Eliza Jane - In Too Deep

“Colt.” She grabs my hand and squeezes, hard, stopping me in my tracks. “Thank you.”

I nod once, then head into the bathroom.

I need the escape, and the safety of another room – with a locking door – to keep me away from her. It’s my fault she’s sitting out there on that bed in this cheap motel room, beaten and bruised and completely shaken up. What the fuck had I been thinking? What had McAllister been thinking? She wasn’t ready for this. I’d be surprised if she didn’t call her parents and get herself sent home the moment we got back.

I turn on the faucet in the bathtub, not wanting Taylor to wonder what I’m doing when she doesn’t hear the water running. Once the water’s warmed and filling the tub, I lean against the sink and splash cool water on my face, needing to get a hold of myself. 

Once Colt’s in the bathroom, I stand in front of the mirror. I look pale and stunned. My eyes are wide with shock. I take stock of my injuries, looking over my body in the mirror. My head hurts. My ribs are tender where Lars slammed into me, but mostly I’m shaken up. The sound of water running distracts me and I follow Colt into the bathroom.

Despite the rundown motel, the bathroom is clean and spacious with gleaming white tiles. Colt’s filled the tub and even used one of the little bottles of body wash to make bubbles. Heat vapors drift lazily from the steaming water and the scent of mint and lilac invite me forward.

I lean against the counter, watching Colt. I remember the way he jumped into action, his quick thinking, the way he tried to throw Lars off by acting like we were a couple locked out of our room, then saving me from the path of Lars’ hits. He doesn’t appear injured at all, no bruising, no blood. His hair is tousled as ever. He still looks gorgeous and in complete control, despite having just been in a fight.

He shuts off the water of the now filled tub and leans causally against the tiled wall, a slow, lazy smile on his lips as he inspects me. With the water turned off, it’s quiet and our breathing now seems amplified in the small space.

I look down at my fingers, suddenly self-conscious in just my bra, jeans and bare feet.

Colt comes up behind me, running his fingers softly along my injured side again. My breath catches, but I’m not sure if it’s from the ache I feel in my side or the tenderness in his touch. Our eyes meet in the mirror. His look is caring, worried. It’s a look I haven’t seen on him before.

I turn and face him, and hazel eyes sear into mine.

“I’m sorry about what happened back there. I should have never let him get that close to you.”

I shake my head. “No. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have left the port open so he could track us. I know better than that.”

He places a finger over my lips. “This was not your fault. It was your first field assignment. McAllister was wrong to send you out here so early.”

I swallow. His finger is still resting on my lips. He lets it fall away, almost reluctantly, but he doesn’t step back. Our bodies are separated by just inches.

Colt’s attention and my lack of a shirt has me flushed.

“Are you okay?” his voice is rough, yet gentle.

I nod, still looking up into his eyes. He towers above me, making me feel safe and secure in his presence. I don’t think, I lean into him, pressing my head against his chest. He hesitates for a second before wrapping his arms around me, pulling me against him. I breathe into his chest, letting his masculine scent and strength comfort me.

Something about the warmth of the bathroom, his strong arms around me, his body pressed against mine shuts down the rational part of my brain and I’m left with a strange warmth tingling inside my body. I let my hands wander to his back, over the muscles of his solid shoulders and grab onto his shirt, clutching it in my fists. I fight off the tears that threaten to spill over again and just let Colt hold me.

Colt responds to my touch by pulling me even closer. I bury my head under his chin and allow myself to be comforted by his gentle concern. I let all the emotion and drama of the day fade away as we stand together in the steamy bathroom.

Colt leans back so he can look at me. He brings a hand up to cup my jaw, and his fingers work their way under my hair. My eyes fall closed at his touch. The pad of his thumb traces across my bottom lip and a little sound escapes the back of my throat as my lips part for him, ready and eager. Colt stiffens at the sound, studying me with confusion all over his face. He blinks down at me several times, the electricity humming between us. His eyes move down to look at my mouth. Colt wants to kiss me. My heart pounds in anticipation. But he doesn’t lean forward. He doesn’t press his lips to mine. He stands still, gazing down at me with wonder.

Suddenly he lifts me by my hips, and sets me on the counter in front of him, making us the same height. With his hand on my jaw again, he lifts my chin up to meet his mouth. He brushes his lips softly against mine, almost like he’s testing me, waiting to see what I’ll do. I feel his urgency, the raw need between us, and I kiss him back. The second I respond, softly opening my mouth against his, the kiss builds.

His kiss is intoxicating, knowing and I melt into him. I feel his tongue swirl with mine and let out a ragged moan, balling his shirt in my hands to pull him even closer.

Colt stops and pulls back, confusion all over his face. “I’m sorry.” He steps away. I can tell he regrets kissing me. Tears blur my vision.

He leaves and closes the door firmly behind him.

His departure leaves me reeling and weakened. I slide off the counter, and all the way down onto the floor. Warm tears stream down my cheeks as I process that Colt Palmer just kissed me.

I take my time in the bath, soaking away the stress and worry of the last several hours, including both the run in with Lars and my unexpected response to Colt’s kiss, who I’ve told myself time and again I should not like. Even though he’s bad for me, I can’t seem to control how I feel.

I go through the motions of shampooing and conditioning my hair, then lather the washcloth with the body wash that Colt has lined up on the edge of the bathtub. After today’s encounters…Lars…Colt…I struggle to organize my thoughts and feelings into compartments that make sense. The image of Colt lifting me by my hips and kissing me passionately was not something I would soon forget. I lean my head back against the edge of the bathtub and close my eyes.

Once I’m through with the bath, I comb out my wet hair, and find that Colt has somehow slipped my backpack just inside the door without me noticing. Great. Had that happened when I was crying on the bathroom floor? Or when I was naked in the tub? I dress quickly in my yoga pants and a long sleeved tee.

I leave the bathroom, my head ducked down. Colt is stretched out on one half of the bed, remote control in hand. He’s fallen asleep. I tiptoe around him and set my backpack down on the floor. But in my effort to maneuver around the bed, I stub my toe on the edge of the side table.

Damn it. I hop around on one foot, swearing under my breath.

“You okay?” Colt says, launching to his feet.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth.

He makes a move to come and help me, but I hold up my hand, stopping him. “I’m good.” The last thing I need is him touching me again.