Книга - Nothing Between Us

Nothing Between Us
Roni Loren


A Loving on the Edge novel perfect for fans of Fifty Shades of Grey.Unlike the heroine of her popular thriller series, Georgia Delaune can't afford to take risks or push sexual boundaries–unless you count spying through her neighbor's bedroom window, and never missing a single move he makes.Colby Wilkes is more than willing to put on a show for the alluring woman next door. But his dominant side aches to show her the pleasures of submission up close. As a counselor, Colby is sensitive to Georgia's fears. As a Dom at The Ranch, a private BDSM retreat, he's the perfect teacher to unleash her passion.But just as Georgia lowers her emotional barriers, an unexpected complication arrives: a bad boy musician from Colby's past who adds fuel to her heated imagination. Now, the lonely author has two gorgeous men eager to fulfill every fantasy she's ever written – and one she's never dared to dream…









Nothing Between Us

Roni Loren










Copyright (#ulink_0982580e-1b84-580c-bcb5-000932cd671b)


Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in USA by Penguin Group (USA) 2015

First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015

Copyright © Roni Loren 2015

‘I Surrender’ by Roni Loren © Roni Loren 2015

Excerpt from ‘Call on Me’ by Roni Loren © Roni Loren 2015

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

Roni Loren asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780425268575

Ebook Edition © January 2015 ISBN: 9780007548507

Version: 2014-12-03


Contents

Cover (#ua3a04dc1-111d-5e85-8549-2324808a48d3)

Title Page (#u047a5624-f729-5375-936b-7e5bc39ff657)

Copyright (#u30b33306-0584-5967-b1c3-4e46870d5288)

Chapter One (#uc8be4a43-f852-5a67-abb5-620631da5e7a)

Chapter Two (#uf30d87b0-5761-59d4-ba6c-36204972fe3c)

Chapter Three (#u59627256-9f2f-5424-bc1b-1df92376951a)

Chapter Four (#ubd848045-ac6c-5254-b567-6b1ea37b798f)

Chapter Five (#uc7b70313-2ed7-53be-bf37-8ff20d52da50)

Chapter Six (#u2afd1e35-4353-5e66-9f1f-59ca6e347aa5)

Chapter Seven (#ucb72fbee-342b-5a7c-b70b-9c0729bf153c)

Chapter Eight (#u011ca740-e315-587d-a8c1-3e130716ead3)

Chapter Nine (#u999fed6e-254f-57d0-aabd-7ee5a7767a51)

Chapter Ten (#u525e7253-f242-5d20-bb3b-fb961158d9f9)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

I Surrender short story (#litres_trial_promo)

Call on Me extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Roni Loren (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




ONE (#ulink_372248e8-1bdf-54ae-a6c8-85b798f0b028)

12:35 a.m.—Spring


Georgia Delaune had never been particularly drawn to illegal activity. Or taking risks. Or, okay, fine—sexually deviant behavior. She was woman enough to admit what this was. So finding herself hiding in the dark, peering around the curtains of her second-story window with a set of binoculars, should’ve tipped her off that she was officially losing her shit.

But since moving into the house on Fallen Oaks Lane six months earlier, she’d known this moment was coming. Before now, she’d convinced herself that she’d only been catching inadvertent peeks and unintentional glimpses. Her neighbor would surely shut his curtains if he didn’t want to risk being seen, right?

She groaned, lowered the binoculars, and pressed her forehead to the window frame. God, now she was blaming the victim. He gets naked in the confines of his own home. A home that’s on a treed corner lot with tons of privacy and a seven-foot-tall fence. How dare he!

This was so screwed up. What if he saw her? He could call the cops, and she’d be slapped with some Peeping Tom charge—or Peeping Tammy, as the case may be. That’d be an epic disaster. Especially when the cops found no information on a Georgia Delaune. Plus, afterward, she’d have to move because there’d be no facing her neighbor again. Not after he knew what she did at night. And there was no way in hell she was moving. It had taken too much time, effort, and planning to find this spot, to finally feel even a smidgen of security and safety. These walls were her only haven, and she had no intention of leaving them.

But despite knowing the risks, when she saw a lamp flick on and light glow in the window of Colby Wilkes’s bedroom, she found herself dragging a chair over to the window and lifting the binoculars to her eyes. It took a second to adjust the focus, but when the lenses cleared, the broad, wet shoulders of her dark-haired neighbor filled the view. Her stomach dipped in anticipation.

He wasn’t alone.

She’d known he had friends over. She’d seen the group going in when she’d closed her living room blinds earlier that night. Two women and three guys, plus Colby. Later, she’d heard water splashing and the murmuring of voices, so she’d gone into her backyard for a while to listen to the distant sounds of life and laughter. That world seemed so foreign to her now. Being surrounded by people, having friends over, relaxing by the pool. She couldn’t see anything from her backyard. Colby’s pool area was blocked by the house and bordered by trees. So she’d lain in her lounge chair out back, closed her eyes, and had imagined she was a guest at his party, that she was part of that laughter. And she’d also found herself wondering what would happen afterward.

Now she knew. Colby had stepped into his bedroom, obviously fresh from the pool with his dark hair wet and only a towel knotted around his waist. And he had company with him. One of Colby’s friends, a tall blond guy who was also sporting a towel, had followed him in. And then there was a woman. She wore nothing at all. Georgia’s lip tucked between her teeth, heat creeping into her face. She so shouldn’t be watching this. But she couldn’t turn away. She’d learned rather quickly that her dear neighbor, despite his affable grin, Southern-boy charm, and straitlaced job, was a freak in the bedroom. Threesomes were only part of it. The man was dominant to the core. Considering her last relationship, that alone should’ve turned her off, sent her running. Guys who wanted control. Fuck, no.

But the first time she’d caught sight of Colby bringing a flogger down on a lover’s back, Georgia had been transfixed. She’d been completely stuck on her latest writing project at the time. But after watching Colby drive a woman into a writhing, begging state, Georgia had gone into her office, opened a new document, and written until the sun had broken through the curtains the next morning. Before she knew it, her thriller-in-progress had taken a decidedly erotic turn. Thankfully, her editor had loved the new direction. So now Georgia, in her guiltiest moments, told herself these stolen moments at the window were all in the name of book research.

Yeah. Even her sleep-deprived brain didn’t buy that one.

The guilt wasn’t enough to make her stop, though. Especially now when Colby was grabbing for the knot on his towel. She held her breath. The terry cloth fell to the floor at Colby’s feet, and everything inside Georgia went tight. Holy heaven above. She’d watched—oh, how she’d watched—but never before had she been able to see everything in such intimate detail. The binoculars transported her, took her by the hand and dragged her into that room with those strangers. Colby was right there in front of her—strong, beautiful, aroused. His hand wrapped around his cock and stroked ever so slowly, taunting her with unashamed confidence. No, not her. The woman. God, Georgia should look away. But need rolled through her like thunder from an oncoming storm, her fingers tightening around the binoculars.

The other man had stripped, too, and although he was gorgeous in his own right with his polished, camera-ready good looks, Georgia was drawn to the rough-around-the-edges brawn of her neighbor. Every part of Colby hinted at the wildness he hid beneath his surface—dark wavy hair that was a little too long, the close-cropped beard that shadowed his jaw, and a body that looked like he could bench-press a Buick. He was the opposite of the pressed and creased, Armani-clad businessmen she’d been attracted to in her former life. He was the guy you’d be wary of on first glance if you ran into him in a dark alley—the cowboy whose hat color you couldn’t quite determine straightaway.

Perhaps that was why she was so fascinated with him, despite the fact that he was a man who wanted what she could never give. She’d learned that danger often hid behind the gloss of an urbane smile and perfectly executed Windsor knot. Colby was none of that. But regardless of the reason for her mixed-up attraction, she couldn’t stem the crackle of jealousy that went through as the other man laced his fingers in the woman’s hair and guided her to take Colby into her mouth.

The view of Colby’s erection disappearing between the lips of some other woman was erotic. There was no denying that. But it also made Georgia’s jaw clench a little too hard. She could tell, even from the brief moments she’d been watching, that this woman belonged to Colby’s friend. They were a couple and Colby the third party. But it still activated Georgia’s He’s mine, bitch! reflex.

Georgia sniffed at her ridiculous, territorial reaction, and tried to loosen the tension gathering in her neck. Sure, he’s yours, girl. You can’t walk down the street without swallowing a pill first, much less start something if he were even interested in the weird, spying chick next door.

But she shoved the thought away. She didn’t want anything tainting these few precious minutes. This wasn’t about finding a hookup. Only when she stood at this window did she feel even a glimmer of her former self trying to break through. This was her gossamer-thin lifeline to who she used to be, to the capable and confident woman who would’ve never hidden in the dark.

Before long, the blond man eased the woman away from Colby and guided her toward himself, taking his turn. Georgia tilted the binoculars upward, finding Colby’s face instead of focusing on the scene between the other man and his woman. What she found lurking in his expression wasn’t what she expected. There was heat in Colby’s eyes, interest for sure, but as she stared longer, she sensed a distance in those hazel depths. Like he was there with them but other … separate. Alone.

It probably was only because the other two were a couple. Or maybe it was Georgia’s mind slapping labels on things to make herself feel better. But regardless, it made her chest constrict with recognition. She didn’t know what was going on in his head. Or how seeing his friends together made him feel. But she knew loneliness. And for those few seconds, she was convinced Colby did, too. She pressed her fingertip against the cool glass of the window, tracing the outline of Colby’s face. Needing to touch … something.

The glass might as well have been made of steel, the yards between the houses made of miles.

But she couldn’t walk away. The night went on and there she sat, watching the three lovers move to the bed, the woman being cuffed to the headboard. The two men lavished her with hands and mouths and tongues. It was like watching a silent symphony, the arching of the woman’s back the only thing Georgia needed to see to know exactly how these men were affecting their willing captive. The melancholy feelings that had stirred earlier had quickly been surpassed by ones much more base and primal. Georgia’s body was growing hot and restless, her panties going damp.

When Colby braced himself between the woman’s thighs and entered her, Georgia trained the binoculars on his face, unable to handle the image of him having sex with another woman. Her mind was developing quite the ability to focus on the fantasy and block out the unwanted parts. She only had a view of Colby’s profile, but she watched with rapt attention as his jaw worked and his skin went slick with sweat instead of pool water.

Without giving it too much thought, she braced one elbow on the window ledge to hold the binoculars steady and let her other hand drift downward. Her cotton nightgown slid up her thighs easily. Somewhere her brain protested that this was wrong—sick and sad. She had a perfectly functioning vibrator in her bedside drawer. She had an imagination strong enough to fuel an orgasm without doing this, without watching the man next door screw another woman. But her starved libido didn’t seem to give a damn about morals or ethics or pride right now. There was need. And a solution. Simple as that.

As Colby’s lips parted with a sound she could only imagine, Georgia’s fingers found the edge of her panties and slipped beneath the material. Her body tightened at the touch and the little gasp she made reverberated in the dead silence of the guest bedroom. Colby’s head dipped between his shoulders, and Georgia imagined it was her he was whispering passionate words to. That deep Texas drawl telling her how good it felt to be inside her, how sexy she was, how he was going to make her come. He would be a dirty talker, she had no doubt. No sweet nothings from Colby Wilkes.

She closed her eyes for a moment as she moved her fingers in the rhythm of Colby’s thrust—long, languid strokes that had a fire building from her center and radiating heat outward. It wouldn’t take long. Her body was already singing with sensation, release hurtling toward her. But she wouldn’t go over alone. She forced her eyes open, the binoculars still in her grip, and found Colby again. His dark hair was curling against his neck, sweat glistening at his temples. He had to be close, too. Every muscle in his shoulders and back had tensed. All of her attention zeroed in on him, and in her mind, the touch of her own fingers morphed into his—his hands and body moving against her, inside her.

Every molecule in her being seemed to contract, preparing for the burst of energy to come. Her breath quickened, her heartbeat pulsing in her ears. And right as she was about to close her eyes and go over, Colby jerked his head to the side toward the window. His heated gaze collided with hers through the binoculars—a dead-on eye lock that reached inside Georgia and flipped her inside out. He knows.

But she was too far gone for the shock to derail her. Orgasm careened through her with a force that made the chair scrape back across the wood floor. She moaned into the quiet, the binoculars slipping from her hand and jerking the strap around her neck. The part in the curtains fell shut, but she didn’t notice. Everything was too bright behind her eyelids, too good, to worry about anything else but the way she felt in those long seconds. Enjoy. Don’t think. Just feel. The words whispered through her as her fingers kept moving, her body determined to eke out every ounce of sensation she could manage.

But, of course, the blissful, mindless moments couldn’t last forever. Chilly reality made a swift reappearance as her gown slipped back down her thighs and sweat cooled on her skin. She sat there, staring at the closed curtain and listening to her thumping heart. Colby couldn’t know, right? His gaze had felt intense and knowing because the binoculars had made him seem so close. But her window was dark, her curtains darker, and the moon was throwing off enough light that it would make the glass simply reflect back the glow.

But her chest felt like a hundred hummingbirds had roosted there, beating their wings against her ribs. She wet her lips and swallowed past the constriction in her throat. She had to look. Would her neighbor be striding over here to demand what was going on? Would he be disgusted? Embarrassed? Angry?

God, she didn’t even want to think about it. She wanted to turn around, go to her bedroom, and hide under the covers. But that was all her life had turned into now—hiding. And though she couldn’t fix that situation, she refused to create another one. So she forced herself to lean forward and peel the curtains back one more time, leaving the binoculars hanging around her neck.

What she saw made the hummingbirds thrash more. Colby wasn’t in the room anymore. His friend was now with the woman in the bed, and both seemed totally absorbed in each other. Did that mean that Colby had left and was heading this way to confront her? She was about to go downstairs to check the yard but then paused when she realized nothing had changed about the view. Nothing at all. If Colby had been concerned about a nosy neighbor, he hadn’t bothered to close the curtains or warn his friends. Surely he would’ve done that.

She sat there, debating and worrying, but soon Colby returned to the bedroom. The man and woman had finished. Colby had on a pair of boxers and had brought clean towels in for everyone. He didn’t look concerned. He didn’t glance over at the window. He seemed perfectly relaxed as he helped uncuff the woman’s hands, kissed her forehead in a friendly gesture, and then left his friends to sleep alone.

Georgia let out a long breath, sagging in the chair.

He didn’t know.

She should stop taking this risk—throw away the binoculars, put a bookcase in front of this damn window, and stop while she was ahead.

But she knew she wouldn’t. She would find herself here again.

Because if she didn’t have her secret nights with Colby Wilkes, what was left?

Four walls, long days, and fear.

She needed this. She just had to make sure he never found out.




TWO (#ulink_43afe489-7150-5a6a-9b0c-2406902ddb34)

October 31


Right before quitting time, Colby got a visit from the Grim Reaper. Colby looked up from his desk at the hooded head peeking in through his doorway. “You know where Dr. Guthrie is?”

The sullen voice sounded appropriately grim for the costume. Colby put aside the student file he’d been making notes on. “He had to leave early because he wasn’t feeling well. Were you supposed to meet with him today?”

The reaper shrugged and pulled his hood back, revealing the face of junior Travis Clarkson. “Yeah. But if he’s not here …”

Colby could hear the indecision in the drift of Travis’s voice. If his counselor wasn’t here, he had the right to skip his appointment, but Colby sensed the kid needed to talk. He’d heard there’d been a bullying incident this morning and that Travis had been the target. Unfortunately, not an uncommon spot for Travis. Poor kid came from one of the wealthiest families in the area, but money couldn’t fix his acne-prone skin, his crippling social anxiety, or the resulting depression it caused.

“Come on in and grab a chair, Travis,” Colby said, keeping his voice casual. “There’s only a half hour before the bell. You can skip the rest of study hall and chat with me.”

Travis shifted on his feet in that awkward way teen boys did when they hadn’t quite grown into their new longer limbs. “I don’t want—you look busy.”

“Nope.” Colby stretched his leg beneath his desk and sent the chair in front of it rolling toward Travis. “I was just finishing up some notes. You’ll save me from boring paperwork.”

Travis tucked his hands in the robe of his costume and shuffled in. He glanced around at Colby’s office, his eyes skimming over the shelves of books and the few photos he’d kept from his music days. “Your office is different than Dr. Guthrie’s.”

No shit. That was because Guthrie liked to pretend he was Freud himself instead of some guy working at the pedestrian institution of Graham Alternative High School. Guthrie’s office had a plush couch, hunter green paint over the cinder-block walls, muted lighting, and a freaking desk fountain. If smoking weren’t banned in the building, Colby had no doubt the school psychologist would have a pipe hanging from his mouth during sessions. But Colby had learned that the last thing these kids needed was to walk into something that looked like a therapist’s office. In fact, he spent most of his sessions with his students doing something active while they talked. It was amazing how a kid could open up if he was shooting hoops and not being stared at when he answered personal questions.

“I like to keep things simple.”

Travis went to the wall to get a closer look at a photo instead of immediately sitting down. “Is that you and Brock Greenwood?”

“Yeah,” Colby said. “I played with him in a band when we were younger. Of course, back then, he wasn’t the Brock Greenwood. Just a guy who could sing his face off. You listen to country music?”

Travis turned away from the picture and lowered himself into the chair. “I listen to everything. I like mashing shit—er—stuff up on my computer. You know, making things that don’t seem to go together blend.”

Colby smiled. “Really? That’s cool. I can’t be trusted with all those music programs. I have a friend who does it and he’s tried to teach me, but he’s declared me a hopeless case. Just give me my guitar and a blank piece of paper to jot down lyrics.”

“Old school.”

“Or just old.”

Travis almost smiled—something Colby wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Travis do—but the kid seemed to catch himself before he let it break through. God forbid he let the school counselor know he liked talking to him. “You still play?”

“I do. I play a few gigs here and there. Nothing serious. It’s a good way to relax—playing without any pressure attached to it.”

Travis nodded. “Yeah, I get that. But I can’t really imagine getting onstage as being relaxing. I like the behind-the-scenes stuff. Putting on my headphones … I don’t know, it’s like a switch that shuts out the world and transports me somewhere else, another life.”

“An escape.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his chapped lips together. “That’s what I like. That escape. Nothing else matters when the music is playing.”

Colby leaned back in his chair and hooked his ankle over his knee, understanding that desire but also hearing the loneliness lacing Travis’s words. “Ever thought about pursuing a career in that? Sound engineering or music producing?”

Travis glanced up, his face a bit haunted—although that could’ve been the whole Grim Reaper look he had going on. “I’ve thought about it. But my parents would shit a brick—sorry.”

Colby waved a hand, dismissing the language. The kid was talking, he didn’t care if he slipped up and cursed.

“They hate me fooling around with my computer. They think it isolates me or whatever. Like if I just stop doing that, suddenly my life will be all Friday night football games and proms and crap.” He sneered. “They can’t see that those things aren’t options for me even if I wanted them. Maybe they should be the ones on medication. They’re delusional.”

Colby rubbed a hand over the back of his head, choosing his words carefully. It was always a fine line when kids complained about their parents. If you took the parents’ side, the kid shut down. If you undermined the parents and agreed with the kids, you helped justify behavior that might not be one hundred percent healthy. “Sometimes it’s hard for parents to see the benefit in something that from the outside looks like wasting time. If they don’t share that passion, it can be hard for them to understand.”

“They just wish I were someone else.” His gaze dropped to his hands, which were fiddling with the strap of his backpack. “I don’t really blame them.”

Colby hid his frown. “Would you want to be someone else if you could?”

He twisted the strap around his fingers. “Maybe.”

“And who would you be?”

He grimaced. “I don’t know. Someone who could ask a girl out without getting pit stains in front of everyone.”

“Is that what got Dalton and his friends after you today?”

He chewed his lip and gave another shrug.

