“Hello, Rylee.” The rasp of his voice saying my name is a hidden aphrodisiac, sending chills down my spine and eliciting a tingling in my belly.

“What are you doing here?” I look at him with confusion etched on my face hiding that my insides are privately jumping for joy, shocked that he is here in front of me.

“Well,” he says pushing himself off of the car as I walk to a stop in front of him. He exudes a confidence that most people would kill to have. “According to you, I took the checkered flag last night, Rylee,” a provocative smile grows on his lips, “but I seem to have neglected to collect my trophy.”

“Trophy?”

He takes my hand with eyes sparkling full of humor still locked on mine, and tugs on it, pulling me forcibly against his chest, “Yes. You.”

Oh. Fucking. My. Thoughts run chaotically through my head. How do I respond to that? To him? When all I can think about is the feel of his warm, hard body against mine, and the fact that he is here for me again after I ran out on him last night. I tell myself to breathe, his mere presence stripping me of the ability to perform the most basic of functions. I quickly try to regain my composure, telling myself that I need to keep our interactions on my terms—revert to my sarcastic nature—in order to make sure that I can keep my wits about me.

I hear Haddie’s voice in my head telling me to channel my inner-slut. To go for it.

I breathe in again before I raise my eyes to meet the challenge in his. His pure male scent, soap mixed with cologne fills my nose and clouds my head. “Well, Ace, I think you’ve got your eyes on the wrong prize.” I pull my hand from his and put it on his chest, playfully pushing him back, distancing his body from mine. Needing the space to keep a clear head. “If all you’re looking for is a trophy, you have your bevy of beauties you can have your pick from. I’m sure that one of them would be more than willing to be a trophy on your arm.” I skirt past him toward the front door. I turn back to face him, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth, “And become another notch on your belt,” I shrug as I take a step backwards. “You could probably start by calling Raquel, is it? I’m sure she’ll forgive you for last night. I mean, you were …” I turn around and take a step for the door, pretending that I’m searching for a word before shrugging and tossing over my shoulder, “decent. She’s probably thrilled with decent.”

I wish I could see the look on his face for the sharp intake of breath I hear tells me that I made a direct hit with my comment. I don’t have to wait long to find out because within a breath, Colton grabs my arm and spins me around to him, pressing my body against his.

“Decent, huh?” he questions, his eyes boring into mine. I see anger, humor, defiance, all mixed together with desire. His breath flutters over my face, his lips inches from mine—so close that I clench my fists to resist the temptation to kiss him.

It takes all of my composure to keep up my charade of nonchalance. To hide how much he excites me, ignites my insides and shatters my control with just the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch, and the hint of his dominant nature.

I deliberately bite my bottom lip and look my eyes up in thought before bringing them back to his, “Hmmm, a smidgen above average, I’d say,” sarcasm dripping from each word as I smirk at him, lying through my teeth and then some.

“Maybe I need to show you again. I assure you that decent is not an accurate assessment.”

He snorts loudly as I push away from him again and provocatively sashay my way up the front walk, “I need to go stretch,” I say sensing his movement behind me. “Are you gonna come?” I ask innocently, a victorious smirk he can’t see wide on my face.

“If you keep moving your ass like that, I am,” he mutters under his breath as he follows me into the house.

I lead him into the family room hoping Haddie is occupied elsewhere in the house and offer him a seat on the couch before I sit on the floor directly in front of him to stretch. I stretch my legs out to either side of me as wide as they can go and lower my chest to the ground, hands out in front of me on the floor. With the help of my sports bra and my chest pressing into the floor, my cleavage is pushed up and hedges over the top of my tank. I can see Colton’s eyes wander over my body, stopping at my chest, and taking in the flexibility I’m purposefully displaying to drive him crazy. I can hear his hiss of desire, and I see his throat work in a forced swallow.

“So, Colton,” I say, stretching out over one prone leg, turning my head to look at him. I stifle a smile as I recognize the lust clouding his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“Christ, Rylee!” He runs a hand haphazardly through his hair, his eyes moving over the cleavage again, before raising up to meet my eyes. He unintentionally wets his bottom lip with his tongue.

“What?” I respond all doe-eyed, as if I have no idea what he’s agitated over. I’ve never played the femme fatale—never had the courage to—but something about Colton allows me to feel daring and bold. It’s a very heady feeling to watch him react to my subtlest motions.

