Chapter 16
HALLIE
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
What the hell had that been?
I actually felt something that could have been called chemistry. There had definitely been a sizzle.
I snatched the robe, put it on, and practically ran to the bedroom and shut the door behind me. I snatched the pajamas from the suitcase and rushed into the massive en suite bathroom.
I dried off and pulled on the silk pajamas. They fit perfectly and felt like being wrapped in a cloud. I didn’t know fabric this soft existed. I quickly brushed my teeth and took my hair out of the bun.
I felt like I had just run through a minefield and somehow managed to come out unscathed. The way he had looked at me was way too much. That was Colt in a nutshell. He was too rich. Too handsome. Too smooth.
Too dangerous.
When I emerged from the bathroom, feeling like I had gotten my shit together, Colt was in the bedroom.
I froze and took in the sight. He was dressed in loose gray sweatpants and nothing else.
His chest was bare, showing off muscles that clearly came from more than just sitting in boardrooms. Water droplets still clung to his shoulders, and his dark hair was damp and tousled.
I forced myself to look away.
What the fuck?
How in the hell did he actually look that good? I flipped through magazines. I saw billboards. Those men were gorgeous, but I had convinced myself it was lighting and makeup. Photoshop and digital trickery.
But Colt was very real. I was looking at the man in the flesh, so much flesh, with no makeup or AI enhancement.
“What are you doing?” I tried to sound irritated, but my tone ended up being husky and breathy.
He arched a brow, and dammit, he looked even sexier. I didn’t know how that was possible, but he did it.
“Going to bed,” he said.
I shook my head. “Uh-uh. Nope. No way. Not in here. I’m sleeping in here.”
“There’s only one bed in this suite, Hallie.”
“You can have one of the sofas in the living room. They looked comfortable enough.”
Colt laughed, like I had just told the funniest joke he’d ever heard.
“You’re delusional if you think I’m sleeping on a couch,” he said, pulling back the covers on the right side of the bed. “This is a California king. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes.” He climbed into bed, making himself comfortable against the pillows. “You can take the floor if you’re that opposed to sharing.”
“I can take the floor?” My voice rose slightly. “This was your hotel disaster. Your inability to answer your phone. I’m not sleeping on the floor because you screwed up.”
“I didn’t screw up. The hotel did.” He crossed his arms behind his head, looking infuriatingly relaxed. “You’re the one that told the guy it was okay.”
“I’m not sharing a bed with you.” I put my hands on my hips and did my best to look like a boss bitch. Little hard to do wearing jammies.
“And I’m not giving up this bed. It’s mine.”
“It’s ours, according to the reservation.”
“Exactly. Ours. Which means we share it.”
“We are not sharing a bed, Colt.”
“We literally have no choice unless one of us sleeps on the couch or the floor. And since I booked this suite, and I’m paying for everything, I’m taking the bed.” His eyes glinted with challenge. “You’re welcome to join me. Or not. Your call.”
I glared at him, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. This was ridiculous. We were two adults. We could share a bed without it meaning anything.
Or I could just take a couch. It wouldn’t be the first couch I slept on. But somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to back down. It felt like, if I gave him an inch, he would steamroll me.
I had to stand my ground.
It was just a bed. Sleeping. That’s all that would happen. I couldn’t stand the guy.
Except I knew that was a lie. I’d felt the chemistry between us in the hot tub. The awareness. The way my body responded every time he was near.
Sharing a bed was dangerous territory.
But I also knew Colt wasn’t going to budge. He was stubborn and used to getting his way, and short of physically dragging him out of the bed—which wasn’t happening—I was stuck.
“Fine,” I bit out. “But we’re establishing boundaries.”
“Whatever makes you feel better, sugar.”
I grabbed all the decorative pillows from the chair in the corner and began building a wall down the center of the bed. Pillow after pillow, creating a barrier between his side and mine.
“Really?” Colt asked, watching with obvious amusement. “A pillow wall?”
“Really.” I placed the last pillow carefully. “You stay on your side. I stay on mine. No crossing the border.”
“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I don’t care.” I climbed into bed, staying as close to my edge as possible. “These are the terms. Accept them or sleep on the couch.”
He looked at the pillow wall, then at me, then back at the wall. “You’re being a poor sport.”
“I’m being smart.”
“You’re ruining all the fun.” I heard the grumpiness creeping into his voice. “I should have written into the contract that you couldn’t be such a pain in the ass.”
The contract. Right. This was all business. All performance.
And if I kept pushing him away, kept being difficult, he wasn’t going to fall for me. My entire plan—take his money, break his heart, get even—would implode before it even got started.
I needed him to want me. To get invested. To let his guard down.
And I couldn’t do that by building literal walls between us.
Damn it.
I took a deep breath, swallowed my pride, and made a decision.