“Would you want to be him?” Colby asked, picturing Dalton Wiggins—Mr. Popular, lead shit-stirrer at Graham High. And a kid who had an irrevocably broken home life that Colby would wish on no one. Of course, no one here knew that except him since Dalton only shared that stuff in the privacy of his counseling sessions with Colby.

“Fuck, no,” Travis bit out. “The guy’s a jerk. But if I looked like him, I wouldn’t act like he does. I’d just, I don’t know, use it for good.”

Colby lifted a brow. “For good?”

“For girls,” Travis supplied, a little smirk touching his lips.

Ah, it always came back to girls. “So what happened today when you asked that girl out?”

“She started out being nice about it—even though she was going to say no. I could tell. They always say no. But when Dalton walked up and teased me about sweating, she just kind of looked embarrassed. And like …” His jaw clenched. “Like she felt sorry for me.”

Colby’s chest squeezed. Damn, this kid couldn’t catch a break. He was probably one of the smartest students in the school. His test scores were always off the charts. He was only here at Graham because his depression had become debilitating last year, and he’d missed too much school. One day, he’d probably be some brilliant engineer, rich off his ass, clear-skinned and sought after by droves of the fairer sex. But Colby knew the future seemed so damn far away when you were a teenager. “Travis—”

“I just want the crap to end, you know? Like, can they cut me some slack for one goddamned day? You know how hard it was for me to get the nerve to ask Mallory out?”

“I’ll make sure and talk to Dalton about his behavior. He’s already on warning and is close to getting kicked out if he keeps it up. We’ll make sure you can come to school without having to worry about bullies.”

Travis sniffed. “Someone else will just replace him.”

Colby flinched, knowing that was probably true. “How about we—”

The bell rang, startling them both.

Travis jumped up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I gotta go.”

“Hey,” Colby said, standing. “Wait, you don’t have to—”

“I need to pick up my sister at her school. If I’m late, my mom will be pissed.”

“Travis, I want to make sure you’re okay after what happened today. If you want to talk some more, I can—”

“I’m fine.” He pulled his Reaper hood over his head again. “Happy Halloween, Mr. Wilkes.”

Colby opened his mouth to say something else, then shut it when Travis disappeared into the now-bustling hallway. Colby sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face. Monday he’d pull Travis out of class for a full session. At least with the weekend, the kid would get a break from school for a few days.

And after today, Colby could use one, too. He packed up his things and headed out. He had a party to host. And a bet to honor.

He wasn’t looking forward to the latter.






“Damn, Colby, you were supposed to dress up. Where’s your costume?” Kade asked when Colby opened the front door to let his two friends in a few hours later.

Colby lifted his plastic ax to his shoulder. “Don’t fuck with me, Vandergriff. I have weapons. And Paul Bunyan could totally kick a zombie’s ass. One swing to the head and you’re done.”

Kade grinned a macabre, dead man’s smile and stepped past Colby into the house, carrying grocery bags. “So I guess this means you lost the bet with Kelsey and Wyatt?”

“I was hustled. I had no idea that girl was so good at pool.”

Tessa, Kade’s girlfriend, was fighting a smile beneath her black lipstick as she followed Kade in. “Evening, Mr. Lumberjack.”

Colby groaned and cocked his head toward his ax. “You’re lucky you’re good-looking, zombie girl.”

For months, members at The Ranch, the BDSM resort Colby worked at on the weekends, had been calling him The Lumberjack behind his back. He hated the nickname, and now it was definitely going to stick. Especially after he saw Kade set down his bags and snap a pic with his phone. It was probably spreading through their network of friends like a virus as they stood there.

Tessa handed him a plastic-wrapped tray of red and green Jell-O shots that were shaped like brains and tilted her head to give him another once-over. “Don’t worry. It’s a good look for you. Very rustic. I’m sure you could head out to The Ranch and have a crowd of submissives volunteering to play Babe the Blue Ox for you tonight.”

He laughed and took the tray from her. “There’s nothing sexy about an ox.”

Plus, he had no desire to go to The Ranch tonight. He’d been working there for a few years now as a trainer. It was what he did for a little fun and a lot of extra money. And normally, Halloween was one of his favorite nights to go out there since no one knew how to do deviant costumes—or the treat part of the trick-or-treat equation—like kinky people. But the enjoyment had been draining out of his time at The Ranch over the last year, and it had started to feel like work instead of an escape. He couldn’t pinpoint what had shifted. But lately, the dynamic of training someone as a business arrangement had sucked a lot of what he loved about kink out of the experience. He used to get a high from sessions. Now too often he felt hollow and exhausted by the end of them. Even when he was with someone off the clock, it still felt like a transaction instead of a connection.

In fact, the last time he remembered having a really good time with anyone was the night he’d helped Kade give Tessa her threesome fantasy. It’d been a fun and sexy night with friends. But Colby had known then it would be a onetime thing. His best friend had been stupid in love with the girl already—even if the idiot hadn’t realized it at the time. And though Colby was always up for a little fantasy and fun, he knew better than to mess around with friends once things got serious. Kade hadn’t even had to say it. Colby knew Tessa was completely off-limits now.

Which was fine with him. Tessa was great—beautiful and smart. But there was no doubt she was meant to be with Kade. The two lit each other up in a way that had Colby more than a little jealous. And damn, when Kade and Tessa had fallen into their dominant and submissive roles that night they were all together, it’d been something to behold. The air had seemed to vibrate with the energy between them. That was how it was supposed to be. That was where the kink transformed into something bigger than hot sex and dirty words. It became sacred. Colby couldn’t remember ever being with anyone who flipped his switch like that. That night, more than anything else, had made him start to question his job at The Ranch.

He liked having the extra cash but not enough to stick around if the role had lost its shine. The submissives he worked with deserved better than a guy who was becoming more and more tempted to phone it in. He planned to talk to Grant, the owner of The Ranch, about stepping down as soon as he’d secured the full-time counselor position at Graham.

But regardless of his own issues, he was thrilled for his friend. Kade had found exactly who he needed. Tessa was it for him. They all knew it, and somehow, they’d all moved past any potential awkwardness from their one night together without much effort. Mostly because Kade was so damn cocky he didn’t know how to be jealous.

Colby carried the tray of wiggling brains into the kitchen. “Well, I think you brought enough alcohol to tank the whole neighborhood. I approve.”

Kade tucked a few bottles of wine and a twelve-pack of beer into the fridge, his shredded zombified suit swinging with the movement. “Jace, Evan, and Andre said they’d pick up pizza on the way. Kelsey’s bringing candy to hand out to the kids, and Wyatt’s contributing his top three horror movies of all time for us to choose from.”

“Sounds like y’all have got it all covered. I should play host more often. I didn’t have to do anything but open the door.”

“Your place is the best for Halloween. Kids aren’t even allowed to trick-or-treat in my or Wyatt’s neighborhood. It’s ridiculous.”

Colby sniffed. That was because his friends were loaded and lived in those swanky neighborhoods with coded gates and a mile between the damn houses. The kids would pass out from exhaustion by house number three.

Colby had gotten used to being one of the few of his friends who wasn’t rolling in cash. He’d saved up a lot of money from The Ranch and had invested the money he’d made from his brief music career early on, so he did well for himself, better than most. But he tried to be smart and not live lavishly. He didn’t need—or want—that castle on the hill. What he had now was a thousand times better than the broken-down rental house he grew up in. He had a nice home with a pool. Quiet neighborhood. And privacy. That was all he required.

Kade shut the fridge. “You know the kids aren’t going to understand your costume, right?”

“I’ll tell them I’m an ax murderer,” Colby said, lifting up the plastic wrap on the gelatin brains and snagging one. He popped it in his mouth.

“Believable. You’re the type. The friendly neighbor who disappears for long stretches of time on the weekend with implements of torture in his truck. Deviant bastard.”

Colby grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

“So you have a hot date coming over tonight?” Kade asked, helping himself to one of the shots.

“Nah, I’d figured me and your brother could represent the dwindling singles population in our group, but I heard he sprained his ankle yesterday. So I guess I’ll just flirt relentlessly with everyone else’s women to keep myself entertained. Your girl did say my outfit looked good on me.”

“Uh-huh. Unless you plan to use that ax tonight, I wouldn’t recommend treading in my territory.”

Colby chuckled. “Look who’s developed a possessive streak.”

“Damn straight.” Kade nodded toward the window, where rays of dusky sun were stretching over the side yard. “What about your hot neighbor? She doesn’t look like she has any big plans tonight.”

Colby leaned forward on the countertop, squinting at the view through the window. His neighbor, Georgia, had ventured out of her house with a package in one hand and gardening gloves in the other. He walked toward the window, following her with his eyes, and propped his shoulder against the frame. It was such a rare occasion to see Georgia outside that he had to take the time to savor and appreciate the view.

She was obviously prepared to get dirty. She’d tied a purple handkerchief around her head to keep her curly halo of black hair away from her face and was wearing threadbare jeans and a faded White Sox T-shirt. But hell if he could imagine her looking any better. Something about the way those jeans hugged her curves and sat just a little too low in the back, exposing the dip of her tailbone and a swath of creamy cocoa skin, had everything else fading into the background.

She headed toward the side of her house, peeking over her shoulder more than once as if she were waiting for someone to show up in her driveway. She couldn’t be worried about trick-or-treaters yet. It was still too early. A guest, maybe? But no one was there. And Colby would bet money that no one would be coming. Georgia never had visitors—unless they were only stopping by while he was at work. His gut told him that wasn’t the case.

She plopped the package next to her herb garden, kneeled in the grass, and took one last glance toward the front yard. When she seemed assured she was alone, she put on her gloves, pulled a ball of wired plastic pumpkin lights out of the box, and leaned forward, bracing on one hand and stabbing a stake into the ground with her other. Her jeans sank lower down her backside.

Now that was a sight Colby didn’t need to see. Georgia on all fours, the barest peek of her ass taunting him and sending his thoughts in a decidedly X-rated direction. Damn, what he wouldn’t give to end his night with that view, his hands spreading over those flared hips.

But he knew it would never fly. Georgia Delaune was like some mysterious, uncharted island. One with tall, craggy, stay-the-fuck-back rocks around the perimeter and no lighthouse. Not that she’d ever said a cross word to Colby, but he’d gotten the message just the same. He’d tried to flirt with her when she’d first moved in and though he could tell she wasn’t … unaffected by him, he’d felt that thick wall rise up between them. Since then, he’d had the feeling that, for whatever reason, he’d been given the Look, but don’t touch label in Georgia’s head.

Because, God knows, she looked—and had seen way more than he’d ever allowed anyone outside his circle to see. But he liked it too much to make her stop.

His neighbor thought she had a secret.

Colby knew better.

“Earth to Colby?”

Colby snapped out of his spinning thoughts. “What?”

Kade lifted an eyebrow. “I said why don’t you go over and invite her to the party? It’d be a neighborly thing to do.”

Colby snorted. “Neighborly?”

“Fine. Fuck neighborly. How ’bout this? You’ve been working your ass off. You look exhausted. And I think you need a little fun in your life. Go invite hot neighbor chick over and have some. We promise to behave—mostly.”

“You totally should,” Tessa said with a sage nod from the doorway of the kitchen. Colby hadn’t even noticed her come in. “That lumberjack getup is like girl Kryptonite. She’ll say yes. Plus, we could use another woman around here to even out the testosterone.”

Kade sent his woman a narrow-eyed glance. “Girl Kryptonite?”

Tessa shrugged and with her tattered dress, it reminded Colby of one of the walking dead from the old “Thriller” video. “Just saying. It’s an empirical observation.” She headed over to Kade and slipped her arms around his waist. “But don’t worry, I’m, of course, into blond, blue-eyed zombies.”

Kade kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, you’re kinky like that.”

Colby smirked. Ten seconds, tops. That was how long he’d give it before his friends would have black lipstick all over each other. He turned back to the window to leave them to their own devices and watched as Georgia lined her garden with the pumpkin lights. Her movements were efficient and her posture stiff, like she was performing a duty instead of something she wanted to be doing, which was kind of strange considering no one needed to have Halloween decorations. But she seemed determined to get them set up.

He should probably leave her to it. He’d tested the waters with her before only to find them chilly and uninviting. He wasn’t one to chase. If someone wasn’t interested in what he was offering, so be it. Plus, he rarely hooked up with anyone outside The Ranch. The vanilla world really had no place for him. But as he watched Georgia lift her hair off the back of her neck and listened to Kade and Tessa kissing behind him, the pang of want went through him.

What did he have to lose? Unlike a random girl he met somewhere, Georgia knew what he was. She might not understand the extent of it, but she’d seen it with her own eyes. He’d seen her curtains twitch and sway on that night he was with Tessa and Kade. And he’d watched those same drapes move late at night when he undressed in his bedroom or when he brought someone home. Either the woman was terrified of him and documenting all of his deviant acts in case he turned out to be a serial killer …

Or she was turned on by it.

Tonight, he planned to find out.

It was about time he paid another visit to that isolated island of hers.






The fading sunlight felt good on Georgia’s skin. That was what she focused on—the warmth of the late-afternoon rays, the tickle of the fall breeze against her neck, and the smell of the rosemary and thyme growing in her small herb garden.

But only paying attention to those pleasant things took effort. It meant ignoring the prickling of nerves that was an ever-present companion when she was out in the open. She was getting better at handling the anxiety each time, though. That was something. Even on the days she found it more difficult, she forced herself out at least once a day anyway to keep the promise she’d made via Skype to Leesha, her friend and therapist. Baby steps. That was what Georgia was relegated to. But at least they were steps.

Georgia got the string of pumpkin lights all lined up and turned on. She smiled that they were working but quickly realized they only illuminated a bunch of weeds that had popped up since the last time she’d cleaned the garden. Damn. Well, what did she have but time? The kids wouldn’t be coming around for candy for a while still. And even then, she didn’t plan on opening her door. She’d bought a big bowl and made a sign that said Help Yourself to put out on the porch. So she went to work weeding the garden.

She’d never been particularly into yard work before moving to Texas. It was hell on the nails, and she used to care about shit like that. But now it had become an outlet for her—one where she could let her mind wander and relax. Grab and yank, grab and yank. In a way, it was like meditation. And tonight she could use a bit of serenity. It would be a late night of hearing unfamiliar noises outside.

She pulled at a stubborn weed, but it didn’t give. And it was blocking one of her pumpkin lights. That wasn’t going to work. With a huff, she put her other hand at its base and got into a squat to tug harder. The roots didn’t want to release but she was determined to get it out of there, so she gave it one last yank. The weed came free and sent her sprawling backward, a trail of soil arcing through the air. She landed on her ass with an oof, and the dirt showered her shirt and jeans.

A shadow enveloped her. “And she’s down for the count.”

Her heart gave a start at the deep voice and the nearness of it. She scrambled, spinning around onto her knees and pulling the canister on her hip in an automatic gesture. But as soon as she had the pepper spray aimed, her subconscious thankfully processed the voice before her systems could go completely haywire. “Colby.”

He had his hands up in a whoa, there gesture but didn’t seem overly concerned, as if instinctively knowing she wasn’t going to attack.

“Shit.” She lowered her arm and let out a shaky breath. “Sorry. I—you must think I’m a lunatic.”

He gazed down at her, blocking out the sun, and then put a hand out to her. “No, it’s my fault. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

She eyed his hand, reluctant to even go there, but she didn’t want to be rude. She put her hand in his large, warm one and he helped her to her feet. “Thanks.”

He let her hand go immediately, as if aware that the contact made her nervous, and took a step back. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just … Halloween makes me jumpy.” The excuse was lamer than most she came up with, but that was all she had at the moment.

He gave her a friendly smile. “I’m not sure pepper spray works on ghouls and ghosts, but it’s never a bad idea to protect yourself. Did you hurt anything on the fall?”

“Only my pride.” She glanced down and brushed the dirt off her ratty clothes. But it just made dark streaks smear over her shirt. Nice. She looked like she’d been rolling in the mud and he looked like … wait. She let her gaze travel over him again. He’d pulled a knit cap over his curly dark hair and had let his beard grow a little extra. And though it was cool outside, the red plaid flannel shirt and dark jeans seemed a little out of place for the night. Frankly, the whole rustic woodsman look was kind of working for him—and her—but she couldn’t quite figure out if it was supposed to be a costume.

He must have noticed her perplexed expression because he smirked. “I’m supposed to be Paul Bunyan. If I had my ax or an ox, it’d probably make more sense.”

She bit back a smile. Well, he was a giant of a man—well over six foot and broad—so it sort of made sense. “Right. That’s … creative.”

“I lost a bet.”

A laugh escaped, the act feeling foreign in her throat. “Well, I guess it could be worse then. They could’ve made you wear a tutu or something.”

“I don’t know. I think my friend is bringing over a stuffed blue ox for me to carry around, so there’s more humiliation to come,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his jeans and making his shirt stretch across what she knew was a well-honed, to-die-for chest.

She had to press her tongue to the back of her teeth to keep herself from inadvertently licking her lips. Don’t think about him naked. Don’t think about him naked.

“So anyway, I was coming over to see if you’d like to play witness to that humiliation.”

She blinked and her brain scrambled for a moment. “What?”

He cocked a thumb toward his house. “I’m having some friends over tonight. Nothing major, just pizza, movies, and a little alcohol in between handing out candy. If you’re not doing anything tonight, you should come over.”

She glanced down at the ground, that familiar push and pull yanking at her. The shadow of her old self leapt at the idea of going to a house party and meeting new people, at hanging out with the guy she’d been spying on for over a year now. Before everything happened back in Chicago, she’d never been an introvert. But that was then. She wasn’t stupid enough to think she could handle this. She could already feel the electricity working through her, the nerves priming for fight-or-flight. If she attempted to go over there, she’d make a scene whether she wanted to or not. No. Freaking. Way.

He must’ve thought she was looking down at her clothes. “You don’t need a costume or anything. It’s going to be laid-back.”

Was laid-back his way of saying all his friends would end up in bed together? Because she’d seen some of the parties at his house. But she couldn’t imagine that he’d ask her to something like that. He didn’t know her at all. And though she knew he was kinky, she got the sense he kept that side of himself very separate, only exposing it to a trusted circle. He did work at a local high school, after all, and had to maintain a certain image. “That’s really nice of you to ask.”

“So come,” he said simply.

She forced a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I need to work tonight. I’m doing online interviews for a virtual assistant and … I’m not great with crowds anyway.”

Shit. She hadn’t meant to confess that.

His eyes narrowed as he studied her for a second. If he was trying to figure her out, she wished him luck. Most of the time, she couldn’t figure herself out.

“All right.” He gave a nod and she appreciated that he didn’t push the issue.

That was one of the main reasons she’d managed to act halfway normal around her neighbor. Most men made her anxious these days. The girl who was never afraid to go after a guy and flirt could barely breathe when guys approached her now. But Colby seemed to sense her skittishness and always stayed a couple of feet away from her, giving her space, and he never got pushy about anything.

“I appreciate you thinking of me, though,” she added.

His sexy half smile almost made her rock back on her heels, the sensual power of it like a physical blow. “You’re easy to think about, Georgia.”

Her stomach dipped.

He adjusted his knit cap, more dark hair escaping around the edges, and turned. “Invitation stands if you change your mind.”

“Okay,” she said, but it came out small, and she wasn’t sure if he’d even heard her.

When he crossed the invisible line back into his own yard, she felt more alone than she had in a long, long time.

If he took one of those women at the party to his bed tonight, Georgia knew she would watch. And it might kill her. Because this time, she knew it could’ve been her.

But when she went upstairs late that night, Colby’s curtains were shut tight.