“We need to talk about last night.” I see his eyes narrow as I switch positions, now lying on my back. I pull my right leg all the way up, pressing it to my chest, my shin inches from my nose. I lift my head up and look through the open V of my legs to encourage him to go on. He clears his throat noisily before continuing, taking a minute to remember his train of thought. “Why you left? Why you ran away? Again.”

I switch legs, taking my time to pull my other leg up, and stretch it over my head, making a low moan at how good it feels to elongate my tightened muscles. “Colton—”

“Can you please stop?” he barks out, shifting restlessly on the couch and adjusting the growing bulge that presses against the seam of his shorts. “Christ,” he swears again as I roll over into child’s pose, my bent rear in his view. “You in those yoga pants all limber and bending in half—you’re making me lose my concentration here.”

I look over my shoulder from my stretch and coyly bat my eyelashes at him. “Hmmm?” I feign as if I didn’t hear him.

Colton sighs in exasperation. “You’re gonna make me forget my apologies and take you right here on the floor. Hard and fast, Rylee.”

“Oh,” is all I can manage for his threat-laced promise sends shockwaves through me, my body more than eager for his skilled touch again. My lips part to remind my lungs to breathe. My nipples harden at the thought. I push myself up to a seated position, cross my legs, and adjust my top to try and hide my body’s excitement at his words. “Although I’m sure it’s me who should be apologizing, Colton.”

He ignores my words, his eyes holding mine, various emotions flickering through them. “Why’d you leave, Rylee?”

The command in his tone has me swallowing quickly, my confidence waning. I shrug, “A number of reasons, Colton. I told you, I’m just not that kind of girl. I don’t do one-night stands.”

“Who said it was a one-night stand?”

A bubble of hope sputters inside of me, but I quickly try to stifle it. Not a one night stand? Then what the hell was it? What the hell is this? I try to figure out what he’s looking for. What he might think this is between us. I look at his eyes, searching for a clue, but his expression gives nothing away. “What?” Confusion etches my face. “You lost me. I thought commitment wasn’t your thing.”

“It isn’t.” He offers up with a shrug, no other explanation given. “I don’t believe you.” He crosses his arms across his chest, biceps straining against shirtsleeves, and leans back into the couch. He quirks his eyebrows at me and waits for my answer.

“What?” He’s lost me.

“Your excuse for running last night. I don’t buy it. Why’d you leave, Rylee?”

I guess that’s the end of the no-girlfriend discussion. But what about the not-a-one-night-stand comment? As for an answer, how do I explain to him how he made me feel last night after he left the bed? Used and ashamed. How do I tell him he hurt me without sounding like I have feelings for him? Feelings mean drama, and he has let me know he doesn’t want or tolerate that in his life.

“I just—” I sigh deeply, pulling my hair tie from my ponytail and let my hair fall down my back, trying to find the right words. I look him in the eyes, figuring honesty is the easiest route. “You made it clear that you were done with me. With us …” I can feel the heat of my flush spread over my cheeks. Embarrassed that I am going to sound like a needy, whining female. “Cursing adamantly to demonstrate why my presence was no longer needed.”

He eyes me cautiously, his eyes blinking rapidly as he contemplates my words. I try to keep my face impassive, unexpressive so that he can’t see the hurt I feel, and yet I see a myriad of emotions fleet across his face as he struggles to gain his footing. “Sweet Jesus, Rylee!” he mutters closing his eyes momentarily, his mouth opening and closing as if he has more to say. Finally he looks back at me. “Do you have any idea … you made me—” He stops midsentence before standing abruptly and walking to the window. I hear him mutter a curse and I blanche at its severity. “I just want to protect you from—,” he stops again, a loud sigh the only completion to his sentence. He puts a hand to the back of his neck and pulls down on it while he rolls his head on his shoulders. He stands there momentarily, looking out at the front yard, both of us suspended in contemplative silence.

I made him what? Protect me from what? Finish the sentences, I plead silently as I watch his tense body framed by the mid-morning light. I just need an ounce of honesty from him. A sign that what happened meant more than just a quick romp. I’d give anything to see his face at this moment. To try and read the emotions he’s masking from me.