“You know what?” I said, my voice deliberately softer. “You’re right. I’m being ridiculous.”
I could feel his surprise even though I wasn’t looking at him. “What?”
“The pillow wall is silly.” I started dismantling it, tossing the pillows onto the floor one by one. “We’re adults. We can share a bed without making it weird.”
“That’s surprisingly mature of you.”
“Don’t get used to it.” I finished removing the last pillow, then rolled over to face him. My heart was pounding, but I forced myself to remain cool. “Besides, I’ve never been opposed to being the little spoon.”
The air between us shifted immediately. Colt’s expression changed, surprise giving way to something darker, more heated.
“Is that right?” His voice had dropped to that low register that did unfortunate things to my insides.
“Mmhmm.” I turned my back to him, my pulse racing as I inched my ass back. “But only if you promise to behave.”
There was a pause. Then I felt the mattress shift as he moved closer.
His arm slid around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. The contact was immediate and overwhelming. Suddenly, his solid presence at my back and his breath stirring my hair was nearly too much.
“How’s this?” he murmured near my ear.
“Fine,” I managed, even though my heart was trying to beat its way out of my chest.
He adjusted slightly, fitting our bodies together more completely. My back pressed against his chest. My hips nestled against his. My legs aligned with his under the covers.
It was intimate. Too intimate.
And it felt way too comfortable.
His scent surrounded me. Clean and masculine and intoxicating. His arm was heavy and warm around my waist, his hand splayed across my stomach.
This was supposed to be strategic. Part of the plan to make him fall for me.
So why did it feel so easy? So natural? Like we’d been sleeping like this for years instead of minutes?
Colt’s breathing began to even out, becoming deep and steady. He was falling asleep, completely relaxed, like having me in his arms was the most natural thing in the world.
Meanwhile, I was wide awake, my mind racing, my body hyperaware of every point of contact between us.
I could feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back. The warmth of his breath on my neck. The strength in the arm wrapped around me.
And God help me, I could feel other things too. The lean muscle of his thighs pressed against the back of mine. The hard planes of his abs against my lower back.
My ass pressed against his crotch.
My thoughts started wandering into dangerous territory. What would happen if I shifted slightly? If I pressed back instead of holding still? If I let myself stop thinking and just feel?
Stop it, I commanded myself. This is Colt Jesson. The guy who broke your heart. The guy you’re supposed to be using, not fantasizing about.
But my body didn’t seem to care about logic. It only cared that I was being held by a devastatingly attractive man who smelled amazing and felt even better.
I tried to focus on something else. Anything else.
My mind drifted back to high school. To the boy Colt had been then, charming and confident and completely out of my league. I’d been so na?ve, thinking that someone like him could actually be interested in someone like me.
Why had he asked me to meet him at the beach that night? What had he been planning to say? To do?
Had it all been a joke? A dare from his friends? Let’s see if the chubby girl with the crush will actually show up?
I could imagine them laughing about it afterward. Colt and his buddies, probably surrounded by the pretty, popular girls they actually dated, telling the story of how pathetic Hallie Bellrose had waited for hours for a guy who was never going to show.
The humiliation still burned, even after all these years.
And now here I was, lying in his arms, and he didn’t even remember me. Didn’t remember breaking my heart.
Not even a flicker of recognition.
I was that forgettable to him.
The thought hurt more than it should have. More than I wanted to admit.
I carefully extracted myself from Colt’s embrace, trying not to wake him as I slid to the far edge of the bed. He made a small sound of protest in his sleep but didn’t wake, just rolled onto his back.
I turned to face him. In the faint light, I was able to study him. His face was relaxed in sleep, the hard edges softened. He looked almost vulnerable.
I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and wondered what he dreamed about. If he ever had nightmares. If there was more beneath the surface than the arrogant billionaire persona he showed the world.
Frankie seemed to think so. “You only see what he lets you see,” she’d said.
But what was I supposed to see? What was I missing?
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling, sleep feeling impossibly far away. This was getting complicated. More complicated than I’d planned for. I was supposed to be using him. Getting revenge. Taking his money and breaking his heart the way he’d broken mine.
But lying here in the dark, listening to him breathe, feeling the residual warmth from where he’d held me, it was getting harder to remember why I hated him.
Don’t, I warned myself. Don’t let yourself soften. Don’t forget what he did. Don’t fall for whatever act he’s putting on.
I turned my head to look at him again. He’d shifted in his sleep, one arm thrown over his head, his face turned toward where I’d been lying.
Like even in sleep, he was reaching for me.
Stop romanticizing this, I told myself firmly. He’s a playboy. A user. Someone who cares about no one but himself.
I closed my eyes and forced myself to think about the beach house. About my father. About all the reasons I was doing this in the first place.
The money. The restoration. The justice.
The revenge.