THREE (#ulink_0e4daca2-9513-54d7-bd0d-0bce49f4ad35)


At dawn Monday morning, Georgia shuffled to her living room with a steaming mug of coffee and a headache. She hadn’t slept well, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore this morning. Once she was up, she was up. Plus, she had a video chat session scheduled this morning with Leesha, and they were supposed to discuss Georgia’s progress now that the trial was only two and a half months away. Georgia blew across the top of her mug, but it was more a weary sigh than any attempt to cool off her coffee.

Progress. It was going to take Georgia the hour before the call to come up with things to list in that column. Everything was going so much slower than she, Leesha, or the prosecution had hoped for. The notion that she was supposed to get on a plane in January, fly back to Chicago, and face her ex-boyfriend, Phillip, was too much for her to think about right now. In the last six months, her biggest accomplishment had been managing to go back and forth to the grocery store without having a complete meltdown. Even in that, she wasn’t a hundred percent successful every time. Last week, she’d left a basket of groceries defrosting in the middle of the store because she’d seen someone who looked like Phillip and had to run out to the car before she made a scene.

But if she didn’t figure out a way to get herself to Chicago, functioning at full capacity, Phillip could walk. He’d murdered the person she’d loved most in the world, and he could stroll out a free man. The thought made her want to retch, but it was a real possibility. Phillip was a brilliant attorney and had hired an equally brilliant one to represent him. Most of the evidence was still circumstantial and Georgia’s testimony was key. But if she got on the stand and freaked out, jurors would believe the things the defense attorney would say about her—unstable, overactive imagination, drama queen.

Not an option. If Phillip went free, she was done. Revenge would be swift and deadly at his hands. Or worse. He’d take her and not kill her at all. He’d try to keep her.

Georgia shivered and went to the front window to let in some light. There were too many shadows surrounding her all of a sudden. But when she cracked her blinds open, her breathing ceased, and she almost dropped her mug to the floor.

There was a man in her front yard. Fear swept through her in a rush. But before she could tumble into full-fledged panic, the man turned and she caught sight of his familiar profile.

Colby reached up toward the tree in her front yard and tugged something from it. Only then did she take in the rest of the scene, her tunnel vision widening out. Her front yard was a complete disaster. Toilet paper hung in sagging loops from every branch and bush, and the flowers around her tree were flattened into a brightly colored carpet.

Seeing all her hard gardening work dismantled had the fear morphing right into anger, helping her shake off the dark memories she’d been plagued by a few minutes before.

She set her mug down and went to her front door, unlatching the three deadbolts and deactivating the alarm before pulling it open. The sight was even worse outside. Her entire garden out front looked like a herd of elephants had trampled through it. “What the hell?”

Colby turned at the sound of her voice, his jaw set. “Morning.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering she was only wearing a thin robe. “What’s going on?”

He dropped the pile of soggy toilet paper to the ground and took a few steps toward her. He was dressed for his morning run—baseball cap, track pants, and a blue Nike shirt. The man was like clockwork with his routine. Not that she’d noticed or anything.

“Apparently, some of the neighborhood kids decided to go on their own post-Halloween rampage and went a little overboard last night. My house got hit, too. When I came out, I figured it was probably a group from the school I work at targeting the staff. But then I saw your yard. My kids would know better than to tear up someone’s garden. At least they better or I’d have their butts out here fixing all this.”

She glanced over at his house and saw that it had gotten the same treatment. The white streamers of toilet paper billowed in the breeze. “Why are you over here, though? Looks like you have your own mess to handle.”

He shrugged. “You work hard on your yard, and it’d be tough for you to reach this stuff in the tree. I figured I’d help.”

“Thank you. That’s really nice of you.” She fought past her tendency to evaluate the kindness. She’d learned that a favor could be an aggressive move, a way to make someone feel indebted without permission. But every instinct told her Colby wasn’t a danger to her. The man was dominant and a sadist, but he lived by a code. She’d done her research on his lifestyle and had seen it in action through the window—structured, practiced, controlled. He only hurt with consent. “Do you want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”

He wiped his hands on his pants and smiled. “Sure, that’d be great.”

She stepped back inside and put her hand on the door, giving him the subtle signal that he wasn’t invited inside. No one was. “I’ll grab some and bring it out to you. Cream?”

“No, black with a little sugar is fine.”

She shut the door and locked it. With lightning-fast precision, she pulled on a pair of yoga pants, a bra, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, then made her way back toward the front of the house with two cups of coffee. Colby was sitting on her front steps when she walked out. He stood when he saw her and took the cup from her hand.

“Thanks,” he said, leaning against one of the brick columns on her porch. “I usually don’t let myself have one of these until I get to school.”

She wrapped both hands around her mug, the heat warming her cold fingers and soothing her nerves a bit. This was just coffee with the neighbor. “If I don’t have it within ten minutes of opening my eyes, I’m ruined for the morning.”

He took a long sip and recoiled a bit. “Whoa.”

She bit her lip, trying not to smile. “Sorry, I make the kind with chicory in it. My dad’s originally from New Orleans, and I picked up the habit. I could get you some cream if you want.”

He coughed, but his eyes were smiling. “No, I’ll be fine. Just didn’t expect that kick. That’ll grow hair on your chest.”

“I certainly hope not,” she said, taking another sip.

He chuckled and his gaze drifted downward ever so briefly to the V-neck of her top, making her instantly aware. But as quickly as the glance was there, his attention was back on her face again. “So is that where you’re from? New Orleans?”

The question was a simple one but held more drama than he could know. “No, my mom’s a college professor, so we moved when I was little from New Orleans to Chicago once she landed a tenured position.”

“How’d you end up here?”

This had been a bad idea. She knew her story, had it memorized for anyone who asked, but somehow Colby had her wanting to tell the truth. Something about him made her want to pour it all out there on her porch. But of course she couldn’t do that. “I don’t like harsh winters. And since I’m a writer and can work from anywhere, I figured I’d set up shop someplace warm with a low cost of living.”

It all sounded logical. Of course, it was all bullshit except for the writer part. She was simply renting this place because a good friend had inherited the house from her grandmother and offered to let her stay there. She hadn’t cared where she landed as long as it wasn’t anywhere close to where Phillip would be. As soon as he was safely behind bars, she could return to her cute little house in Evanston and start living again. Find that happy girl who used to have great friends and a busy social life.

“What do you write?” Colby asked, bringing her mind back into focus.

“Lately?” Really hot, kinky scenes loosely based on my neighbor. “I do freelance stuff for websites and am working on a novel. A thriller.”

He couldn’t know that she already had an ongoing thriller series published under the pen name Myra McKnight and that she made her living from that. As far as anyone knew, Myra had moved to some exotic island to write her next book about well-loved undercover agent Haven Fontaine and would be making no public appearances in the near future.

“Wow, that must be fun,” he said, sounding genuine. “I’d love to—”

But his cell phone buzzed and cut off whatever he was about to say. He apologized and pulled the phone from the clip on his pants. He frowned when he read whatever text message he’d received.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

His laid-back expression had tightened into concern. He looked up, as if he’d forgotten for a moment that she was there. “Yeah, sorry, I think so. It’s just a message from my boss. I’m going to have to get going. Something’s come up.”

“Oh, right, sure,” she said, surprised at the disappointment she felt. It’d been a long time since she’d shared coffee with anyone. And sharing it with Colby had been more pleasant than she cared to admit.

He handed his cup back to her. “Hey, when I get home tonight, how about I help finish the cleanup and then we go grab a burger or something? I’d love to hear about your book.”

The offer was so tempting, but he might as well have asked her if she wanted to accompany him to Paris for the night. Each was equally impossible unless she wanted to load up with her anxiety pills. Then she’d be no company at all anyway. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression more curious than anything. “Can’t or don’t want to?”

She looked away.

“Hey”—he touched her elbow gently—“either way, it’s fine. I’ve noticed you don’t go out much.”

She pressed her lips together and forced her gaze back to his, then nodded. “Leaving the house is … difficult for me.”

His eyes softened, and she imagined he probably made a very good counselor to the kids at his high school. Despite his seemingly rough edges and overwhelming size, there was something in that expression that held understanding and sympathy without judgment. He gave a little smile. “Well, maybe I’ll bring the burgers to you, then.”

She couldn’t help returning the smile, despite knowing how bad an idea this was. She wasn’t prepared or equipped to pursue anything with anyone—especially someone like Colby. But her mouth was working on its own volition. “Maybe I’ll let you.”

When she shut the door, she leaned against it and smiled. Maybe she would have some progress to report to Leesha after all.






Being called into the principal’s office first thing in the morning was never a good thing. Not in Colby’s school days and not now. So when his impromptu coffee date with Georgia had been interrupted by a text from Principal Anders, requesting that Colby come to her office before the first bell, an old knot of dread had settled in his chest. He’d wanted to call her immediately, insist on knowing what it was, so his mind wouldn’t have to go down all the possible paths. But this was one of the few relationships in his life where he wasn’t in the driver’s seat. Principal Anders liked to do things her way. And her way was face-to-face meetings. He smirked to himself as he headed into the bathroom for a quick shower. She’d probably make an excellent domme.

But the amusing thought died quickly as he hurried through his routine and the possibilities of what she could want to see him about drifted through his mind. On the way to the school, he told himself it was probably just a request to fill in as a substitute for the day or something. That happened on a pretty regular basis. He wouldn’t relish the duty today—he’d had a string of late nights over the weekend, starting with the Halloween party Friday night and then putting a new submissive training class at The Ranch through their paces on Saturday evening—but he’d do it. It was always easier when someone familiar to the kids was in charge of the class. The students were pros at steamrolling the inexperienced and unsuspecting substitutes the district sometimes sent them. The Graham Gauntlet. That was what the teachers called it behind the closed doors of the teachers’ lounge.

But when Colby pulled into the half-empty parking lot and two Dallas PD squad cars were glinting in the early-morning sun, Colby knew his initial qualms had been well founded. Not that it was completely out of the ordinary to see cops at the school. Any high school had issues. An alternative school for kids who’d gotten booted from the main system had more. But there were no students in the building yet. School wouldn’t start for another hour. So that meant something had happened over the weekend. Either someone had gotten arrested or someone—

No, he wouldn’t go down that road yet. But the same sick feeling he’d had six years ago filtered through him, making his few sips of coffee burn in his stomach. Though it had been a different city and a different school, that day had been all too similar. Early-morning call. Cops. And questions for Colby. Only then, there had been an urgency to everything, a crackling frenzy. A feeling that something could still be done to help. Nothing had. In the end, a student had disappeared in the night—a vulnerable seventeen-year-old kid who’d sat silent in every form of therapy but who had opened up to Mr. Wilkes, his music teacher, and had shared things Colby hadn’t been prepared to handle. He’d tried to help, but he’d fucked it up.

The student had eventually been labeled a runaway, but most of the staff knew that wasn’t likely. There’d been a note. A missing gun. A good-bye to the world.

So the cops had closed the book, stopped the search. And Colby had been left with the eat-you-from-the-inside guilt that he could’ve done more. That it was his fault. He’d resigned his position, knowing that the school would’ve encouraged him to do so even if he hadn’t volunteered. There’d been whispers of lines being crossed. After that, he’d moved to Dallas and had gone back to school to get his master’s in counseling, vowing that next time he’d know how to handle a kid who needed real help.

Now another ominous morning. Another call. And more cop cars.

He sent out a silent prayer to the universe as he climbed out of his truck and headed inside. This will be just another ordinary day. Maybe if he said it, it would make it true.

But it wasn’t.

Principal Rowan Anders was wearing her solemn face as she invited Colby into her office, her usual everything-in-place appearance loose at the edges, like she’d gotten ready in an even bigger hurry than Colby had. The school psychologist, Ed Guthrie—or Dr. Guthrie, as he so often reminded his students and colleagues—was already there, peering over at Colby from one of the chairs as Colby took a seat.

“What’s going on?” Colby finally asked, done with thick silence.

Rowan tucked an errant blond hair back into the clip that was precariously holding it up and sighed. “It’s Travis.”

The name and her tone had his stomach tumbling. “What’s wrong?”

She pressed her hands to the top of her desk. “Around eleven last night, he took a handful of his mother’s sleeping pills and cut his wrists with his dad’s hunting knife.”

No. Colby’s chest seized at the information, shock and heartbreak colliding. “Is he, did he …”

Principal Anders took a breath and kept talking. “He’s still alive. His father woke up with indigestion later that night and went to get antacids out of the downstairs bathroom. He found Travis lying in the bathtub, unconscious and bleeding. Thankfully, the cuts hadn’t been deep enough to kill him quickly, so the ambulance got there in time. He’s had his stomach pumped and he’s lost a good bit of blood, but they think he’s going to be okay—physically at least.”

“Christ.” Colby breathed a deep, bone-shaking sigh of relief at that outcome and rubbed a hand over his face.

Rowan’s shoulders lifted and dipped with another long exhale, and that was when Colby felt the shift in the room. This wasn’t just a meeting to inform him about one of the students. He could see the businesswoman mask slide over her features. “Colby, I understand that you were the last of the staff to talk to Travis on Friday.”

He blinked, caught off guard for a second. “Yes, we had a short session before the last bell.”

“Can you tell me what happened in your meeting with Travis?” she asked as she straightened a few papers on her desk without looking at them.

Colby rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, still trying to get his heartbeat to settle after worrying he’d lost a student. On Colby’s left, Dr. Guthrie gave him a sidelong glance.

Colby ignored the stench of judgment he could sense wafting off the other man and focused on his boss. “Travis was supposed to have a session with Dr. Guthrie but since Ed was out that afternoon, I offered to talk with him instead. I knew Travis had been having trouble with a few of the other kids, and we discussed that. He was down and frustrated, but nothing that sent up any red flags.”

“Did he inform you that he’d gone off his meds?” Ed asked, his voice cool.

Fuck. “No. But I didn’t ask.”

“Why not?” Principal Anders asked.

Ed’s eyebrows quirked up, and he leaned forward in a way that said, Yes, Mr. Wilkes, please share with us how completely incompetent you are.

Colby resisted the urge to throat-punch the guy. The jerk had always seen himself as far superior and had been against Colby’s more down-to-earth approach with the kids from the start. “The session was informal since we only had a few minutes and I didn’t have his file. Plus, Travis and I haven’t talked in an official capacity before, and I needed to build some trust and rapport. If I had jumped right into questions about medication, he would’ve shut down.”

Ed sniffed and Principal Anders gave an unreadable nod. “Did you notice any danger signs, anything that gave you pause?”

Colby thought back to Friday. The kid had looked tired, a little beat down by the rough week, but nothing out of character from what he’d seen of the kid before. The only thing out of the ordinary had been that Grim Reaper costume. Looking back, maybe that had been a clue. But there’d been at least three Reapers roaming the halls that day. It wasn’t an uncommon costume. “Nothing that made me overly concerned. He told me about his altercation with Dalton earlier in the day. He talked about how he liked to create music on his computer. We discussed how things like music can be a nice escape from stress sometimes.”

“What did he say to that?” the principal asked.

“He agreed. He said”—Colby replayed the conversation in his mind, that hollow-stomach feeling returning—“he said he craved the escape.”

Ed grunted. “This is why I should never take an afternoon off. How did you not see the signs, Wilkes? Did you ask him if he had a plan for an escape?”

Colby’s hands curled around the arms of the chair, but he forced himself to keep his voice even. “It wasn’t said like that.”

Principal Anders frowned. “Colby, I’m sure you’re well aware that if a threat or plan for suicide is shared, we are legally bound to break confidentiality and report it.”

Colby counted to three in his head before responding. “Yes, of course. I’ve already done it twice this year when students have admitted thoughts of self-harm. That was not the case on Friday.”

“Travis told his parents this morning that he talked to you, that he told you he wanted it all to end,” she continued.

Colby frowned. “The bullying. He said he wanted the bullying to end.”

God, had he missed something? It’d been late on Friday. He’d had a busy week with a number of small successes with his students. But he’d also been tired and a little distracted, knowing he was hosting the Halloween party that night. And Travis had rushed off. Maybe he hadn’t listened closely enough. Maybe he had missed the signs. Maybe he should’ve run after him when he’d bolted.

Principal Anders smoothed the papers in front of her, her mouth pinched. “Colby, I’m sure you did what you could. You do a good job here, and I know the kids connect well with you. That’s why I’ve been trying to get you bumped up to full time. But the school district is going to get heat for this. Travis’s parents are well-to-do and were already annoyed that their son was in an alternative school after things didn’t work out at his private school. The cops said the words lawyer and negligence were already being thrown around at the hospital. You know how sensitive these things are for the school district.”

Colby could feel it, the anvil hovering above his head.

“So, until an investigation has been conducted, I’m going to have to put you on leave.”

Bam. Flattened. “Rowan, you can’t think that I’d—”

She lifted a hand, cutting him off. “If lawyers get involved, they’ll dig. They’ll pull all of your background, your work history.”

Cold moved through him.

“The incident with that student at your previous school”—she glanced down at her notes—“Adam Keats, is sure to come up. I know this is a different situation, but from the outside, it could look bad. Like a pattern.”

He shook his head, too gutted to respond. Even thinking about Keats again was too much to handle. But that wasn’t the only problem with someone poking into his background. Colby had a side job that would make every school board member’s head explode. He’d be fired faster than he could spell BDSM.

“Dr. Guthrie will take over your caseload for now,” Rowan continued, all business now. “We’ll bring in extra help if needed. But we have to show that we are taking immediate action and looking into the matter. And you should know, the school district may decide that our students should only be seen by a psychologist instead of splitting the caseload between you and Dr. Guthrie. You know that’s not my opinion. I think you add a different perspective and approach. And frankly, the kids here need all the resources they can get. But I might not have a say if Travis’s father really kicks up dust.”

Colby caught the barest hint of a smile in his periphery. That fucker Guthrie was probably preening with glee on the inside. He’d never wanted Colby here. He’d wanted a promotion and a raise, not a counselor added to the mix. So from the very beginning, Guthrie had made it clear what he thought of “a washed-up musician counseling young, vulnerable minds.” The ire had only grown when it’d become obvious that the kids gravitated more toward Colby’s no-nonsense approach than Dr. Guthrie’s cool, clinical tactics.

Now all of Colby’s students would get moved to Guthrie’s caseload—temporarily in the best-case scenario, permanently if Colby’s position was eliminated altogether. The thought made him want to throw things. The faces of the students he counseled each week flipped through his head like a slide show on fast-forward. Kids who had come to trust him, kids who had made hard-fought progress, kids who didn’t need another change in their already unstable lives. Kids who were a lot like him when he was that age.

He wasn’t under the impression that he was the only one who could help them. But knowing that he could be the one was what got him up every morning, what kept old demons at bay.

But he hadn’t helped Travis on Friday. Just like he hadn’t helped Adam Keats. Maybe he’d gotten too confident that he knew what he was doing.

“I understand,” he said, the fight draining out of him.

Principal Anders gave another terse nod, as if putting a period on the end of her declaration. “Thank you, Colby. Hopefully, this won’t go too far or for too long. His parents are understandably upset and panicked. They’re going to want to find blame everywhere else. We’re the easiest targets.”

No, he was the easiest target. And maybe it wasn’t unfounded. He should’ve asked Travis about his medication. He should’ve grabbed his file to see if there were any hot points to check in on. Maybe instead of trying to put him at ease by getting him to talk about music, he should’ve asked him different questions. “I’ll get my files and go over them with Dr. Guthrie so he can be up to date on my students.”

Guthrie slapped his thighs and stood. “No need. I’ve already had them moved to my office. Your students will be shifted onto my calendar starting today.”

Well, wasn’t he the eager beaver. Apparently, Rowan had called him first and had everything taken care of before Colby walked in. It was like being fired only without the pink slip. Everyone knew it was going to happen except you.

After Guthrie strolled out, Colby stood and headed for the door.

“Colby?”

He looked back to Rowan. She’d stood as well and her cool principal mask softened into one more human. “For what it’s worth, I know that if you had suspected he was in real trouble, you would’ve reported it.”

