers? I totally win.” Before he could reply, she charged ahead on a completely different path. “Let's go to 7-Eleven!” She clapped her hands together enthusiastically.

“For what?”

She shot him a puzzled glare as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto Wilshire Boulevard. “For a burrito. Duh.”

“You don't need a burrito.”

“Nobody
needs
a burrito. I want one, and there's a 7-Eleven a few blocks up. So. Onward.” Leaning back against the headrest, she turned to look at him. “Are you telling me you've never gone to 7-Eleven for burritos after the bar?”

He shrugged. “I guess not.”

“Dude, where have you been?”

“Well, there was that time I was in the Army for twelve years.”

“They don't have burritos in the Army?” She arched an eyebrow.

He suppressed the smile teasing across his lips. “Not usually.”

“Were you ever scared?” she asked quietly.

“Sometimes.”

“Did you kill people?”

He turned to look at her, not wanting to get into all of that shit tonight. “Taylor, I don't want to talk about this right now.”
Or ever.

“Oh. Sorry.” She turned away to look out the window, angling her body away from him, and he felt like an asshole.

“Don't be sorry. I just…” He swung into the brightly illuminated 7-Eleven parking lot. “It's not something I like to talk about.”

“Well.” She swung her head back toward him, her blue eyes bright even in the dark interior of the car. “If you ever do feel like talking…” She shrugged. “You could talk to me.”

“I appreciate that.”

But he wasn't sure she heard him because she'd already pushed open the car door, singing “Burrito time!” in a high-pitched, girly voice.

He really should've tried harder to dissuade her from those last couple of drinks. Shaking his head, he followed her through the parking lot, and held the door for her to go ahead of him into the convenience store. The store was empty, so hopefully they'd be in and out in minutes flat. She took a few steps in before whirling so quickly that he didn't have time to stop, and they collided. Instinctively, his arms went around her to steady her, and she swayed into him.

“I want to steal a burrito,” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.

Gently, he eased her away from him. As much as he might want her in his bed again, tonight wasn't the night. Not when she was drunk.

“No stealing.”

She batted her eyelashes at him. “But it would be fun.”

“No stealing,” he repeated, cutting his eyes at the teenage clerk, who was completely absorbed in his comic book and ignoring them, thankfully. “I'll buy you one. Deal?”

She nodded enthusiastically, her blond waves falling around her face. “Deal.”

While he procured her a burrito, he watched as she wandered through the fluorescent-lit aisles, humming to herself and twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Steaming pocket of carbs, fat, and God knew what else in hand, he found her at the back, studying the magazine rack.

“If you had to pick one dirty magazine, which one would you pick?” Her eyes lit up when he handed her the burrito. “Ooh! Thanks.” She bit into it and closed her eyes, sighing out a low moan that had blood flowing straight to his dick. She turned her attention back to the magazine rack. “I think…” She danced the fingers of her free hand over the covers. “Oh, this one!” She pulled out an issue of
Camo Cock
, featuring a very buff and oiled-up model wearing nothing but camo-print briefs that barely contained his obviously photoshopped bulge. Colt glanced back at the teenage clerk, whose full attention was now on his phone, unconcerned about his only customers.

“Really? You think that's my flavor?” He crossed his arms in front of his chest and tamped down a smile, trying to look stern.

“Well…” She waved the magazine from left to right, and then through a mouthful of burrito said, “It's military.” She turned it toward herself and glanced at the cover. “This isn't what you wear under your soldier-pant things?”

“One: I don't wear ‘soldier-pant things' anymore,” he said. “Two: Those are definitely not standard issue.” He took a step toward her and watched her throat work as she swallowed the last of her burrito. “And three: You're awfully interested in my underwear.”

She leaned in, and suddenly their faces were inches apart. “Maybe it's what's
in
your underwear that I'm interested in.”

For one long, taut second, their eyes locked, and then she looked down at the magazine, holding it up between them. “I'm gonna steal it for you, because I like you, and it's okay if you're too embarrassed to buy it for yourself.”

“For the last time, no stealing. What is it with you? You get drunk and turn into a klepto?”

Blue eyes flashing mischievously, she glanced around the store before starting to slip the dirty mag under her leather jacket. He grabbed for it before it fully disappeared and she laughed, turning away and trying to hold on to it. He circled his arms around her, one hand slipping under her jacket and grabbing the magazine while the other lightly pinched the soft flesh between her ribcage and her hipbone. She shrieked with laughter and loosened her grip on the magazine, and he pulled it free. She spun back quickly to face him, and he held the magazine behind his back, stepping forward and pinning her against the magazine rack with his chest. She scrabbled for it, wiggling against him in a way that had his cock rising quickly to attention, and he dropped it on the floor, the pages fluttering noisily before it landed with a clap against the floor. Before she could maneuver around him, he pinned her wrists to her sides and her eyes found his, pupils wide. She took several rapid, deep breaths that pressed her breasts into his chest, and just as he was about to release her, she tipped her head forward and kissed him.