Branded as Trouble (Rough Riders #6)(60)

“You expectin’ me to say I’m a dumbass?”


“Or a smartass. Or you behaved like a jackass…take your pick.”


He smiled. “I’ve missed you like crazy the last forty-nine hours.”


“You’ve kept track of how long it’s been since you’ve seen me?”


I always do. “Uh. Yeah. Does that make me a pathetic loser?”


“No, it’s very sweet, in a stalkerish sort of way.”


“Indy—”


“So you really missed me?”


Colt rested his hot forehead against the cool glass of the sliding glass door. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”


“You have a funny way of showing it.”


“You mean fighting with you in public? Or groping you in public?”


“Both, I guess.”


“I’m hopin’ you preferred one way over the other.”


“I did.”


“You gonna tell me which one?”


“Nope.” She let loose a husky laugh. “But I might be convinced to show you.”


“I wish you were here.”


The doorbell rang.


“Hang on, someone’s at the door.” By the time he reached the foyer, he prayed his suspicion was right.


India stood on his steps. “I was on my way over to check on you before you called.”


“Why?”


“I thought I might’ve scared you away for good. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”


“All right as in…you wanted to check if I’d swung by the package liquor store?”


“No. I’m not here as your sponsor.” She frowned. “Especially since I’m no longer your sponsor.”


“Then why are you here?”


India locked her eyes to his. “Because I missed you.”


“And?” The moment of truth. Of intent. His heart raced. His body went on full alert.


“And you do realize our two weeks of strictly dating are up, right?”


Colt decided doing a victory lap would be a little over the top.


“Yes.”


“Can I come in?”


He set his phone on the library table. “As long as you understand the instant you cross that threshold, India Ellison, I’m gonna be all over you.”


Giving him a cocky grin, she stepped into the foyer.


He had India in his arms before her other foot met the tile. His mouth was on hers as he carried her into the living room.


Between frantic kisses, he whispered, “I need—”



“I know, Colt, me too.”


“No foreplay.”


“Fine.” She kissed him. “Good.” She kissed him again.


“Whatever. We’ve had two weeks worth of foreplay.”


“Hell, woman, we’ve had three f*ckin’ years of foreplay,” he growled. “In my bed. Now.”


“No. No more waiting.” India trapped his face in her hands.


“Right here.”


“Where? Against the wall? On the couch? Over the chair?”


“On the white rug. Move the coffee table.”


“Done.” He set her down and dragged the iron and glass table out of the way as if it weighed nothing. Then he reached for her again.