He nodded.

But he heard what she didn’t say. Maybe you should’ve suspected.

They were words he’d heard before.




FOUR (#ulink_637062cc-d2ca-50bd-bbd3-fc92b975afb2)


“You playing tonight, Wilkes?”

Colby looked over to the left at the man who’d leaned against the bar and posed the question. Jenner Bodine smiled back at him, toothpick clenched in his teeth. Colby took another sip from his whiskey. “Nope. Jus’ drinking. You?”

Had his words slurred? He couldn’t tell anymore.

“Yeah, I’m onstage next. Filling in for an act that had to cancel.” He glanced out at the empty seats in the bar. “I hate playing on Mondays. Only the real dedicated drunks show up on a Monday.”

Colby raised his glass in salute.

Jenner laughed. “Wow, the hard stuff, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with anything but beer.”

Yeah, and Colby’s brain was feeling the effects. He could handle his liquor, but he’d been here since early afternoon and things were getting a little fuzzy around the edges now. Good. If there was ever a time to get shit-faced, it was the day one of your students almost fucking died—and you realized it might have been partly your fault. All he kept thinking about was how if Travis’s father hadn’t chosen Thai food for dinner that night, Travis would’ve been dead this morning. A sixteen-year-old kid. Dead. Two days after a session with Colby.

God. He rubbed a hand over his face. Was he that fucking blind? That useless? He’d been too wrapped up in his own crap and missed danger signs with his little brother all those years ago. Then he’d screwed things up with Adam Keats, and the kid had disappeared. Now this. Maybe he should just stick to his guitar and his job at The Ranch after all. Everything else he touched seemed to go to shit.

Colby tapped the bar and motioned for Lenora, the bartender, to pour him another. She grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s but frowned at him before she poured. “Sugar, I know you’re a big man who can take his liquor, and I’m guessing you had a real bad day, but you’re going to be sick as hell if you keep going.”

Jenner chuckled and gave Colby’s shoulder a pat. “Looks like you’re cut off, my friend. Now you’ll have to sober up while you listen to my set.”

Colby grunted but didn’t protest for Lenora to pour. Even through his liquor-soaked thoughts, he recognized that she wasn’t giving him a choice in the matter. She was a world-class flirt and would give any customer the sweet-as-MoonPies Southern girl routine, but she ran this bar with a nonnegotiable set of rules and would kick anyone out who gave her flak about it.

“A Coke then,” he said, the words coming out slower than he intended.

“Now we’re talking.” She patted his hand and poured him a soda, then pushed a bowl of nuts toward him. “And eat something.”

Jenner said good-bye and headed toward the side door that led backstage. Colby sighed and grabbed a handful of nuts, figuring he might as well stay to listen to Jenner play. The guy was a little more pop than country in Colby’s opinion. Colby preferred playing stuff with an old-school flavor. But Jenner had a good voice and a knack for writing good lyrics. And what else did Colby have to do tonight? It wasn’t like he had to get to bed early to be up for school tomorrow.

The thought was more than a little depressing. He had no idea what he was going to do with himself for the weeks that stretched out before him. He kept his life busy for a reason. If he wasn’t working at school, he was at The Ranch giving training sessions or here at the bar with his guitar playing a gig. The thought of sitting at home and doing … he didn’t even know what he’d do, made him want to crawl out of his skin. He pulled the straw from the glass and took a swig of his soda. He’d go crazy stuck in that house with nothing to do.

Stuck in the house. Something about the thought niggled him. He tried to pinpoint whatever it was, then gave up and pushed it aside.

It didn’t hit him in that moment. It didn’t even hit him for the first few songs of Jenner’s performance. But when the alcohol started to filter out of his system and his mind began to clear, the thought circled back to him. Stuck in the house …

Shit.

He’d told Georgia this morning that he would bring burgers by. She’d barely accepted the invitation as it was, but now it was past ten and he hadn’t even stopped by to tell her something had come up. Goddammit. He’d finally gotten his neighbor to agree to a semi-date with him, and he’d fucking blown it.

Way to go, Wilkes. He pushed away from the bar, relieved that the world tilted only slightly and that he was steady on his feet. “Hey, Lenora.”

She spun his way. “Yeah, hon.”

“I’m going to leave my truck in the parking lot and take a cab. I’ll come by and get it in the morning, so don’t tow me.”

“Sure thing,” she said with a smile. “Get some rest.”

He stepped out of the bar, the brisk air sobering him even more. The street was mostly deserted. No cabs in sight. He should’ve known. This part of Fort Worth was honky-tonk party row on the weekend, but on a Monday night, it was a ghost town. He stuck his hands in his pockets and took a left down the street. He knew there was a Hilton a few blocks over, and that’d be his best shot at grabbing a cab.

The wind had picked up and was blowing along the sides of the buildings with a punch of cold. Thunder rumbled in the distance and promised a chilling rain. But the residual effects of the alcohol kept him warm enough for now. A few notes of music drifted through the air as people opened the doors to some of the bars and clubs. But as he neared the end of the second block, more than a snippet of a song hit his ears. Lonely notes of a familiar melody seemed to echo from far away and stopped him dead in his stride.

He glanced behind him, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound, but the sidewalks were empty. He closed his eyes, grabbing on to the faint sound of the song. Lyrics he should’ve forgotten by now filled in the blanks in his head.

The yellow tape winds

The signs all warn

Fingers grab and twine,

And everything is torn.

I’m a trespasser, never will I belong.

My life is off-limits, everything is wrong …

Colby opened his eyes and shook his head as a chill moved through him. No, it couldn’t be. He must’ve had more to drink than he thought. He was so drunk he was hearing ghosts. Old demons were sliding out of the gutters and wrapping around him. He picked up the speed of his steps.

But as he moved forward, the sound of the guitar only got louder, the chords clearer. Like a man possessed, he took a sharp right, crossed the street, and followed the sound. The music grew crisp as he neared a closed record store. He turned another corner and found himself facing a small park. There was a statue of a horse at the center of a stone circle, and benches surrounded it. On one of the benches sat a guy with a guitar and full sleeve tattoos, playing a song that didn’t belong to him.

“Hey,” Colby called out as he walked into the circle. “What song are you playing?”

The guy glanced up for a second, his face in the shadow of the canopy of trees above him, and the music stopped. “Five bucks and I’ll tell ya.”

Colby peered at the open guitar case at the guy’s feet. There were a few bills in it. “That’s not your song to play.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he said, and started strumming again.

Colby stepped forward, his heartbeat pounding. “Tell me where you heard it.”

“Price has gone up to twenty,” the guy said, not even bothering to look up this time. Thunder rumbled closer now and a gust of wind blew over them, rattling the leaves above them.

Colby gritted his teeth and pulled his wallet out. He dropped a twenty in the case. “Tell me.”

The guy’s blond hair had fallen in his face, but Colby could see his smirk. “In my head. I wrote it, asshole.”

Well, that just pissed Colby off. He kicked the guitar case shut with a bang.

The guy’s head jerked upward. “What’s your pr—”

But his green eyes went wide and his words trailed off as his gaze met Colby’s.

For a second, the pieces didn’t register, didn’t fit together in Colby’s fuzzy head. He just stared for a few long seconds. But when it all finally clicked into place, it was like a swift, hard punch to the gut. “Keats?”

That seemed to snap the guy out of his stunned state. He got off the bench with hurried movements and flipped open his guitar case to set his battered instrument into it. “No, man, ain’t me.”

Colby considered for a moment that he was seeing ghosts. He’d had a bad day. He’d had a lot to drink. Keats had been on his mind earlier. But when Colby gave the guy a longer look, he knew he wasn’t imagining things. The boy he’d known had grown a few inches and had inked up his skin. His hair was longer and he was leaner than Colby remembered. Harder. But there was no doubting those pale green eyes or the awareness that had flashed through them.

This was Keats. Alive.

Keats yanked his case from the ground and hitched a backpack over his shoulder, turning to go. He took two steps before Colby had a hand on his upper arm. “You’re just going to walk away?”

Keats tensed in his grip, and he turned cold eyes on him. “Unless you plan to throw more money at me, big man, I’m outta here.”

Colby let his arm go but squared off in front of him to block him, the dominant side of him shimmering to the surface. “Keats, if you think you’re going to blow me off and pretend you don’t know me, I suggest you rethink that.”

Keats’s smile was wry even though fear flickered through his eyes. “Blow you? So that’s what this is about? Not my thing, dude. But give me two hundred bucks and maybe I can forget that I don’t like cock.”

Colby stepped into his space, unsure what pissed him off more—that Keats was still keeping up this act or that what he said could be true—that the smart, quiet kid he used to know was now selling himself to keep afloat. He hoped to God Keats was just bluffing. But if the kid wanted to play this game, he could, too.

“Fine.”

Keats blinked, the tough-guy face faltering for a second. “What?”

“Five hundred and you come home with me for the night.”

“That wasn’t the offer.”

“You’re going to turn down five hundred bucks and a warm place to sleep?” he asked, knowing Keats had no more than thirty bucks in his case and that the cold rain would start falling any minute.

“Nobody gives you that much money for nothing,” he said, his expression tight. “And I don’t fuck guys.”

Even hearing the crass words roll off Keats’s lips had anger welling in Colby. So he was going to keep this bravado crap up. Colby crowded Keats against the side of the bench, using his size to the fullest advantage. He knew he wasn’t fighting fair. Keats was nervous even if he was trying to play it off. But there was no way in hell Colby was letting him walk away. If it meant playing as dirty as Keats was playing, so be it. He leaned in, meeting Keats eye to eye. “Do I look like someone who’d need to pay for a fuck?”

“Col—” he started, then caught himself. “Shit.”

Colby smiled and backed off, victorious. He took the guitar case from Keats’s hand, the burden of Colby’s awful day lifting a little. The situation was beyond screwed up. Keats was on the street—or close enough to it to be busking in a park. He hadn’t actually asked him if he had somewhere to go. But he was alive. That was enough to be thankful for. “Come on. Let’s get a sandwich and get indoors before the skies open up. I need to sober up before I can drive. But when we’re done, you are going home with me.”

The nothing-bothers-me attitude dropped from Keats’s expression and he looked … lost. “Why?”

“Do you have someplace better to go?” he asked, lifting a brow.

Keats’s jaw twitched and he glanced away, the shame in his eyes making him look more like the kid he used to know and less like—Colby counted off the years in his head—the twenty-three-year-old man he’d grown into. “Not if I don’t show up with some cash in my pocket.”

“That’s reason enough, then. I’m guessing five hundred will cover you. Come on.”

Keats followed him when Colby started walking back toward the main road. He fell into step with him. “Your … family isn’t going to mind you showing up with some stranger?”

Colby peered over at him, the question catching him off guard. “I live alone.”

“Oh.” Keats looked down. “That’s cool.”

Ah, hell.

This had trouble written all over it. Colby switched the guitar case to his other hand and put some distance between the two of them.

Line drawn.




FIVE (#ulink_28633a36-a85c-5391-8a30-4ad59fb6f766)


Georgia sat curled up in her living room, nursing a glass of wine and trying to plot out the next scene in her book on the legal pad propped on her lap. A rerun of 48 Hours was on in the background, but she wasn’t listening to it. Really, she hadn’t been able to concentrate on much of anything all evening. Instead, her eyes kept drifting to her living room window. Colby had said he might bring over burgers tonight. All day she had stressed about it, wondering if she would be able to manage it. She knew she couldn’t go over to his house, but she wasn’t sure she could let him in hers either. Every time she thought about it, she got that electric feeling in her muscles—like they were all going to seize up at once.

But Leesha had been so enthusiastic when Georgia had mentioned the potential date-that-wasn’t-really-a-date to her this morning. According to Leesha—in all her therapeutic wisdom—getting interested in a man was a “major” step in the right direction. It showed willingness to trust again and reconnecting to the outside world and blah blah blah. Georgia had zoned out a little on the therapist-speak. Even so, Leesha’s excitement had been contagious, and Georgia had promised her she would do all she could to give it a chance and not chicken out.

So she’d started making plans to eat on the backyard deck. Her garden back there was quiet and the trees offered shade. She could control the situation there. But all the planning and worrying had been for naught. Colby hadn’t come home at his normal time. And it wasn’t like he had her phone number, so he hadn’t called. So either something had come up or he’d simply forgotten. Or something was wrong.

She pushed the thought aside, frustrated that her mind always went there. Hello, Paranoia, nice to see you again. It was always there, waiting in the rafters and ready to pounce. Sometimes she wondered if Phillip had seared it into her psyche permanently, that there was no getting better for her, that he had killed the woman Georgia used to be spiritually even if her physical form had managed to survive. Maybe she was sentenced to a life inside these walls, watching the world go by through her windows and on her TV screen, and only going out when she popped a pill that made her thoughts go slow and sticky. She set her wineglass aside and pressed the heels of her hands to her eye sockets, the thoughts making her brain want to implode.

No, she wouldn’t let that happen. She was trying to get better. She was going outside every day. She was doing her therapy. Hell, she’d held a full conversation with her neighbor today. Even Leesha was hopeful. Things were getting a little better, right? And once Phillip was put away for good, the fear would surely go away. Knowing that he was out on bond and could pop back into her life was what held her hostage. The chances were slim that he’d leave the state since if he tried, he’d be thrown in jail. But it was the existence of that minute possibility that she couldn’t get past. Because she knew without a doubt that if he found her, there would be no escape this time.

A door slammed in the distance, making her jump and almost knock over her wine. She turned her head toward the window. Colby was back and someone was climbing down from the passenger side of his truck. Georgia shifted on the couch to turn fully around and watch. At least he was safe, even if the thought of him bringing home some woman had a different kind of feeling twisting in her stomach. But when his passenger came around the front of the truck, it was a lanky guy with shoulder-length blond hair. Not anyone she recognized from Colby’s gaggle of friends.

Jealousy rooted down in her gut despite the fact that it was a guy. Georgia had watched Colby long enough to know he wasn’t only into women. Though not recently, she’d seen him with a male lover once before. It had shocked the hell out of her initially. She knew gay or bisexual men didn’t necessarily fit a stereotype. But Colby was the epitome of the Southern-boy alpha male—the last person she would’ve ever suspected. When she’d first watched him fool around with the guy, she’d expected to be turned off. She’d always dated what she’d thought of as “manly” men, ones who would’ve balked at the idea of touching another guy.

But she’d been floored by how hot it had been to watch Colby take over another man. It hadn’t been effeminate at all. It’d been rough and sexy and intense. Transfixing. By the time the night was done, she’d been sweating, breathless, and out of her mind with all the … wanting. She hadn’t quite understood her reaction, but she’d decided not to dig too deep into that one.

However, tonight she wasn’t in the mood to watch. Her pride was dinged. She and Colby had made plans, albeit loose ones, and then Colby had blown it off and brought someone else home. It was probably stupid to feel any jealousy. She and Colby were just neighbors. It was only an offer for burgers. She probably wouldn’t have even been able to invite him inside. But it didn’t stop the feelings from surfacing.

She watched the other guy pull something out of the truck bed, a guitar case from the looks of it. Colby said something to him and then glanced toward Georgia’s house. Instinctively, she ducked back. All he’d be able to see between her blinds was the ambient light from the television, but even so, Colby was already heading her way.

“Shit.” She scrambled off the couch. She was still in her jeans and favorite pink cashmere sweater. Stupidly, she’d gotten a little dressed up for the night, even putting on some makeup. Of course, she probably had raccoon eyes at this point from rubbing them. She strode to the mirror above the small table in the entryway and ran her fingers under her eyes to clear the smudged mascara right before the knock hit the door.

She almost didn’t want him to see that she was still fully dressed. She didn’t want him thinking she’d been waiting like some forgotten girl on prom night. That gave him an edge, power. But she didn’t have any choice. She checked the peephole to make double sure who was on the other side, then deactivated the alarm and undid the deadbolts.

She swung the door open, finding the hulking mass of Colby Wilkes filling the doorway. He looked nothing like the fresh and spry guy he’d been when he’d left that morning. His hair was disheveled, his eyes a little bloodshot, and his clothes looked like they’d been rained on.

“Hey,” she said tentatively.

He gave her a brief up-and-down glance. “Good, you’re still up. I saw the TV was on and took a chance.”

“Yeah, I was just about to go up to bed.”

Something flickered over his expression at that, but he shifted his weight, bracing his hand on the doorjamb, and the flicker was gone. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry I didn’t stop by tonight like I said I would.”

She shrugged. “It’s okay. I didn’t really know if you were serious anyway.”

He sighed and ran a hand over the back of his head. “I was. But today has been … complicated.” He glanced toward his house and the guy leaning against the side of Colby’s truck. “And is still complicated.”

“Everything okay?” she asked, eyeing Colby’s guest.

“I don’t know if it can be defined as okay, but I have things under control. Mostly.”

“Who’s the guy?” she blurted, then cringed when she realized how nosy she sounded. “Sorry, none of my business.”

Colby rubbed his jaw, considering her. “He’s … a guy I used to know and who needed a place to crash tonight. Long story.”

The way he said it, the underlying current of regret in his voice, had her curiosity welling, but she kept her questions to herself. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Not really.” His lip curled at the corner. “Having dinner with you tonight would’ve helped. I was looking forward to that. Rain check?”

“Sure, okay.”

“Good. I’ll hold you to that.” He leaned over, cupping her elbow, and panic stiffened her for a second as he entered her space. But all he did was press a light kiss to her cheek.

He smelled faintly of maple syrup, but the rough brush of his beard against her skin sent a current straight downward. She had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from making a sound. He lingered close for a moment, and she swallowed hard. She could turn her head—just a few inches and those lips would be on hers. If she were her old self, she would’ve done it. That girl didn’t cower. That girl took chances.

But that girl wasn’t her. Not anymore.

He pulled back before she could even attempt to get the nerve. He gave her that heartbreaker smile of his, though she could see the tiredness and strain lingering in his eyes, and stepped back onto her porch. The whole exchange had her wanting to reach out, run her hands along his jaw, and offer comfort—possibly of the naked variety. But all she could do was tell him good night and close the door.

When Georgia went upstairs a little while later, she tried to walk past the guest room without stopping in. But it was a siren call she couldn’t shut off. After slipping into her oversized nightshirt, she padded barefoot into the dark guest room. A few lights went on and off in Colby’s house, but eventually he appeared in his bedroom doorway. He shut his door and leaned against it. He ran a hand over his face in a fuck-my-life motion. It was the first time she could remember seeing him look so beat down. He headed into his bathroom. She knew she needed to close the curtains and go to bed, but she remained in her chair, somehow feeling less alone sitting here instead of in her room.

A few minutes later, she was rewarded with the sight of Colby stepping out of his bathroom with only a towel around his hips. His hair was still wet and his skin still damp. She picked up the binoculars. Colby turned off the overhead light, leaving his bedside lamp on, and then he glanced toward her window. Her heart stuttered for a second, but his gaze moved away as quickly as it had come. He undid the towel, exposing a backside that could inspire her to take up sculpting as a hobby, and tossed the towel into a hamper.

When he turned to the side, her magnified gaze tracked down his profile, tracing along the lines of his nose and jaw, going over his honed biceps and the cut of his hip, and then hovering on the hand he’d just wrapped around his quickly stiffening erection.

A shiver went straight through Georgia. She’d never seen him masturbate. She’d long ago assumed he did it in the shower or something. But tonight it seemed he had other intentions. She couldn’t pull her focus away from that big hand of his stroking upward. She could see the flesh start to broaden in his hand, the head going a darker shade.

But right when she was getting lost in the show, he moved out of the binoculars’ view. She quickly adjusted the focus, unzooming, and gasped when she realized he was looking right at her. She jerked back for a second, that caught! feeling racing through her. But of course he couldn’t see her. He was just looking that way. Maybe he was thinking about her? The idea sent warmth stirring low.

