We finish out meal with idle chitchat, being interrupted only once by a fan asking for a picture and an autograph, which Colton gives obligingly. Rachel does a good job keeping the rest of his fans at bay, saying that the patio area is closed for a private party.
I can see why women are so taken with him. Why they try and stake their claim to him as Tawny surely had earlier. He leans back in his chair, stretching his torso up before swallowing the last of his beer. He glances over at me and grins at my slow perusal of his torso, over his biceps, and up to his face. My belly tightens at the sight of him and the memory of his body pressing me into the mattress.
“See something you like?” he asks, purposefully pulling up the hem of his shirt to scratch an imaginary itch on his washboard abs just above the waistline of his jeans. I breathe in deeply, his hand lazily scratching down to where his happy trail disappears beneath his button fly. Damn him!
I pull my eyes back up to his to see amusement laced with desire flashing there. Two can play this game. I think of Haddie and her skewed advice. Embrace your inner slut, I repeat like a mantra. Trying to summon my simmering sexuality so that I might somehow fall somewhere in the realm of appeal that Colton has.
I shift in my chair, folding my leg and placing my foot underneath me. I bend forward onto the table, braced on my elbows so that my cleavage is on display as I lean into him. I watch Colton’s eyes trace over my lips, down the line of my neck and straight to the curve of my breasts. His tongue darts out and wets his lower lip as they part in concentration. I continue forward until my lips are inches from his, “Something I like?” I reiterate breathlessly as I glance down to his lips and then back up to his eyes. “Hmmm,” I whisper as if I’m mulling it over, “I’m still testing the goods to see if they’re up to par.” My lips are a whisper from his and when he purses his to kiss mine, I conveniently shift back in my chair, denying him the contact.
Impatience flashes fleetingly in Colton’s eyes before the corners of his mouth curl up as he regards me, shaking his head. “That’s how you want to play this, Rylee?” His playful question is spoken without a hint of amusement. A hint of warning. The intensity in his eyes has my body reacting: my pulse, my breath, my nerve endings. “You want to play hard to get, sweetheart?” he asks as he removes his wallet out of his back pocket and pulls a generous amount of bills from it, and sets them on the table. He laughs. The low resonating sound reverberates through me as I continue to watch him silently, a coy smile on my face despite realizing that when it comes to Colton, I’m in way over my head if I’m trying to play games. He reaches out and cups the side of my face running the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. Desire pools in my belly, aching for him to touch more of me.
Colton leans forward with determination in his eyes. He moves so that his mouth is next to my ear. I can feel the warmth of his breath and my skin prickles in anticipation of his touch. “You see, sweetheart, if you want to play hard to get,” he whispers, trailing a finger down my opposing neckline, “you’ve picked the wrong guy to play games with.” He closes his lips on my earlobe and sucks on it, the feeling mainlining right down to my sex. I arch my body in response; aware that at our backs is a restaurant full of people. “Didn’t your momma ever tell you that playing hard to get is a surefire way to get the man you want?” The taunting edge to his voice is seductive, mesmerizing, and sexy as hell. He continues to trace his finger down my shoulder and arm until it reaches my hip. He smoothes the palm of his hand over my thigh and slides it slowly forward until it reaches the apex. His thumb glances over my cleft, conveniently pressing the hard seem of denim against my throbbing clit. I suck in a breath at the sensation. “You wanna play hardball, sweetheart? Welcome to the big leagues.”
I exhale, his words foreplay to my already thrumming libido. He leans back and brushes a teasing kiss on my lips. He pulls back, triumph on his face. He quirks his eyebrows at me, glancing down to my chest and then back up. “Besides, Rylee, your nipples are betraying your ploy to play hard to get.”
What? I glance down to note that the tightened buds of my nipples are pressing tautly against my sweater in an all-out announcement to Colton of my arousal for him. Damn it!
Colton stands abruptly, smiling brazenly at me before reaching out his hand to me. “Come,” he tells me and all I can think is that I hope to very soon, my body yearning with the desire for him to touch me again.
We exit the restaurant from a rear door that Rachel directs us toward to avoid the paparazzi waiting at the front. We make it to his car unscathed, and Colton quickly maneuvers the car onto Highway One. We drive in silence, the air in the car crackling with the unrequited sexual tension between us.
I’m unsure where we’re going but I’m smart enough to know that both of us desire the same thing at this moment. No words are needed. I can see it in the way Colton grips the steering wheel. In the invisible waves of anticipation and need rolling off of him.
We eventually exit the highway on the outskirts of Pacific Palisades and turn down a street a couple of blocks from the beach. Colton parks in front of a Tuscan-style townhouse and exits the car without saying a word. His home perhaps? By the glow of a streetlight I can see a stucco façade with wrought iron accents and a courtyard enclosed with a rustic gate. It’s comfortably charming and not at all what I think I expected of where Colton lives. I guess I figured him for modern architecture, clean lines, and monochromatic. He opens the door behind me and gathers our stuff before opening my door to help me out of the car. He grabs my hand to lead me up the cobblestone walkway without speaking or making eye contact.