Dark Sexy Knight (A Modern Fairytale)(23)

“At your house?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Okay,” she said, looking up at him, her smile shy but lovely. “He goes to bed at eight o’clock on the dot.”

Colt searched her eyes, ignoring every warning in his head that told him this was a very bad idea. All he could do was live for today. He had no idea what tomorrow would bring.

“I’ll be ready at 8:05.”

She giggled again. “It’s a date.”

“You’re getting soaked.”

“I don’t care.”

He scowled at her. “You’ll catch cold.”

“Maybe,” she said, reaching out to place her palm flat against his T-shirt, directly over his heart. “But you just smiled at me and asked me out on a date.”

“So what?” he growled, stepping toward her, closing the distance between them as he reached up and covered her hand with his.

She cocked her head to the side, her face slick with rainwater, her eyes soft and inviting. “So whatever happens next, it was worth it.”

***

Verity was a touchy-feely person.

Always had been.

Hugging someone or reaching out to touch someone’s arm or chest or cheek was second nature to her. But Colton had not yet reciprocated her touches. Aside from shaking her hand when they first met, he had endured her touch, but he hadn’t voluntarily touched her back.

So it surprised her when he reached up and covered her hand with his, pressing it flush against his chest and holding it there. She could feel the thunderous pounding of his heart beneath her palm, through the wall of muscle under his shirt.

Kiss me, she thought, holding his eyes. Kiss me now. Kiss me here in the rain, and let me know you’re starting to like me every bit as much as I’m starting to like you.

Verity knew she probably looked inexperienced, and compared with other women her age, perhaps she was, but she wasn’t a blushing virgin either. She’d had a boyfriend in high school and another after high school, when she worked as a waitress in a diner not far from Camilla.

But Tony, the high school quarterback, had dumped her for Chloe, the head of the dance squad. And Johnny, the short order cook, had really been more of a fling that fizzled out quickly when her parents passed away and she quit her job to take care of Ryan and the farm. She’d slept with both men and regretted neither, though she had yet to fall in love with someone, to give her heart to someone. And though she knew rationally that what she felt for Colton was not love but a wild crush brought on by his hot body coupled with his kindness, she couldn’t stop the intensity of it, or how badly she wanted to take it to a physical level.

She had urges like every other red-blooded woman. And right this minute? She wanted Colton Lane’s arms around her body, his lips moving insistently on hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth as he pushed her against the car and ground his hips into hers. She wanted to feel the swell of his sex against her belly, so she could dream about what it would feel like to have him buried deep inside her. Her skin flushed, and under her yellow T-shirt her nipples beaded into tight points. She wanted him. Bad.

As though he could read her mind, his eyes narrowed, and he bent his head toward her. Reaching for his neck to guide him closer, her fingers landed on the slick, taut skin under his hair, and she pulled him closer—

The car door opened. “Ver’ty? We goin’ home, or what?”

She froze, her eyes snapping open to find Colton mere inches from her face, blinking at her, as though shocked from the same consuming fog of lust as she.

“Um,” she murmured, her voice breathy and dazed. “Yeah. In a sec.”

“I’m tired, Ver’ty.”

“Coming,” she said, gulping as she found Colton’s eyes focused on her lips, the muscles under both of her hands coiled and tense.

“Thursday,” he muttered, his breath soft on her lips, his hand sliding across hers as he let it fall from his chest.

She relaxed her palm on his neck, caressing his throat with the tips of her fingers as she took a step away from him and whispered, “Thursday.”

With a ragged, frustrated breath, she walked around the car to open the passenger door.

“Verity,” said Colton from over the top of the car.

She looked up at him.

“We’re a bad idea,” he said, his scowl back in full force.

“Why?” she asked.

He looked like he was about to say something, but instead his shoulders slumped, and he opened his car door. “I can’t . . .” He stopped, shaking his head like he couldn’t find the right words. Finally he said, “You could do better than me.”

Had she believed him unhandsome when they first met? She stared at him over the top of the car—at his long hair, square chin, and broad shoulders. Her body still tingled from the kiss they’d almost shared, and her heart clutched from his quiet denial when he was—in every way she could imagine—her living and breathing knight in shining armor.

“I don’t think so,” she said, opening her door and slipping into the car before he could say anymore.

***

But Colt wasn’t so sure, and as they rode home in silence, he mulled over the reasons why getting involved with Verity was such a very, very bad idea.

It had started when he was in grade school: the quick, hot, red rage that would rise up inside him like a flash storm over the sea. His mother claimed it came from out of nowhere—the slightest provocation would bring on a reaction so overinflated, there was no time for anticipation. She could barely brace herself before he’d swing into a full-blown tantrum, which often led to the damage of material things, like furniture or clothing, and sometimes even threatened her safety when a plate or mug went flying. His father’s answer to such episodes was to yell louder and hit harder until Colt submitted, cowering in the corner with a black eye and bruised limb, his anger subsiding and tears falling. His mother’s approach was to take him to a psychiatrist while his father was away on a business trip.