She held her hands steady on the binoculars, watching as something flared in his eyes—desire, need, maybe a little loneliness, all of it was in that look. But the moment passed and he turned away, grabbing something from a bedside drawer—a bottle of clear liquid. Without pulling back the covers, he stretched out on his bed and took himself in his lubricated hand, stroking in long, luxuriating motions.

God. Georgia was going to fucking lose it.

The tip of her tongue touched the center of her lip as she let the desire wake up her body. This hadn’t been her plan when she’d sat down in front of the window. She’d only wanted to see what kind of “friend” Colby had brought home. But now there was no way she’d be able to sit here and watch Colby pleasure himself without relieving the tension building between her thighs.

She kept her focus glued to Colby as she pulled open the drawer in the table that flanked the window and pulled out the small vibrator she’d stowed in there. She slipped her fingers inside her panties. She groaned under her breath at the feel of her touch and how wet she was already. Watching Colby flipped her switch like nothing else, it seemed. She turned the vibrator on to a low setting, which sent a shudder of pleasure up her spine, but she forced her eyes to stay open. Colby had cupped his balls with one hand and was sliding his fist along his shaft with the other. He didn’t look to be in any kind of rush, and Georgia imagined it was her there giving him that slow, sensual pleasure instead—teasing him until he begged for more. She knew he’d feel heavy in her hands and hot. She could only imagine how he’d feel sliding inside her. It’d been so damn long …

The slowly weaved fantasy made her sex clench around the vibrator and her thighs tighten. She wouldn’t last long at this rate. Her heartbeat was already pounding right behind her clit, the demand for release building. Colby looked to be getting closer as well, his movements speeding up and his thighs flexing.

She couldn’t wait for him. Her body seized around the stimulation and orgasm rocketed through her. She panted her way through the hills and valleys of it, tasting sweat on her upper lip. But right as she was drifting down from her quick high, she caught movement at the edge of her view. She swung her binoculars to the left.

Colby’s door had cracked open. A guy stepped a foot inside and his eyes went wide with an oh, shit expression as he realized what he’d walked in on. She couldn’t gather much about him beyond that he was relatively young and really surprised before he backed up. Everything was happening too quickly. But Colby hadn’t noticed the intrusion, apparently too lost in his final climb to release. Colby’s guest went to shut the door but then hesitated, leaving a crack where Georgia could only make out half his face in the low light. He seemed frozen there as he stared at the man on the bed. Colby came in a rush, his release landing against his stomach and chest, and the guy hurriedly shut the door before Colby opened his eyes.

Colby was never the wiser. But Georgia knew.

For once, she wasn’t the only Peeping Tom in the neighborhood.




SIX (#ulink_eab9b5f6-af02-519f-9e8c-e0ae8179c833)


Fuck, fuck, fuck. Keats cruised back to Colby’s guest room at warp speed, almost tripping over his feet in his effort to get the hell out of the hallway. That walk to the bathroom had not gone as planned. Apparently, it was the second door on the left, not the right. He shut his door silently and then collapsed against it, his blood pounding at his temples … and much lower.

He slid to the floor, clasping his hands behind his neck. Jesus Christ. He had stood there way too long. He’d been a half second away from Colby seeing him. That would’ve been fun. Hi, thanks for giving me a place to crash tonight. No, don’t mind me while I turn into a total creeper and watch you jack off.

God, what the hell was wrong with him?

He hadn’t been able to look away. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how jerking off worked. He was rather fond of it himself. But realizing he was seeing Colby Wilkes without the teacher façade, just the man—naked—had frozen him in place. All the mixed-up feelings he’d had back in high school had rushed back in a flash. Back then, when he’d heard through the rumor mill that Mr. Wilkes sometimes dated guys, his mind hadn’t been able to let that go. Images had popped into his head unbidden and relentless—followed by fantasies he would’ve never admitted to out loud.

He’d used those fantasies on a constant loop to get off back then, only to follow up with all the guilt and shame that rushed in afterward. And here he was, twenty-fucking-three years old and those stupid teenage urges wanted to well up—that old inner voice calling him a fag and a cocksucker and disgusting. Words his father had supplied but Keats’s brain had latched onto.

He tapped the back of his head on the door. No. That wasn’t him anymore. He no longer believed that backwoods shit his father had pounded into him. People could screw who they wanted to screw. But he was straight. The weird fantasies about Colby had been a fluke, some wires crossing because Colby had been the only person he’d trusted, and he’d wanted to be closer to him—had wanted those student/teacher boundaries keeping everything formal to disappear. That was all. As soon as he left home, those mixed-up feelings had faded away.

Keats liked women, bedded them regularly, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Plus, he’d been on the streets long enough and had gotten sick of married guys in expensive cars propositioning him with a fistful of cash and a hotel room key. Those offers had cured him of any thoughts of bisexuality.

But when he’d seen Colby step into his corner of the park tonight, all of that aversion seemed to fall away. A deep, whole-body response had taken over his brain. Keats was good at telling people to fuck off. And he sure as hell didn’t take direction from anyone anymore. But if Colby had taken him up on his sarcastic offer of a blow job for a couple hundred bucks, Keats would’ve gotten on his knees for him for no cash at all and figured out how to do it.

The thought scared the shit out of him. He should’ve never come here. He’d humiliated himself in front of Colby—well, Mr. Wilkes back then—once before, reading too much into things and making a fool of himself. That was enough for one lifetime. Plus, he knew that Colby had let him off easy tonight. They’d eaten at Waffle House in near-silence. But Keats had no doubt that the questions would come tomorrow. What Keats had done back then was unforgivable on so many levels. And Colby had taken heat for it even though the guy had done nothing wrong. Keats had seen the not-so-subtle references in the news coverage when everyone was looking for him back in Hickory Point. The young music teacher had fucked up and crossed lines with his poor, innocent student. Ha. If they’d only known the real story.

But now Keats was going to have to deal with the consequences if he stuck around. Fuck. That was the last thing he wanted to face. He eyed the neatly made bed in the middle of the room. The damn thing looked so fresh and inviting. Since he’d broken up with his last girlfriend a few weeks ago, he’d been back to paying week-to-week at the Texas Star Motel with the cash he made from the day labor jobs he picked up here and there. But tonight his ex’s punk-ass brother had caught up to him, demanding money she owed him. Keats hadn’t known Nina was running pills for her brother—or taking them. It’d been one of the reasons he’d broken it off with her. But now she was telling her brother, Hank, that Keats had taken off with her stash. And Hank wanted his grand back.

Hank and two other guys had cornered Keats earlier that day, catching him off guard. Keats knew how to fight, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to take on three dudes who were probably armed and amped up on crank. He’d handed over his rent money, and Hank had kindly offered to give him until Wednesday to make his next payment. Fucking psycho.

So now he had two days to come up with at least another couple hundred bucks for Hank and more for rent. And, of course, it’d rained this morning so the construction work he’d been picking up hadn’t needed guys today, which was why he’d resorted to his old standby of busking in the park. Playing his guitar was what he enjoyed most anyway. But until Colby had come along, he hadn’t earned enough to even pay for another week at the motel.

The cash he had made was tucked in his pocket. It was enough for one night at least. He could sneak out now and save himself the drama of tomorrow. It’d be a dick move, but he doubted Colby really wanted him staying there anyway. He’d taken him home out of guilt, like a stray. But if he left now, he would never know if Colby really planned on giving him five hundred bucks. That wouldn’t fix everything, but it could go a long way for him right now. And he didn’t have to do anything for it but sleep in a comfortable bed and have an uncomfortable conversation. That was worth it, right?

His stomach flipped over. Maybe not.

The smart thing would be to sneak out. Colby probably wasn’t going to give him the money anyway. He’d probably want to turn him in to the police as a former missing kid or something. Hell. No.

He got to his feet, planning to grab his shit and get out, when there was a knock on the door. His heart jumped in his throat at the sudden sound.

“Keats?”

Shit. He sent a quick plea to the universe that Colby hadn’t seen him standing in his doorway. “Uh, yeah, come in.”

The door opened and Colby stood on the other side, wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, his hair still wet. His sheer size had always done something to Keats—a few inches taller than he was and broad as hell. But now that Colby wasn’t close shaven and had let his hair grow a little longer, the effect was even more potent—like an untamed version of the teacher he used to know. Add to it the hint of color in his face, warmth Keats knew was a post-orgasm glow, and Keats was completely fucking distracted.

Colby handed him a thick white towel. Clothes were folded on top of it. “I thought you might want to shower before bed. The guest bathroom should have shampoo and soap in the cabinet beneath the sink. Feel free to use whatever.” He nodded at the clothes. “Those are probably going to be too big, but the shorts have a drawstring, so you should be able to tighten them.”

“Thanks, you really don’t have to do this. I mean, I have some extra clothes in my backpack.” Though most of it was dirty. He had planned to go to the Laundromat this morning before his unfortunate run-in with Hank.

Colby frowned. “They’re probably wet from the rain. Leave them out here in the hallway and I’ll toss them in the wash. Then you’ll have your own stuff for tomorrow.”

“You don’t have to do my damn laundry,” he said, scraping a hand through his hair. Colby being nice to him was making him feel like an even bigger shitbag for wanting to sneak out. “I can handle things. In fact, I don’t even know why I agreed to come here.”

Colby leveled a gaze at him. “I don’t suggest you get any ideas about leaving tonight. We made a deal. I expect you to honor it.”

Keats turned away, his defenses rising in response to that don’t-fuck-with-me look Colby was so good at giving. “Like you’re going to give me five hundred bucks for nothing.”

“The house alarm is on,” Colby said, sounding tired. “So I’ll know if you try to leave. I don’t make a habit of holding people captive without their consent. But tonight, you gave me that right when you took my offer. I bought your time. Now it’s mine until morning. So take a shower, put your dirty clothes out here, and go to bed. You do that, and you’ll get the money you were promised. I don’t break my word.”

The way he’d said mine until morning had Keats’s traitorous brain spiraling down a forbidden path. He pushed the ridiculous reaction down and replaced it with a safer one—sarcasm. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You keep people captive often?”

The corner of his mouth tipped up, revealing a dimple hiding beneath the scruff. “Never mind. Good night, Keats.”

Keats watched him stroll back down the hallway and grimaced. So much for his brilliant escape plan.






Colby leaned against his kitchen counter, sipping coffee and watching bacon fry. This was normally the time he’d be getting in to school to start his workday. But he’d apparently entered some other dimension. Not only did he have no job to go to this morning, but now he had a smart-mouthed houseguest sleeping the morning away in the other room.

Fucking Keats.

Colby had been so goddamned relieved to find out Keats was alive. But seeing this hardened version of him was difficult to stomach. The kid he’d known had been a gentle soul—smart and a little shy, talented as hell. The songs he’d written in high school had shown a depth and ability that Colby hadn’t seen in anyone that young since. But all of it had gone to shit because of stupid mistakes. Mistakes by Colby with how he’d handled things, how he hadn’t seen the warning signs that Keats was reading more into their time together than he should. Mistakes by Keats’s jackass father, who’d made it his mission to make his son feel worthless. And mistakes by Keats, who had run away instead of trusting the people who were trying to help.

Now where that gentle soul had been was a world-weary, angry guy who seemed to barely be getting by but was too mistrustful to accept any help from anyone. The whole thing made Colby want to punch something.

He flipped the bacon and heard movement behind him. Keats shuffled in, wearing only the shorts Colby had lent him. The sight jarred him for a second. He kept expecting to see the boy but kept finding a grown man there instead. The tattoos he’d noticed on Keats’s forearms last night went all the way up—full sleeves of colorful ink, framing a lean but defined torso. Colby cleared his throat and looked away. “Mornin’.”

Keats’s bare feet smacked over the ceramic tile and he pulled out a chair at the bar. “You’re going to burn that bacon. Heat’s too high.”

Colby glanced back at Keats and lowered the flame on the burner. “Bacon expert?”

He shrugged. “I worked the griddle at a breakfast joint for a while. You ruin enough bacon, you learn the tricks. Low and slow.”

Colby grunted and turned back to the pan. “I usually microwave it, but I’m out of paper towels.”

“Microwave?” Keats’s chair scraped the floor, and he walked over to Colby, putting his hand out for the tongs. “I got it. You have any eggs?”

Colby was surprised to have his formerly hostile houseguest offering to take over breakfast, but he wasn’t going to complain. Cooking wasn’t exactly his strong suit. He handed over the tongs, grabbed a carton of eggs and some butter from the fridge, and dug a skillet out. Keats got the other pan going in no time, cracking the eggs one-handed.

Colby slid into the spot behind the bar to sip his coffee. Watching Keats from behind, his face obscured, made it easy to forget who was standing there. The tattoos alone were something to behold. They weren’t rush jobs; they were art. Expensive shit by the looks of it. From this distance, he couldn’t tell what all of it was, but he could see trailing music notes and scrawled words—probably lyrics if he knew Keats. Colby’s gaze traced over the words and lingered on the way Keats’s shoulder muscles moved as he shifted his attention between the pans—efficient, almost elegant. Colby forced his attention to his cup of coffee.

Having a half-naked guy in his kitchen wasn’t a new occurrence. Even though Colby tended to gravitate toward women more often than not, he’d figured out pretty early on in his life that he didn’t fit into a narrow lane when it came to sexual preference. It took him a little longer to figure out that besides attraction he only had two true requirements when it came to his bed partners—submissive and tough enough to handle what he liked to dish out. What was below the waist mattered a lot less to him than what was in someone’s wiring above the neck. That was what got his blood pumping.

But none of that mattered right now. Beyond the fact that Keats had declared he wasn’t into guys last night, this was Keats. A twenty-something-year-old guy he’d pulled off the streets. A former student. Off-limits.

Keats dished up a plate of eggs and bacon for them both and then stood at the counter to eat instead of taking the chair next to Colby.

“Thanks,” Colby said, stabbing a piece of scrambled egg with his fork. “This looks great.”

Keats poured himself a cup of coffee and dumped in sugar and a little cream. “No problem. I figured someone who microwaves bacon can’t be trusted.”

Colby smirked. “Are you still working as a cook?”

His gaze shifted down to his plate. “Nah, I quit the diner a while back when I got a gig at a tattoo shop. That was a good job—decent pay and the owner did my ink on the house. But then he got sick and they had to shut down, so lately I’ve been doing construction.”

They ate in silence for a few moments and Colby was trying to figure out how best to approach that looming elephant in the room when Keats pointed his fork at the window behind Colby. “So what’s with your neighbor?”

Colby glanced over his shoulder to see Georgia in her yard, picking through the remnants of the toilet paper he hadn’t gotten to yesterday morning. “What do you mean?”

He swallowed his bite of eggs. “Nothing, just saw you hightail it over there last night, figured I’d interrupted plans or something.”

“I was supposed to help her finish cleaning up, and I was going to bring burgers over but … got sidetracked last night.”

“By me?”

“Eventually by you. But by whiskey first. Had a shitty day at work.”

“How come?”

Colby pushed at his breakfast. “A student attempted suicide over the weekend.”

Keats flinched. “Sorry. He okay?”

Colby blew out a breath, not sure why he was sharing any of this with Keats but unable to stop. “Yeah, thank God. But I’ve been put on leave since I was the last one to counsel him. His parents want an investigation.”

“Counsel?”

Colby took another long sip of coffee. “Yeah, I’m a school counselor now. I went back for my master’s after … after I left Hickory Point.”

Keats’s head lowered and he picked at the food on his plate. They stayed quiet for a few more minutes until Keats shifted on his feet and cleared his throat. “You lost your teaching job because of me.”

Colby leaned back in his chair, the past pressing down on him with that, smothering him in the bright, airy kitchen. “No, I resigned. I knew the rumors wouldn’t stop. And really, I didn’t want to be there anymore anyway.”

Colby wouldn’t tell Keats that he’d been physically sick with grief for months, torturing himself with the constant what ifs, wondering what could have saved Keats, and knowing, deep in his gut, that he’d handled things all wrong. He’d seen too much of himself in Keats and had wanted to be there for him. But he should’ve known that offering that level of open conversation could be misconstrued by a confused kid. He hadn’t kept the boundaries clear enough. And that last night, when Keats had asked if Colby was bi, Colby had admitted that the rumors were true.

Looking back, it had been so inappropriate to share that. But he’d seen Keats tearing himself up for feelings and urges he was having, using his father’s hateful language as a constant internal soundtrack. He and his dad had had a huge fight that final night, and his father had threatened to send Keats to military school.

Besides the regular music classes at school, Keats had been taking guitar lessons two nights a week with Colby. But that final evening, he hadn’t shown up for his appointment at the rec center where they met. Late that night, he’d shown up on Colby’s doorstep instead, carrying his broken guitar. Keats’s father had smashed his son’s most precious possession against the wall.

Colby had made the fatal error of letting Keats inside. Keats had spilled everything about the fight with his dad. His father had found a sheet of lyrics Keats had written—a song called “Off Limits” that had made it sound like Keats was in love with a boy. His father had flipped his shit, called Keats every disgusting name in the homophobe handbook, and had told him he’d rather be dead than have a fag for a son. Even when Keats denied that the song had anything to do with that—that it was really about how everything he loved to do, like playing music, was off-limits—his father hadn’t listened. His dad wasn’t going to be satisfied until his artsy son turned into what he wanted—a tough-as-nails “man’s man” who would follow in his father’s and older brother’s footsteps into the Marines.

It had taken everything Colby had not to drive over to Keats’s house and beat the stupid out of Keats’s father. How could anyone look at Keats and not see how talented and amazing the kid was? But he’d controlled himself and had tried to be there for Keats as a sympathetic ear and to offer a safe place for him to express his feelings. But when Keats had asked him point-blank about his sexuality, Colby hadn’t been able to lie. Instead of saying that wasn’t an appropriate question to ask him, he’d been honest.

Colby had long suspected the kid was confused about his sexuality, and he’d wanted Keats to know that if he felt drawn to both guys and girls, he wasn’t alone, that it was okay to have the feelings he did. That being a “real” man had nothing to do with who you were or weren’t attracted to. But while Colby was busy trying to be Mr. Save the Day teacher, he’d been too stupid to realize that Keats’s confused feelings were a lot less hypothetical and a lot more personal. Not until Keats had leaned over to kiss him had Colby realized how wrong everything had gone.

And he’d handled the whole situation in the most immature and dangerous way possible, reacting out of fear, thinking of self-preservation first. He’d shoved Keats away and asked him to leave.

And Keats had. For good.

“So you left there and came here to be a counselor,” Keats said, breaking Colby out of his reverie. “Glutton for punishment?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Maybe.”

“And now you’re on leave because some kid tried to off himself?” Keats shook his head and ate his last bite of bacon. “I guarantee you they don’t pay you enough to be held responsible for the decisions of teenagers. I remember what I felt like back then. I didn’t know which way was up. No amount of talking or intervention would’ve made me change my mind about running away.”

“I don’t believe that,” Colby said. “I screwed things up that night. I should’ve handled it differently.”

“No.” Keats shook his head, his gaze shifting away from Colby’s. “You did what you needed to do so that you didn’t get tossed in fucking jail. I was messed up and terrified of what my dad was going to do. You were nice to me, listened to what I had to say, and seemed to give a shit. My head got all mixed up about it and I thought that maybe if I kissed you, you’d let me stay there and not send me back home. Plus, I think I needed to find out if what I was feeling was really attraction. You know, that maybe the reason I felt so out of place all the time was because I was into guys or whatever. But it was just reaching for straws.”

Colby considered him. “Was it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I haven’t wanted to kiss a guy—or do anything else with one—since.”

“So I scared you off guys for good. Good to know,” he said, trying to lighten the mood and chase away the dark memories.

