Crashed (Driven, #3)(51)
And when I realize it—when I notice my surroundings—I’m shocked once again … but this surprise is one that melts my heart.
“Oh, Colton!” The words fall out of my mouth as I take in all of the preparations around me. A portable movie screen has been set up on the far end of the patio and the chaise lounges have been arranged in theater style seating, draped in several layers of none other than sheets. A smile spreads over my face and warmth permeates my soul as I take in the little touches, little things that let me know he cares: a bowl of Hershey’s kisses, a bottle of wine, funnels of cotton candy, lighted candles sprinkled everywhere, and clouds of pillows to lie back on.
I can’t help the tears that well in my eyes nor do I care when one slips over and slides silently down my cheek. The thoughtfulness that went into everything that sits beautifully in front of me leaves me at a loss for words. I turn back to face him and just shake my head at what I see … because if what’s behind me robs my words, the beauty inside and out of the man before me steals my heart. He stands there naked— unshaven, hair mussed and, not including the shaved patch, in desperate need of a haircut, and a look in his eyes that reinforces the words he said to me downstairs.
“Thank you,” I tell him with a broken breath. “This is the sweetest thing …” My voice drifts off as he takes a step toward me and brings his hands up to cup my cheeks and angle my head up so I can meet his eyes. “The best kind of night out. A movie with my Ace and sheets … nothing between us but sheets.”
He smiles that shy smile that undoes me and leans in for a whisper of a kiss before pulling back. “That’s exactly right, Ry. Nothing between us but sheets. Nothing between us ever again but a set of sheets.”
His words stagger me, move me, complete me, and all I can do is step forward and press my lips to his—feel his heart against me, the scrape of his unshaven jaw against my chin, see the love in his eyes—and say, “Nothing but sheets.”
The heat of the morning sun warms my skin, chased by the cool blow of the ocean’s breeze. The stereo we forgot to turn off last night plays Matt Nathanson’s voice just barely audible above the noise of the surf. I snuggle in closer to Colton, so content with the unexpected turn our lives have taken when we more or less crashed into one another that I swear my heart hurts from the enormity of it all. With the second chances we’ve both been given—that we’re both slowly accepting—that a year ago we could have never imagined.
I squint my eyes, thankful for the trellis above that blocks the sun from where we fell asleep last night on the bed of chaise lounges. I don’t even bother to suppress the sigh of a more than satisfied woman as I reminisce making slow, sweet love to him under a blanket of stars and in a bed made of possibilities.
I recall rising over him, sinking down onto him, and watching the unguarded emotion flow through his eyes. How the soft and slow with Colton is just as mind blowing as the hard and fast. How a man used to showing no emotion—used to guarding his heart at all costs—is slowly opening up, moving each brick one at a time, allowing the key to turn in the lock.
I smile softly as I lift my head and look at all the reminders of last night. How sweet the gesture was from a man who swears he doesn’t subscribe to the notion of romance, when everything around us screams just the opposite. What man calls in a favor from his dad to get a copy of his not-released-yet but soon-to-be-blockbuster movie so he can have an uninterrupted date night with his girlfriend? And even though I came to find out he had Quinlan’s help, it was all his idea … the little touches here and there, because it’s the little things that mean so much more to me than the extravagant ones.
I raise my head up from where it rests on his chest and watch him sleep, let my love for him warm the parts of me the breeze has cooled. “I can feel you watching me,” he says groggily with a curl of his lip even though his eyes remain closed.
“Mmm-hmm.” I can’t help the smile on my face.
“Whose idea was it to sleep out here? It’s too damn bright.” He shifts, eyes still closed, but brings the arm that rests behind his head down to pull me closer to him.
“I believe the words were, ‘Your voodoo * has worked its magic and stolen mine. I have no energy to move,’” I repeat, not hiding the smug look on my face or the pride in my voice.
“Nope, definitely not my words,” he says before cracking open an eye and looking over to me, that salacious smirk I love displayed proudly. “I’ve got magic in spades, baby, it must have been some other guy your voodoo sucked the life from.”
I fight back the urge to laugh because that gravelly morning voice and those sleepy eyes are the perfect combination of sexy, making it extremely hard to feign nonchalance. “Yeah, you’re right. Remember, I don’t do bad boys such as yourself.” I shrug. “It was that clean-shaven guy I see on the side. The one who gives me what you can’t,” I taunt as I lift the sheet resting over our hips and peek under it, my eyes roaming greedily over his impressive morning hard-on. My muscles, slightly sore from last night, immediately clench in welcome anticipation of more to come. I close my eyes to hide the desire I’m sure clouds them and make a satisfied moan.
“See something you like? Something he can’t give you?” I love the playful tone in his voice.