Keats met Colby’s gaze for half a second. But whatever he had planned to say never made it out. He grabbed his plate and turned around to rinse it in the sink.

When he spun back around, he hitched a thumb toward the hallway. “Thanks for the breakfast. I’m going to grab my stuff and get out of here. You don’t have to pay me the money. You don’t owe me anything. Never did.”

Colby didn’t have time to respond before Keats had disappeared from the kitchen. But no way was this going to be the end of it. He hadn’t gone through the trouble of taking Keats home only to drop him back off on the street this morning. Colby followed him down the hallway and stopped in the doorway to the bedroom.

Keats glanced up after pulling his T-shirt over his head, his expression going wary when he saw Colby standing there. “What?”

Colby leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “What if I told you there was a way to earn that five hundred dollars? Would you feel better about taking it?”

Keats’s gaze flicked down Colby’s body almost too quickly to detect, but the color that instantly dotted his cheeks gave him away. Colby knew what thought had first crossed Keats’s mind. That Keats thought Colby would even go there irritated him. What irritated him even more was the answering ping that went through him at the thought.

Fucking hell.

“What do you have in mind?” Keats asked, tucking his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and trying to look nonchalant.

That was the wrong question. Colby didn’t want to admit to himself what had flashed through his head. But even if Keats wasn’t straight, Colby was smart enough to know it’d be a bad idea on so many levels to cross any of those lines. Beyond the fact that Keats was a former student and almost a decade younger than him, he no doubt still had a mountain of issues plaguing him. The guy needed a break, not more complications.

Colby managed to keep his expression neutral despite his errant thoughts. “Come with me.”

When he turned, he half-expected Keats to ignore him and stay behind. But to his surprise, without hesitation or questioning Colby’s intentions, Keats fell into step behind him. “Aye, aye, sir.”

Blind trust.

He hadn’t earned it. Not after how he’d let Keats down in the past. But Colby made a promise to himself right then and there that this time, he would be worthy of it.




SEVEN (#ulink_e56a827b-3a8e-5800-b8c4-f59f7604089a)


Georgia was cursing all high schoolers who ever lived and the manufacturers of triple-ply toilet paper by the time late morning rolled around. She’d worked for two hours in the yard, trying to get all the wet soggy mess out of her shrubs and trees, but it seemed like the stuff multiplied. And the damage that had been done to her flower beds—she couldn’t even think about the work it would take to get them back in shape. But hey, at least she’d spent hours outdoors without any panic attacks. She’d take that as a win. But by ten, she’d given up the effort and had gone inside to shower and write for a while.

She’d gotten one chapter under her belt in record time. Her main character, Haven, and her partner on the job, Mario, were having all kinds of sexual tension in this book, which was fun to write. Haven had walked in on Mario, finding him tied up in his hotel room, courtesy of the bad guys. After making sure they weren’t in any immediate danger, Haven had enjoyed his state a little too much and had toyed with him mercilessly. Her badass heroine was discovering her vixen side in this book, and Georgia had Colby and her midnight viewings to blame for it. But she liked the layers it was adding to Haven’s character, so she was going with it.

After the chapter, she had taken a break to look through résumés for virtual assistants, but right when she was about to email one, the doorbell rang. As usual, the sound sent an arrow of nerves through her, despite the fact that she knew doorbells rang in neighborhoods all day long. Packages, people hawking services, people preaching their religion of choice. It was a world of activity the nine-to-fivers were never aware of. But even so, her mind automatically shifted from green to yellow alert. With a sigh, she pushed herself away from her desk and went to the front door to check the peephole.

But it wasn’t a delivery from the UPS guy. Instead, a familiar face greeted her. One she was beginning to get used to. She unlocked everything and swung open the door.

Colby smiled from beneath the brim of a Billy Bob’s cap. “Hey, neighbor.”

“Hey,” she said, returning his smile. “What’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you’re working, but I wanted to give you a heads-up instead of just going for it,” he explained.

She tilted her head as she tried to decipher his meaning. “Going for it?”

Colby cocked his thumb to the left and another man walked up her front steps to join Colby. “This is my friend Keats. Keats, Georgia.”

Her gaze jumped to the newcomer, any stranger stirring distrust in her. But she realized it was Colby’s houseguest. The guy had tied his hair back with a rubber band, but there was no mistaking the sleeves of tattoos that covered his arms. It was something Georgia wouldn’t normally find herself drawn to. She’d never had a bad-boy complex. Okay, maybe she’d harbored a brief crush on David Beck-ham once upon a time. Whatever. But hell if it didn’t look exactly right on this guy. This very beautiful guy.

Eyes the color of sea glass met hers, but he didn’t offer a handshake, his hands staying firmly tucked in his front pockets. “Good to meet you, Georgia.”

His voice was deeper than she expected, melodic with a dash of Deep South drawl, like liquefied butter. She wondered if he sang as well as played that guitar he’d been carrying last night. She had the urge to demand he sing a few notes of something. “Same here.”

“So,” Colby said, putting a hand on Keats’s shoulder. “I’m lending Keats’s services and mine today to help you get your yard back in shape.”

“What?” she said, looking between the two of them. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I’ve been working on it. You don’t need to put yourself out—”

“Well, actually,” Colby said, “you’d be helping us out. I’m on a break from work and being bored drives me nuts. And Keats owes me a favor and is happy to work it off here. But I wanted to make sure you were okay with that because it’s your yard.”

She licked her lips. This was so out of her comfort zone, but the guys would only be in her yard. And she knew Colby well enough to know that he wouldn’t let someone he didn’t trust around. “I—well, I guess I could use the help.”

“Fantastic.” Colby grinned, and even Keats managed a hint of a smile. “I’m going to leave Keats here to start pulling the trampled stuff out of the flower beds while I run over to the garden center to grab some new flowers. I know a guy there who will give me a good price.”

“Colby, you don’t have to—” she started.

He held up a hand. “Not a problem. I’m no longer convinced this wasn’t some of my students. We’re the only two houses that got hit on the block, and another teacher texted me this morning saying her yard had been trashed, too, so I feel partially responsible.”

“It’s not your fault—even if it was your students.”

Keats sniffed. “Colby has a tendency to feel responsible for his students’ behavior. I’m not sure there’s any convincing him otherwise.”

Colby’s smile went flat, and Georgia’s eyebrows lifted at the instant shift in mood. There was a story there, but it wasn’t her business. “Okay, I guess I’ll just say thank you, then.”

“You’re welcome,” Colby said, his good humor returning, and just like the night before, he leaned over and pecked her on the cheek.

She was still standing there slightly stunned when he jogged down her front steps, gave her a wave, and headed to his truck. When he pulled away, she was left standing there with Keats, a perfect stranger. For some reason, she couldn’t muster up any true concern. He was a few years younger than she was but taller and obviously fit, so he could easily be a threat to her. But there was something deep in her gut that told her he meant no harm.

“So,” Keats said, breaking the awkward silence, “I have some of Colby’s gardening stuff. I can go ahead and get started if you’re down with that.”

She cleared her throat. “Sounds good, just give me a sec and I’ll get changed so that I can help.”

His gaze slid over her gray thermal shirt and jeans, male appreciation flickering in them before he could hide it. “It’s okay. You don’t have to get dirty again on my account. We saw you working out here earlier. I don’t mind flying solo.”

His little flare of interest surprised her after what she’d witnessed last night. She’d figured he was into guys. It also surprised her how much it pleased her to be on the receiving end of it. Especially considering the man who’d just left was who she couldn’t stop thinking about—or watching. But regardless, she suddenly didn’t want to go back and sit alone in her office. The completely out-of-character urge made a little flutter of adrenaline go through her—a happy one. Maybe the baby steps were working.

“How ’bout this?” she said, feeling a seed of confidence for the first time in a while. “I’ll go make us some iced tea, you get to work, and then you can tell me how you know Colby.”

His lazy smile made her stomach tighten a little. Damn, this one could probably singe the panties off a girl if he turned on the charm full throttle. “I’m not sure that’s a story you want to know. But I won’t turn down the company.”

“Deal.”

She told him she’d be a few minutes and went back into the house to brew some tea. When she came back out, Keats was already on his knees in her front garden, pulling crushed plants from the beds with hands that looked used to hard work. He hadn’t noticed her come back out yet, so she gave herself a moment to admire.

Keats wasn’t brawny like Colby, but she could tell he was strong, the muscles on his arms working as he pulled at the roots of the plants. And where Colby was dark scruff, Keats was smooth and golden. Not baby-faced but definitely a glimmer of youth still lurking there. If not for the wariness in his eyes, the ink, and those battered hands, Georgia’s starved libido probably would’ve labeled Keats as too young and too pretty. But when those few edges were added to the mix, she found herself unable to drag her gaze away.

He glanced up, shading his eyes with his hand. “Everything all right?”

“Huh?”

“You have a funny expression on your face.”

Ha. Yes, the expression was called inappropriately turned on by a complete stranger. She cleared her throat and shook her head. Her lack of sex life was officially making her crazy. “Everything’s fine, just got lost in thought for a sec.”

She walked over and set the glass of tea near him and gave him a pair of gardening gloves, then settled onto the porch steps so he didn’t feel like she was hovering over him.

He wiped his hands on a rag and took a long pull from the glass, his throat working in a rhythm that made her forget not to stare again. When he lowered the glass, he smiled over the rim. “Thanks for this. I haven’t had fresh-brewed stuff in a while. I sometimes bring the bottled kind on jobs, but it’s not the same.”

She turned sideways and leaned against the railing so she could face him fully and let the breeze hit her heated face. “What do you do?”

He put the gloves on to get back to work while he talked. “Lately, construction when I can find it. But I mostly do whatever anyone will pay me to do. Cash is cash, you know?”

She frowned. No, she didn’t know. Her parents had given her a comfortable life when she was growing up. And she’d done well for herself with her writing. She wasn’t wealthy, but money had rarely been a concern. “And you like doing that kind of thing? The construction?”

He shrugged and glanced her way. “I like playing my guitar. I like performing my stuff. But people don’t pay me money for that. Fun stuff doesn’t pay rent.”

She sipped her tea. “You never know. Colby gets paid to play his music. I get paid to write.”

He snorted like the thought was the most ridiculous notion ever.

“You seem too young to be so cynical.”

Those clear green eyes lifted. “I’m not that young, Georgia.”

The implication in the words was obvious, and she had to sip her tea again to hide her reaction. What was it about this guy that got her skin tingly? She felt like some desperate housewife flirting with the too-young gardener. Maybe it was just the residual hum after writing sexy stuff all morning. “How young?”

“Twenty-three.”

Seven years younger. Not an eternity in years, but in life experience, probably a helluva lot. Damn, why was she even doing the math? It wasn’t like she was going to invite him in for a quick midday romp on the couch. She didn’t even have the guts to invite him in for iced tea.

When she didn’t respond, he filled the space. “So what’s the story with you and Colby?”

The shift in subject broke the tension and the eye contact. She rubbed her lips together. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, digging again. “Is he going to come stomp me with those big-ass feet if he catches me flirting with his woman?”

She lifted an eyebrow in playful challenge. “Are you flirting?”

He grinned. “I was thinking about it.”

Oh, this guy was trouble—of the tempting sort. “We’re just neighbors.”

“Uh-huh. He must be a really friendly neighbor to go through this much effort to fix your garden.”

“He is.” She set her glass down. “But you would know that since you’re friends with him, right?”

“No, we’re not really friends.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

He sat back on his heels and looked over at her again, the gleam of sweat starting to shine on his face. “He used to be my teacher back in high school.”

“Oh,” she said, the answer catching her off guard and her mind rewinding to what she had witnessed last night. “And you two have kept in touch?”

“No, I hadn’t seen him in six years actually until last night. We kind of stumbled into each other,” he said, sitting down in the grass and reaching for his tea again.

“And you just went home with him?” The words were out before she could stop them.

He paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. “It’s not like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Colby took me home for the same reason he’s out getting flowers for you now. Apparently, he likes to help.”

“You didn’t have a place to stay?” she asked, her tactful switch turning off at the thought of Keats needing the roof-over-your-head kind of help.

He picked at a blade of grass. “Work has been nonexistent the last two weeks because of the rain. Rent’s past due. Not a big deal. I always figure it out. But Colby made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“He’s paying you to do this today, isn’t he?” she asked, the pieces coming together.

“Yeah,” he said. “But he would’ve given it to me with no strings. I’m just not into taking a handout.”

Georgia sat there for a few long moments, considering Keats as he pushed himself back into a kneel and returned to the gardening. She had no idea why she felt so damn comfortable around him, especially when he’d been flirty with her. Even the seventy-year-old mailman, who was clearly harmless, had made Georgia nervous when he told her how pretty she looked one particular day. But something about Keats had her wanting to reach out instead of shrink back.

An idea was forming in her head—one that was completely off the wall and out of her comfort zone. But it hit her with such force that it was impossible to ignore. Keats clearly was struggling and probably had issues of his own if he was living job to job. She knew desperate people could do desperate things—steal, lie, whatever it took to survive another day. A person like that wasn’t someone she should feel so relaxed around. But long-dormant forces were rallying in her, pushing her toward the plan anyway.

She scuffed the toe of her tennis shoe along the porch railing, trying to talk herself out of it. But before she could get the words out one way or another, Keats yelped.

Her attention snapped upward to find Keats jumping up and shaking the leg of his pants. Fire ants were racing over him. She hopped up, knocking her glass over.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said, trying to shake them off, as they no doubt bit the hell out of him. “Get water. A hose or something.”

Georgia glanced toward the side of the house, but her hose was tucked away in the garage since she’d had a sprinkler system installed. Without thinking, she grabbed Keats’s arm. “Come on. Now.”

In a rush, she shoved open her front door and led a cursing Keats inside. The downstairs bathroom didn’t have a shower, so despite her hammering heart, she guided him upstairs. Ants were falling in a trail behind him, but she’d deal with that later. They got to the top of the stairs in record time. She shoved the door to the guest bathroom open and turned on the shower.

Keats was already jumping in despite the icy-cold water. “Fuck. They’re going higher.”

He went for the button on his jeans before Georgia could even process what he was doing. The jeans came off in a rush, leaving Keats standing under the spray in a pair of black boxers. He kicked the jeans to the other side of the tub, his motions frantic, and brushed at the ants with his hands.

Not knowing what else to do, Georgia reached for the handheld shower attachment, turned it on the blow-your-head-off setting, then aimed it at Keats’s legs. Finally, the ants started to fall off and swirl toward the drain. But a few of them were determined to hold on.

“Shut the curtain,” Keats said, his words frantic. “No way these bastards are going any higher.”

“What?”

“Curtain,” he said through clenched teeth, and she got it.

“Oh, right.” She yanked the curtain closed and heard more wet clothes hit the bottom of the tub.

While more cursing ensued from the other side of the curtain, Georgia worked hard at not going into a panic. Someone was in her house. A man. Someone she didn’t know. No one had been inside besides one repairman since she’d moved in. But the adrenaline pumping through her seemed less to do with her safety and much more to do with the fact that Keats was naked on the other side of that thin shower curtain.

She occupied herself with stomping the stray ants that had fallen onto the floor, while Keats washed off the last of the little demons. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to fight off the tension, and heard a long sigh from Keats. “You okay?”

“Well, they didn’t get to the no-fly zone, so there’s that.”

“Can you tell if you have a lot of bites? They’re poisonous and too many can be serious and maybe you need a doctor and maybe—”

The curtain shifted, cutting her off, and Keats stuck his head out, a half smile on his dripping wet face. “All I need right now is a towel.”

“Oh, right, sure.” She opened the cabinet below the sink and handed him a fresh towel.

She turned to leave, but he was already stepping out of the shower before she got there. The towel was secured around his waist, but everything else was bare. A flash of desire stabbed her.

“I …” she said, searching for something to say and trying to keep her eyes on his face instead of on the smooth muscles of his chest and those tattoos that currently looked very wet and lickable. Stop it. “I think I have some cortisone cream around here. You’re probably going to need it.”

Keeping one hand holding the towel, he used the other to take the rubber band out of his wet hair. “Georgia—”

But before he could say anything more, there were heavy footsteps on the stairs and someone else calling her name. Her heart leapt against her ribs, and she stepped out into the hallway. Colby was trundling up the stairs, his features pinched with worry. When he saw Georgia, his fierce expression relaxed. “Jesus, I saw the door wide open and a broken glass and both of you were gone. I got worried. What—”

Of course, Keats took that moment to step out of the bathroom in his half-naked, still-wet ensemble. Colby’s eyes went wide.

And everything came crashing down around Georgia.




EIGHT (#ulink_02562c6a-f6ff-591c-a09f-b51610d98de9)


“What the hell?” Colby didn’t know what to make of finding Keats sopping wet and mostly naked in Georgia’s hallway. He hadn’t been gone that long. The guy couldn’t work that fast, especially with someone as standoffish as Georgia. And if he’d managed to—

“Georgia,” Keats said, his worried voice breaking through the theories racing around in Colby’s head. “Are you okay?”

Colby followed Keats’s gaze. Georgia had backed up against the wall, her eyes were closed, and her chest was moving at a way-too-rapid rate.

Keats put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Georgia?”

She flinched at the touch and shrank back farther again, her palms pressing against the wall behind her. Keats moved his hand away, giving her space.

Colby inched closer. “Georgia, hey, sweetheart, it’s okay. Are you having an asthma attack?”

She shook her head, a quick, darting movement. Her eyes remained tightly shut.

Keats sent Colby a what-the-fuck-do-we-do look, and Colby’s training kicked in. “Keats, run downstairs and see if you can find a paper bag, something for her to breathe into. She’s hyperventilating.”

“Right.” Keats snapped into action and jogged past Colby.

Sweat had broken out on Georgia’s skin, and her chest continued to heave. Colby had dealt with this a few times before—recently, with a submissive trainee at The Ranch who turned out to be claustrophobic in restraints. “Georgia, I need you to try to slow your breathing if you can. Are you having a panic attack?”

A quick, tight nod. Her fingers curled against the wall.

“Okay, it’s all right,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and even for her. “Keats is going to get something to help, but I want you to listen to me and try to take a deep, slow breath. You’re okay. You’re safe. Panic can’t hurt you.”

To her credit, she gave it a shot. He saw her puff up for it. But she was too far gone, and her breaths turned even more rapid. Tears slipped down her cheeks. Then she swayed on her feet, and he realized she was going down. He lunged forward and got his hands on her before she collapsed to the floor.

Her eyelids fluttered open, then shut again. She was still conscious, not deadweight in his arms, but she was probably dizzy as shit from the lack of air and the panic. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

He got his arms situated beneath her back and knees and lifted her against his chest. Keats charged up the stairs with an empty pharmacy bag. “Oh shit, did she pass out?”

“Not yet, but we need to get her lying down.” He held her tight to him, but her body was still jerking with the quick breaths.

Keats hurried past him and pulled open the first door in the hall. But it was a linen closet. “We need a couch or a bed.”

Keats swung open the next door, revealing a small guest room. “In here.”

Good. That’d be better than invading her personal space in her master bedroom. But when he carried her in and saw a set of binoculars on a small table next to the window and a small bullet vibrator, he realized he’d seriously failed on the personal space issue. This wasn’t just a guest room, this was the room—the one she watched him from. A twist of desire went with that image, his libido having no decency when it came to appropriate time and place to get fired up. But he ignored it and focused on the task at hand. Georgia needed to lie down and get her breath back. He’d worry about the awkwardness this might cause later.

The bed was made, so he laid her atop the mint green comforter, and Keats put the bag up against her mouth.

“Breathe, it’s going to be okay. We’ve got you,” Keats said, brushing her hair off her damp forehead in a tender gesture.

Georgia exhaled into the bag and blinked her eyes open long enough to give Keats a grateful look.

Colby frowned, a kick of jealousy going through him. Jealousy and something else. Watching the two of them share a little moment, Keats half dressed and Georgia lying in bed, had his thoughts going in a dangerous direction again. He shoved the thoughts aside. Clearly, it’d been too long since he’d had someone in his bed. His brain was in one-track mode.

Focus.

The sound of the crinkling bag was the only noise for a few minutes, but to Colby’s relief, Georgia’s breathing started to regulate. “That’s it.”

When the breaths became long and steady, Keats left the room for a minute. He came back wearing a fluffy purple robe and carrying a wet washcloth. He kneeled next to the bed and wiped Georgia’s cheeks and forehead with gentle swipes, then folded the cloth and put it over her eyes.

Keats gave Colby a pointed look, then cocked his head toward the table. Colby didn’t waste a second. He slid away from the bed and discreetly tucked the vibrator into the half-open drawer of the side table. He eased it closed, hoping Georgia would think that was where she’d left it. He had a feeling she’d be mortified if she knew what they’d seen.

He stepped back toward the bed just as she was lowering the bag and pulling the towel away. Her dark eyes were clearer than they had been, but the set of her mouth was weary, like all her energy had been sapped. “I think I’m okay now.”

Colby reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. “Glad to hear it.”

She slowly pushed up onto her elbows. Her gaze skittered over to the table behind Colby. Worry flared there in her eyes, but when she looked back to him and apparently read no awareness on his face, she relaxed a bit. He could almost hear her thoughts. Phew, he hasn’t seen them yet.

She glanced at Keats. Her lips curved into a shaky smile when she saw him in her robe. “That’s a good look for you.”

Keats peered down at his purple ensemble and grinned. “I was having trouble keeping that towel on. I didn’t want to make you hyperventilate again. Or traumatize Colby.”

Colby snorted and she smirked. “That scary?”

“No, that impressive,” he said solemnly.

Georgia pressed her hand to her forehead and shook her head. “Shameless.”

Colby clamped his lips together, trying not to laugh. The shy Keats he’d known before had definitely left the building. He was charming the panic right out of Georgia.

Georgia peeked over at Colby and reached for his hand. “Thank you for catching me. They usually don’t make me that dizzy. Everything in my vision flipped upside down.”

He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the top of it. “Happy to help. Do you get those often?”

Her gaze slid away, but she nodded.

“I’m sorry if I startled you coming up the stairs. I thought something was wrong. I didn’t realize what—well, I still don’t know what was going on.”

“Ants,” Keats supplied. “A shit-ton of red ants attacked me in the yard. I must’ve kneeled in a pile. Georgia hustled me up here before the damn things could eat me alive. But they were all over my clothes so I had to strip them off.”

“Oh.”

“And I’m sorry about … all of this,” Georgia said, sitting up in the bed. “It wasn’t that you startled me. It’s just”—her jaw twitched and she looked down at her hands—“I don’t let people inside my house. I have … issues with that. I didn’t think about it when Keats needed help, but when that part was over and you came up the stairs, it all hit me.”

Colby kept hold of her hand, not entirely shocked by the revelation. He’d realized early on that Georgia didn’t like to leave her house. She didn’t even step into his yard. So it wasn’t too far of a stretch to realize her anxiety extended to people coming into her space as well. “I’m really sorry. I would’ve never come inside without permission.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. This is beyond embarrassing. I hate what this does to me. I mean, normal people can have neighbors over.”

Keats frowned. He probably felt the same way Colby did about the word normal. What the hell was normal? Fuck normal.

“But maybe this was good,” she continued. “Like pulling off a really big Band-Aid. Because look, you’re both still here, and I’m not a panting maniac anymore.”

Colby could think of better ways to turn her into a panting maniac, especially with two guys and a bed—and maybe that vibrator, but he should probably be struck down for having that thought at the moment. “It’s one way to do it. Like guerrilla exposure therapy. The room full of spiders for the arachnophobe.”

She shuddered. “Yeah, I think I’ll just keep my fear of spiders then, thank you very much.”

Keats smiled. “Ditto. And add fire ants to that list. I’ve had enough exposure therapy for one day. A few more minutes with my pants on and I might have lost my ability to father children.”

Colby chuckled. Fire ants in your underwear. Now there was a thought to inspire nightmares. He had a feeling he’d missed the ant version of the Tommy Boy “Bees!” scene when Keats had discovered he was being attacked.

“So,” he said, standing up and putting his hand on the back of Keats’s neck, making sure neither of them turned toward the binoculars. “How about I go grab this guy some clothes and we get out of your hair for a little while so you can rest?”

Georgia rubbed her hands on her jeans in what looked to be a calming gesture before she stood, revealing that maybe she wasn’t as easy-breezy as she was pretending to be. “Yeah, okay. I have rogue ants to clean up anyway.”

“Do you need any help?” Keats asked.

She reached out and squeezed his arm, giving him a warm smile. “No, you both have done enough. Thanks for not making me feel like an idiot.”

When she leaned over and kissed Keats’s cheek, Colby had to fight hard not to show his surprise. It was so un-Georgia-like. But she wasn’t done. She stepped over to Colby, pushed up on her toes, bracing a hand on his shoulder, and gave Colby one, too.

It took everything he had not to put his hands on her and pull her closer, inhale that coconut scent he only got a brief whiff of during the kiss. “Our pleasure, gorgeous.”

They all walked downstairs together, but soon Keats and Colby were back outside. Georgia locked up behind them, and Colby and Keats headed next door to get Keats some clothes. But as soon as they walked into the kitchen, Keats spun around and crossed his arms. The stance might have had a shot at looking tough if not for the purple robe. “Well, that was interesting.”

“That’s one word for it,” Colby said, rolling the tension out of his shoulders. “Thanks for the towel thing, by the way. Saved a potentially awkward situation.”

“No problem. I didn’t want to embarrass her,” he said with a shrug. “Not that she should be embarrassed—I mean, how hot is that? But you know how girls can be. And dude, the binoculars? Does that window …”

“It looks into my bedroom.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, putting his hand over his heart. “That’s so damn dirty. I think I’m in love.”

Colby laughed. “She’s not spying on you.”

“An epic tragedy,” he said with a grin. “Maybe we should switch rooms. I’m happy to give her a show.”

Colby leveled him with a look, and Keats laughed.

“No, but seriously, are y’all hooking up?”

Colby leaned against the counter. “At this point, we’re just friends.”

“So that’s why you gave me the eat-shit-and-die look when you saw me walk out of the bathroom?”

Colby smirked. “No, that was my what-the-fuck look, not eat-shit-and-die, there’s a difference. I knew before today that Georgia had some issues with people being in her space. I guess I feel a little protective of her and when I saw you there in her house, practically naked, I had no idea what to think.”

“I’m skilled, Colby, but not that skilled. Even I can’t get a girl in bed that fast.”

Colby laughed. “You’re better than you think. She likes you.”

“Maybe, but she watches you. And apparently enjoys the show.” Keats lifted himself to sit on the island, apparently forgetting he only had a robe on or not caring. The flaps fell open, revealing his chest all the way to his navel, where a light trail of hair tracked downward. “Doesn’t matter anyway. She thinks I’m too young.”

Colby pulled his gaze upward and focused on Keats’s face. His libido was already on a hair trigger today; he didn’t need any extra encouragement. He had to keep reminding himself that this was Keats, his former student, a straight guy, and not some submissive at The Ranch trying to get his attention by parading around half naked. “You are too young.”

Keats scoffed. “You’re always going to see me that way, aren’t you? The innocent, helpless student. Well, news flash, Teach. It’s been a long time since you’ve known me. I’m far from helpless and definitely not innocent.”

Colby laced his hands behind his neck and sighed. “Why does it matter how I see you?”

He shrugged, dropping some of the attitude. “I don’t know. It just does.”

“What do you want me to say, Keats?” he asked tiredly. “That you’re a grown-up? That you’re a man? That you’re of fuckable age for my dear neighbor? Fine. You are. But that doesn’t mean you still don’t have a lot to learn.”

Keats leaned back on his hands, preening like a peacock. “Yeah? And what exactly do you think I need to be taught? I haven’t had any complaints from women.”

Colby watched him, half amused by the cockiness. “Being a man has a lot more to it than knowing how to get someone off in bed. And I promise you, at twenty-three, you don’t know how to do that as well as you could either.”

He lifted a brow. “And you do?”

“You have no idea,” Colby said smoothly. “But that’s not the point. If you’re going to chase after women in their thirties, like Georgia, they’re going to want you to have some stability, some discipline in your life. And I’m guessing your current situation doesn’t allow for much of that.”

His jaw tensed and he looked down at the tie on the robe. “Yeah, well, the job market for a high school dropout doesn’t exactly allow for a lot of stability—unless you run drugs, sell women, or like to suck cock for cash. I’ve heard those career paths pay well.”

Colby gritted his teeth at that image. Thank God Keats hadn’t resorted to those lines of work yet. “I get it. I know how shitty a situation you had growing up. But now you’re an adult. Do you plan to live the rest of your life like you’re doing? Just getting by week to week?”

The defensive mask descended over his features. “Did you forget who you’re talking to? I ran away. This is my fucking life. That bed’s already made.”

“Bullshit. You can always change your direction.” Colby should know. He’d done it.

Keats scoffed. “Right. Let me just dial up that fairy godmother, and she can wave a wand for me.”

“Fine. You want a wand? Here it is,” Colby said, crossing his arms and throwing down the gauntlet. “Come stay with me for a while.”

Keats’s eyes flickered with surprise, and he straightened. “What?”

“You heard me. I have an extra room. Use it.”

“I can’t do that. I’m not that kid looking for his teacher to solve his problems anymore. I don’t want to be your charity case again.”

Colby rubbed the spot between his eyebrows, pressure building there. “Look, Keats, I get the whole pride thing, but pride can birth stupidity. I’m offering help. Take it.”

Keats slid off the counter and pulled his robe more tightly around him, closing off. “I need to get dressed.”

“Keats.”

“Thanks for the offer. But I just want to get some clothes on, get this garden done, and go home. I’ve got shit to take care of,” he said, reaching down to scratch his calf.

Colby knew he’d reached the end of Keats listening to anything he had to say. He’d gone into shutdown mode. Colby glanced down when Keats scratched again, noticing for the first time the red, swelling bumps on Keats’s legs and feet. “Those are getting worse. Are you allergic?”

“Not any more than anyone else.” Keats reached down for bites on his other leg. “I’ll be fine. Just let me throw on some clothes, and I’ll meet you outside.”

“No, if you come back out in the sun, they’re going to itch even more. Why don’t you take some antihistamines—there should be some in the hall closet—and then go soak your legs in cool water. I can finish up the rest.”

“But you’re paying me—”

“You’ve earned your keep. Consider it hazard pay for the ant bites.” Reluctantly, he added, “And I’ll be back in a while to bring you home.”

But when Colby checked on him later to make sure the reaction hadn’t gotten worse, Keats was sprawled across the bed in the guest room, sound asleep. The bites didn’t look too bad, so Colby closed the curtains, threw a blanket over him, and let him sleep.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment more than necessary. Only a few more hours and Keats would be gone.

Colby didn’t know whether to be relieved or damn disappointed.

Fuck.




NINE (#ulink_6a95ab5d-2d7a-584a-8da4-bd00042c8965)


It’s only a few steps. That was what Georgia repeated in her mind as she crossed the invisible barrier from her yard into Colby’s, but nerves crackled through her like static anyway. After the incident from earlier, they had never really gone away. Beyond the residual effects of the panic attack, she’d been unable to stop wondering whether Colby had seen the binoculars in the guest room. He hadn’t said anything or acted any differently than normal, but he was a counselor. Part of that job was keeping a poker face when you heard or saw outrageous things. That he might’ve discovered her secret had freaked her out to the point of nausea. So she’d given in and taken an anxiety pill, which combined with the drained adrenaline from the panic attack had promptly put her to sleep. When she’d woken up, her yard had been perfectly restored and Colby and Keats were gone.

She’d put in an emergency call to Leesha to offload everything that had happened that day. It was the benefit of having a best friend who was also a therapist. She could tell her things she’d be way too embarrassed to tell a stranger. But even so, it’d been a hell of a hard thing to admit aloud that she’d been spying on her neighbor. Leesha had hardly flinched and had assured her that, considering her isolated situation, it wasn’t completely bizarre that she had resorted to that kind of behavior. Plus, she’d added that considering Phillip had watched Georgia without her permission, this was a subconscious way for her to feel in control—by being the one doing the watching. Whatever. Georgia had rolled her eyes and demanded that Leesha drop the therapist hat and be the girl she’d known since grade school. This wasn’t a session.

At that, Leesha had broken into a conspiratorial grin, called her a dirty bird, and asked for a full description of how hot her neighbor actually was. Georgia had growled into the webcam. “Leesh, pay attention. He. May. Know. Did you hear that part? What the hell am I supposed to do? He probably thinks I’m some pervy stalker girl.”

She’d shrugged. “Feel him out. Maybe he didn’t see anything. And if you find out he knows, do the right thing and apologize.”

So now it was time to do the right thing. And that thing involved moving out of her barricaded comfort zone and womaning up. She was trying to channel some alternative version of herself with each step. I am strong. I am in control. I own this moment. Goddamn, she sounded like that guy Stuart Smalley from the old episodes of Saturday Night Live. Pitiful. She clutched the casserole dish in her hands like it’d save her from some impending doom and kept putting one foot in front of the other. Only a few more steps.

The porch light was on and Colby’s truck was still in the driveway, so she knew he was home. She had no idea if Keats was still there. Maybe Colby had taken him back home. She hoped not. She had a feeling Keats wasn’t going back to a happy situation, and he’d been so kind helping her earlier today. She didn’t want to think about him struggling to keep afloat. Plus, she’d never had a chance to ask him that question she’d started when the ants had attacked. Maybe she could help.

Her heart began to pound harder as she walked up Colby’s sidewalk, but she managed to keep her breathing even. She pictured an aerial view of her house in her mind—one of Leesha’s visualization exercises—and imagined her house was a green zone, the safe zone, that stretched to the edges of her property. With some effort, she pictured that circle expanding, the green creeping wider and enveloping Colby’s yard and house. This was just an extension of her space, nothing to get freaked-out about. She prayed that the image would convince her faulty wiring that all was good in the ’hood.

When she reached the door without drama, she wanted to do a victory dance. But the harder part was yet to come. She balanced the dish in one hand and raised the other to knock. Here we go. Be cool.

Colby answered a few seconds later, barefoot in track pants and a snug white T-shirt, obviously fresh from the shower. He didn’t bother hiding the surprise on his face. “Oh, hey. Everything all right?”

She stared at him for a few seconds, nerves stealing her voice, but she made herself swallow and speak. Unfortunately, everything came out at once. “Yes, everything’s fine. I fell asleep and when I woke up, I saw the yard, and it’s … beautiful. And I wanted to tell you that I really appreciate everything. Not just the yard but earlier. And I thought you might be hungry since you probably worked through lunch and so I made enchiladas. They’re chicken, and you like burgers, so I’m assuming you’re not vegetarian and—”

The slow, broad smile that crept onto his face stopped her mid-ramble. He leaned against his door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re on my porch, Ms. Delaune.”

She pressed her lips together and inhaled a breath, trying to slow her heartbeat. “I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to thank you.”

“I can’t think of a better thank-you.” He reached out and pushed his door open wider. “Want to come inside to do the talking?”

Her gaze darted past his shoulder, taking in the spacious living room behind him, all done in soft browns and tans. The TV played ESPN but the volume was all the way down and a half-full beer sat on the coffee table. It looked comfortable and welcoming. So much of her wanted to go inside. But she hadn’t been inside another person’s house in over a year, and it felt a little like standing on the edge of a cliff with shifting soil. “I’m not sure.”

He reached out and took the casserole dish from her and set it on a table by the door. Then he held out both his palms to her. “Here, let’s try this. I won’t ask questions because it gives your mind too much time to analyze. Just listen and follow my instructions. If any of it becomes too much, you say stop and I’ll shut up. Deal?”

She nodded, not giving herself time to think about it. “Okay.”

“Now take my hands and step inside. It’s getting cold outside and it’s warm in here. I don’t want you to be cold.”

She placed her hands in his large ones, and he tugged her gently, easing her forward like a parent teaching a toddler to walk.

“Plus, I have no idea what temperature to cook this in the oven, so I need your help,” he continued.

Another step.

“And God knows we don’t want Mrs. Benson across the street gossiping about us, so we need to get where she can’t see us.” His dimple appeared.

Another step. She was inside. He bumped the door with his foot to shut it behind her. The click of it closing sounded as loud as a thunderclap in her head. Her fingers curled into his palms. “Keep talking.”

“And for the record, I’m about as far from a vegetarian as one can get. I put meat on top of my meat.”

She snorted.

“Right, good point, probably shouldn’t talk about my meat.”

Now she couldn’t stop a laugh from bubbling up. She took another step. And another. She kept her gaze on Colby and that reassuring smile of his. Wood floorboards sounded beneath her shoes, then the soft hush of an area rug.

Soon, Colby stopped moving, but her momentum carried her forward another step into his personal space. He bent and put his lips close to her ear. “Congratulations, neighbor, you’ve made it all the way to the couch without a scratch.”

She straightened and turned her head, surprised to see she was already in the middle of the living room and far from the front door. She’d only been watching him, focusing on his eyes and voice, and somehow he’d coaxed her all the way inside without her panic switch being triggered. She was in someone else’s house.

And she was okay.

“Holy shit. We did it!” Her voice was way too loud but she didn’t care.

“You did it.”

“I can’t even believe—thank you.” Victory surged in her, and without thinking, she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him right on the lips. Smack!

He stiffened for a half second, obviously caught off guard, and she hopped back, putting her hand to her mouth. “Oh crap, I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

He smiled and tilted his head in challenge. “Are you?”

She blinked. An auto-response jumped to her lips. Retreat, retreat, retreat. But she didn’t let the cowardly words come out. She steeled herself, reaching deep for the old seeds of confidence, and held his gaze. “Okay, no, not really. I’ve kind of been wanting to do that for a while.”

“Yeah?”

She rolled her lips inward, feeling giddy for some reason—probably some combination of residual anxiety and the rush of breaking that boundary and kissing him. “Yeah.”

“Want to do it again?”

She laughed, but nerves were trying to push in. “I don’t know, I mean—”

He reached for her belt loop and tugged her gently forward, his affable expression morphing into something far more intent as he looked down at her. “Because I’d like to kiss you again. Really kiss you. But I’m not going to until you tell me it’s okay.”

She nodded, trying to swallow past the fear bubbling up. “It’s okay.”

His hazel eyes searched hers. “Remember how I told you on the walk over here that you could say stop?”

She breathed through the butterflies trying to overtake her insides. “Yes.”

He moved his hand to cup her jaw, his fingertips brushing gentle lines along her neck. The soft, simple touch had her ready to melt on contact. God. Every part of her felt so starved for touch it was as if her neurons couldn’t make sense of it. Everything firing off in all directions—want, need, fear, anticipation. His eyes traced the curves of her face. “That applies to this, too.”

With that, he lowered his head. The moment his lips touched hers she could tell that this was not going to be a quick peck like she’d given him. This was going to be so much better. Her eyelids fell shut as his mouth met hers with a gentleness that belied the intensity she’d seen in his eyes. The kiss was so tender, so softly sensual, that she thought she would die from the slow burn of the connection. Colby Wilkes, a man in no hurry. He teased her bottom lip with a playful tug and then took it between his. The tip of his tongue grazed the line of her lips, but he didn’t push or deepen the kiss yet. It was a taste, a sip of what he could give her.

Her hands went to his chest, feeling the solid muscle and a quickly beating heart beneath her palms. His T-shirt curled in her fingers and a soft sound escaped her—her starved libido begging on her behalf. Please, sir, may I have some more?

He continued to kiss her, and the hand against her hip tightened as he guided her against him, bringing her body flush with his. That was when she opened her mouth to him, inviting a deeper, more all-encompassing kiss. Like walking into a bakery after a juice fast, she wanted to gorge on all the things, taste everything he could give her. Not just a sample. But after a gentle twining of their tongues, he eased back. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

She blinked, off balance for a second, already missing the feel of his lips, the brush of his beard against her skin. Please don’t stop. She feared if she paused, her broken brain would take over and ruin it. “You don’t have to stop.”

He smiled, that dimple flashing again, and squeezed her hip. “I do.”

“Why?” she asked, her frustration flaring.

“Because you came here to talk to me,” he said, lines of strain appearing around his eyes, proving that it wasn’t exactly easy for him to dial back either. He pushed a stray hair off her forehead. “And I know it was a difficult challenge for you to come here. So if I push you too far too fast, the panic might catch up, and we’ll do more harm than good.”

“Sounds way too logical and smart,” she declared. “I hate that.”

He chuckled and put his hands over hers, which were still clinging to his shirt. He lifted them and kissed her knuckles. “How about you tell me what I need to do with those enchiladas, then we’ll talk? If you still want me to not stop later, I promise to throw all logic out the window.”

“Deal,” she said with a smile. “And it’s twenty minutes in a three-hundred-and-fifty-degree oven, then a minute or two under the broiler at the end to brown the cheese.”

“I can handle that.” He released her and guided her down to the couch. “Sit and relax. I’ll be right back. What do you want to drink? I’ve got beer, red wine, and soda.”

“A beer would be great.”

“You got it.” He changed the station on the TV to one that played mellow contemporary music, then grabbed the dish of enchiladas and disappeared into the kitchen. The fact that he hadn’t put on the country station made her smile because it was obviously for her benefit. She knew that was his drug of choice—old-school country. It was what he played at the bar—not that she’d ever gotten to hear him play live. But they’d talked about it one day when they’d both been outside in their yards. He’d rattled off a few names of his favorite singers and bands, and she’d only heard of one or two.

Afterward, she’d gone to her computer and Googled him, finding a few YouTube videos of performances, most of them old footage, a few recent. Apparently, he’d been a bit of a big deal when he was younger—a guy on the brink of breaking out. But he’d disappeared from the scene for some unknown reason. She’d played those videos, transfixed, watching them more than once in true stalker style. He had a singing voice so deep, she’d wanted to roll around in it. Even when he sang songs about things she had no personal connection to—growing up in a small town, falling in love with a girl, and stirring up trouble—the music had resonated with her in a way no other kind had because of the way Colby had sung the lyrics. Honesty bled into his performances, and he had a voice that could make the most frigid chick go liquid. She’d become quite a fan. But, of course, he had no idea. Just as he had no idea about her other stalker-like activities …

She sighed. With him gone, her mind kicked into gear again, dimming some of the heady high of the kiss. She was in Colby’s living room. And had kissed him. The reality was hard to believe. On her list of small steps she hoped to move through to get herself healthy for the trial, she’d just jumped from number two to like number six hundred. She glanced out the side window to find her house staring back at her like a sentinel awaiting her return. That was the extent of her whole world sitting next door. Sure, she managed to go out once a week and get her groceries and take care of necessities, but it was always a white-knuckle day made possible by her medication. That house was the only place she could exist without the crushing anxiety. Both a sanctuary and a prison.

But here she was, finally sitting outside it. Exhilarated. Terrified. Leesha was going to shoot a confetti gun when she found out. Georgia clasped her hands in her lap, her thumb rubbing her palm in a slow, methodical motion—up and down, up and down—an unconscious habit that soothed her. As long as she didn’t think about this too hard, she wouldn’t lose it. Colby had been right about that part. As soon as he’d started giving her instructions, she’d been able to focus on simply following and shutting down the racing part of her brain. She’d never thought she’d be able to hear commands from a man without thinking of Phillip, but with Colby it felt different—less of an affront to her free will and more an act of caring direction. It’d been a little like the yoga she did some mornings. Shut the mind down and listen to the teacher on the video tell you how to breathe and move.

Except yoga didn’t involve a big, sexy man and a kiss that’d been hotter than sin on Sunday.

Colby returned to the living room a few minutes later and handed her a Heineken before sitting next to her on the couch. “All right, dinner’s in the oven. Thanks for putting that together. It was going to be a PB&J night.”

“No problem. I like to cook.” Well, she’d learned to like it. Back in Chicago, it had been all about eating out. The food was to die for in the city, and she’d taken full advantage of it. But now she didn’t have that option. After moving here, she’d missed going out to restaurants and had gotten tired of microwave meals and delivery, so she’d decided if she couldn’t manage to go out anymore, she’d learn how to make her favorites at home via her friend the Food Network.

Colby shifted on the couch so that he was facing her and leaning back on the arm of it. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

Hell. Talking. That was what she’d come over here for. But she certainly wasn’t ready to tell him her secret now. Not after that kiss. It’d ruin it all. She scrambled for a different subject and took a long sip of her beer. Then she toed off her shoes so she wouldn’t be tempted to bolt. “Is Keats still here?”

He cocked a thumb toward the hallway behind him. “Yeah, in the guest bedroom. I think he took the nighttime allergy medicine instead of the regular. He’s been out for a few hours.”

“I’m glad he’s still around. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You want to talk about Keats?” he asked, brows dipping in confusion.

“I do. And I know I’m being nosy,” Georgia said rolling the bottle between her palms and keeping her voice low in case Keats woke up. “But how bad is his situation?”

Colby considered her, looking way too tempting with his still-damp hair and that snug T-shirt, but he seemed to be pondering the question. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I’m guessing not good. I found him busking in a park last night. He said he needed money to make rent.”

“How long is he staying with you?”

Colby frowned and glanced toward the hallway, then took a draw of his beer. “He wants me to drive him back tonight. I’m giving him some money. He said it’ll cover him for a while.”

“You don’t seem too thrilled about that.”

“I’m not.” Colby leaned back and laid his arm across the back of the couch, looking weary all of a sudden. “But the guy’s too prideful for handouts. I offered to let him stay with me for a while, but he sees it as charity. Plus, he comes from a world where nothing is given for free. Even with one night, I could tell he was trying to figure out my angle, like there’s more to it than me wanting to help out.”

She picked at the label on her beer. “Is there?”

“No, he’s a kid I used to know who needed help. I helped. I still want to help.”

“He’s not a kid anymore, Colby,” she said, peeking up at him. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

He raised a brow at her. “Well, apparently, you have.”

“Come on,” she said, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “You know neither of you is hard to look at.”

“Is that right? Neither of us, huh?” He grinned and pointed the neck of his beer toward her. “Does this mean I need to challenge Keats to a duel for your primary affections?”

She sniffed. “Only if you plan on taking your shirts off and doing hand-to-hand combat. Possibly while the sprinklers are running.”

A bark of laughter spilled out of him, echoing through the room. “Dirty mind, Georgia. I like this side of you.”

She smiled, feeling lighter than she had in a very long time. She liked this side of her, too—even though she suspected it was partly due to the residual effects of that kiss and might not last long. “I have my moments.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” he said, the shift in his voice like a stroke against her skin.

She chewed her lip, the simple statement bringing to mind her nights at that window, the things she’d seen take place in the room down the hall. But she couldn’t let her thoughts wander there. Already she could feel her body prickling with awareness. She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it against her chest in defense. “Do you think Keats would consider staying if I could offer him a job?”

His forehead scrunched. “What do you mean?”

“I need an assistant. Simple stuff—errands, emails, mailing things for me. I have an extra laptop. He could do it from here—or my place, if I can handle that. It’d only be part time, but it’d be steady work, and he could look for something full time or take classes or whatever he needs to do in between.”

“I thought you were looking for a virtual assistant.”

She shrugged, though her attempt at casual felt stiff. This was a big, major deal for her. “I was. But he needs it more than some college kid. And … I think it’d be good for me, you know, to invite some people into my life.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “You’re kind of amazing for making that offer. But why him?”

She set her beer on the coffee table. “Because he seems like a good guy who’s had some bad luck. And I don’t know, when he helped me today, there was just something about him. I feel comfortable around him—which, believe me, in my world, is like finding a unicorn.”

Colby’s mouth curved upward. “I’m sure Keats would be thrilled to know you called him a unicorn. Very badass image. You sure this isn’t just a sinister plan to live out some boss/subordinate fantasy? Because you’ve already admitted he’s not hard to look at, and I have a feeling Keats would have no problem volunteering for that game. I mean, you already got him naked after only knowing him for a few minutes.”

She grinned and tossed the pillow at him, even though the images he painted were oh-so-tempting ones. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He held his beer out of the way and batted down the pillow, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Oh, come on, the thought didn’t cross your mind even once? Yes, Ms. Delaune, should I type this letter with my shirt off or maybe without pants?”

She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, but it didn’t work. “You’re terrible.”

“And right,” he said, pointing the neck of his beer bottle at her.

She shook her head, a little amazed that he’d picked up on her attraction to Keats and that they were openly discussing another man. “You know, you’re not like other guys.”

“Of course I’m not, but what makes you say that?”

“Well, we just kissed and you’re teasing me about another guy like it’s no big deal if I think he’s hot.”

Colby shrugged. “I kissed you. I like you. But I don’t own you. I don’t have any right or desire to control who you find attractive. And I’d rather have your honesty than anything else.”

Georgia tried not to wince. Honesty. Yeah, she was doing a stellar job at that one. Fake last name. Shady background. Not to mention that whole illegal-peeping thing. Just slap a big fat F on her report card for that one. Her conscience wagged its finger at her, bringing the guilt down heavy. Her thumb started rubbing at her palm again. She watched the back-and-forth motion. Maybe she should leave. Kissing Colby had been fantastic, but how could she pursue anything with him? All her issues. The fact that he was dominant. Everything was so complicated in her life right now. “It’s getting late …”

“Come on, baby,” he said softly. “Don’t chicken out on me now.”

She looked up, finding those hazel eyes studying her, flickering gold in the lamplight. “What?”

“Tell me what you really came here to tell me.”

It took a second for the request to register, but when it did, it squeezed around her throat in a death grip. “What do you mean?”

“Georgia …”

The awareness in his eyes was like a guillotine slicing through her last shreds of hope.

Oh. Shit.

“You saw the binoculars.”




TEN (#ulink_e10f82ce-235a-5f19-861e-43fff85fa118)


Colby’s expression didn’t change, but he set down his beer. “I did.”

She stared at the couch cushion between them, humiliation bleeding through her. This wasn’t happening. “I’m so sorry, I—”

But her words trailed off when he shifted toward her on the couch. He put his fingers beneath her chin. “Hey, look at me.”

That was the last thing she wanted to do, but she forced her focus upward. She’d done the crime, now it was time to pay the price for it. But when she tilted her face to him, she didn’t see any censure or judgment in his.

“You must think—” she started again, but he hushed her with a shake of the head.

“I already knew,” he admitted. “So I’m as much to blame as you are.”

“What?” She blinked, her thoughts scattering like frantic mice. Maybe she was hearing things. “But—”

“I saw your curtains move and a flash one night when I had friends over. The moonlight must’ve glinted off the lens of your binoculars.”

“Oh my God.” She put her hands to her face, officially mortified. “Why didn’t you shut your curtains?”

He chuckled and reached for her wrists, easing her arms down to her lap. “I’m guessing you can probably figure out the answer to that yourself.”

She swallowed hard, the realization staring her in the face. “You liked me watching.”

His dimpled smile was downright devious. “Hello, Ms. Voyeur, meet Mr. Exhibitionist.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “God, that makes me sound like such a pervert.”

He released her wrists and leaned back against the arm of the couch again. “Come on, now. You’ve watched me long enough to know I could beat you on the pervert scale a few thousand times over. No need to feel any shame about it. You wanted to watch. I let you—and enjoyed it.”

She couldn’t process this. All the times she’d watched him flipped through her mind like a dirty movie on fast-forward and repeat. All those nights, he’d known she was there. Then another thought hit her. “So last night …”

“Last night was probably out of line,” he admitted. “All the other times, I knew you were watching, but I didn’t change my behavior because of it. Last night, I did.”

Her heart was moving too fast again, but for a different reason than panic. “Why?”

He considered her for a moment, then released a breath. “Because I was selfish. I needed to know if you watched my window because you just enjoy seeing other people be intimate and do kinky things or if you watched because of me.”

Oh, hell. She bit the inside of her lip.

“Because some people like watching no matter who it is. And that’s cool. I can get into that sometimes, too. But if that’s all it was, I wanted to know so that I didn’t go traipsing where I’m not wanted.”

Her brows met. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve seen what kind of lifestyle I live, how I am with lovers?”

“Yes,” she said, almost too low for her own ears to register the sound.

“And what do you know about me, Georgia?”

She wet her lips. “You’re bisexual.”

“I am.”

“And you like threesomes.”

Amusement lit his eyes. “True, what’s not to like?”

“And you’re a dominant and a sadist.”

His mouth lifted at the corner. “Yes. You know the language. I have to admit that surprises me a little. Google?”

“I look that innocent?” she asked, deadpan. “I think I’m insulted.”

Okay, so it was totally Google. But no way she was admitting that.

He laughed, the sound coming from deep in that wide chest of his. “I’m not trying to tease you.”

“Uh-huh.”

He took her hand again, his expression going more serious. “I’m only trying to figure you out—and need to make sure you know exactly who I am because that list of things would probably scare off ninety percent of the population. And if you watch me simply because I’m so out there that you find it interesting, that’s fine. If we kissed because there’s attraction but you’re not really into the other stuff, I’ll understand. Tell me that and nothing has to change. You can continue to watch and I’ll let you.” His thumb traced the delicate bones of her wrist, the heat of his touch burning through her. “But if you watch because you think you might crave some of those same things, if you find yourself wondering what it’d be like to be there with me instead of behind the glass, then tell me that, too. Because, Georgia, all you have to do is ask and next time I won’t stop unless you tell me to.”

Everything in her sparked like live wires hitting water—Colby’s words overriding any residual effect from the small dose of anxiety medicine or a beer could provide. Just ask. She’d imagined that proposition so many times in the quiet of her guest room. Yes, the things he did were out there. Some of them scared her, in theory, but she knew real fear and she’d never felt that when thinking of Colby. She didn’t feel it now. And the thought of experiencing that even once with him, having his hands on her, that big body pressing against her …

She leaned back, needing some breathing space and some solid ground. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say what’s on your mind. There are no wrong answers here.”

She sighed and looked up at him. “I’m not going to sit here and lie that I haven’t thought about what it’d be like with you … like that, submissive. I can’t stop watching … and thinking. But it’s scary. The thought of putting myself out there like that.”

He watched her intently, as if considering every one of her words, then nodded. “Well, know there’s no pressure here. You don’t have to answer now or ever. But I’m telling you all this because I’m not one to bullshit or play games. I like you. I want you. But I also am the way I am, and that’s not for everyone.”

No lies or games—what a novel concept. Most days she felt her whole life was balancing on intricately weaved, wispy-thin threads of deceit. Something free of all that was so goddamned tempting. Colby was so damn tempting. But this was anything but simple. This was no longer some fantasy scenario she was watching from a safe distance. It would be her tied to that big bed of his.

She rubbed her lips together and peered over at him. “I don’t know if I’m capable of being submissive.”

“You say that.” The shadow of his dimple appeared. “But you like watching me and imagining you’re there with me? In those scenarios, do you picture being in charge of me?”

She held his gaze for a long while, but the truth sat full on her lips. “No. I can’t really imagine you like that. It doesn’t make sense.”

“And when you think of being on your knees for me, does that make sense?”

She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “Sometimes. In the fantasy world.”

“That fantasy world is where a lot of truth hides. We could test what’s true for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Here, let’s try something.” He settled back against the arm of the couch. “Turn around.”

“Why?”

He cocked an eyebrow.

With a huff, she complied. “You use that eyebrow thing on your students?”

“Yes, it’s very effective. Now, put your back to me. I promise I won’t touch you anywhere that I couldn’t in public.”

She had no idea what he was up to, and the thought of letting him touch her in any way made her belly do flips. What if she panicked? But every instinct in her told her Colby was okay. Even so, it was hard to trust her intuition. It had let her down so spectacularly with Phillip. But looking back, she knew she had ignored signs early on. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

But right now, she needed to take this risk, give her gut a test run, trust that Colby wasn’t a dangerous guy. He’d never done anything to make her think otherwise. And even if something went wrong, she had enough self-defense moves to get out of this position if she needed to. She’d trained hard to make sure she never got caught defenseless again. She turned around fully, and he put his hands on her waist to drag her back against him.

He situated her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and letting her head rest on his shoulder. Lord, he was big. She braced herself for the inevitable anxiety she expected to rush forward. But instead, after giving herself a moment to take a breath, she realized she felt just fine. Better than fine. She was deliciously cocooned in Colby’s warmth and the clean scent of freshly showered man. It was pretty damn nice, actually.

“There,” he said, settling into the position. “Now I want you to close your eyes and keep them closed while we try this. You’re a writer, so I’m sure you have a vivid imagination. I need you to use it.”

“But—”

“Hush,” he said softly. “Just relax and listen. I think this may help.” His fingertips traced along her arms, and the music from the TV drifted around them. He took his time, caressing her and letting her adjust to being held by him, and then he started to speak low against her ear. “I want you to picture standing in the doorway to my room. I’ve turned the lights down and lit candles. The shadows are dancing along the walls. It takes a minute for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, all you can see is the outline of me sitting in the armchair in the corner. I’m still in my work clothes but I’ve loosened my tie. I’m waiting for you.”

Georgia’s skin warmed and tingled where he touched, the scene appearing in her mind, colors filling in with fine brushstrokes as Colby shared more details. She could see him sitting there, legs spread wide, the posture of a confident king holding court—sexy and intimidating. Her heartbeat kicked a little harder against her ribs.

“Can you see me?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I tell you to come in. You’ve worn a red dress and look beautiful, but that’s not what I need tonight. I want nothing between us. I order you to undress for me. Slowly.”

His breath brushed against the shell of her ear with every word, and a hot shiver worked its way down her body. She pictured herself standing there in the middle of his room, the window she’d so often spied through bearing silent witness. She could almost hear the zipper dragging down as she imagined reaching behind her and tugging it to slip out of the dress.

“You’re wearing a lacy bra and panties, and I can see just enough beneath to drive me crazy. I love your body, those curves, the gorgeous glow of your skin. It reminds me of warm cocoa.” He pressed his lips against the curve of her neck and grazed her with the tip of his tongue. “And I know it will taste just as sweet.”

Holy Moses. The tiny touch sent every muscle tightening, and a moan built in the back of her throat.

“I tell you to come closer to stand between my knees. You do so without saying a word. I haven’t given you permission to speak. I don’t touch you yet. You haven’t earned it. But your nipples are dark shadows beneath the lacy material, the little points begging for my mouth, and your panties are clinging to you.” His voice dipped even lower. “You’re so wet for me already, I can taste your scent in the air.”

Her thighs pressed together, the imaginary arousal becoming all too real.

“I can barely stand to stay patient. My cock is pressing against the fly of my pants, aching for you. But I like riding that edge, taking my time. And I owe you a punishment.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“Because you were seven minutes late for our date.” His fingertips trailed along the tops of her thighs, lighting up nerve endings in their wake even through the material of her jeans. “I tell you to lose the bra and to kneel down next to me. You’re being a good girl and you follow my instructions. The bra falls to the floor and those full breasts are there on display for me. I lay you across my lap and capture your arms behind you.” His fingers circled both her wrists and applied pressure. “You’re all mine now.”

Mine, her mind repeated, the word sounding sexier than she’d ever heard it. Phillip had used that word like an angry child—mine!





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