Chapter 29
COLT
Ihelped Hallie clean up after dinner, which apparently was a source of endless amusement for her.
“This kitchen is cleaner than a hospital operating room,” she said, running her finger along the counter like she was checking for dust. “Do you wipe down surfaces with straight bleach?”
“No, but I like order,” I said, loading the dishwasher with precision. “Is that a crime?”
“No, but maybe it should be.” She gestured vaguely at the immaculate space. “It’s very you, though.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Take it however you want it.” She laughed, that genuine sound that I was starting to crave. “I mean, my place has dishes in the sink from this morning. Maybe yesterday morning. Hallie’s shoes are always by the door. April leaves her books everywhere. It’s lived in.”
“This is lived in,” I protested.
“This is a showroom.” She opened one of my cabinets and whistled. “Even your spices are alphabetized. Who does that?”
“People who don’t want to waste time searching for cumin.”
“You use cumin?”
“Sometimes.”
“When?” she challenged.
I closed the dishwasher and turned to face her. “Are you going to mock my organizational system all night, or can we move on to something productive?”
She hopped up on the counter—the one surface I’d just wiped down—and grinned at me. “What did you have in mind?”
I tried not to think about what I had in mind. About how easy it would be to step between her legs and kiss that smirk off her face. About how she looked sitting on my counter in jeans and a sweater, more appealing than any of the models in designer gowns I’d dated.
Professional. Keep it professional.
“We need to pick songs,” I said.
“Songs?”
“For the wedding. First dance. Entrance song. Whatever other musical decisions need to be made.” I grabbed my phone. “Frankie sent me a list of options the wedding planner suggested.”
“Oh God.” Hallie’s expression shifted from amused to slightly panicked. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”
“That’s why you have me.” I pulled up the list and moved to stand beside her—not between her legs, beside her. Safe distance. “Okay, for our entrance, she’s suggesting either ‘Marry You’ by Bruno Mars or ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis.”
“Bruno Mars feels very not us.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Agreed. Elvis?”
“Better. Classic.” She leaned over to look at my phone. I caught that citrus scent again. Damn it. “What about the first dance?”
I scrolled through the list. “‘At Last’ by Etta James. ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ by Frank Sinatra. ‘Thinking Out Loud’ by Ed Sheeran.
She wrinkled her nose. “Those all feel very old.”
I chuckled. “I think the word you’re looking for is timeless.”
“It’s our wedding and it’s not real, do we have to do what everyone expects?”
“I think that’s exactly why we do what everyone expects.”
“I don’t know that Ed Sheeran song,” she said. “Let me pull it up.”
“Hold it on, my phone connects to the Bluetooth.”
It only took a few seconds to pull up the song. The music filled the room. Speakers discreetly tucked into the ceiling pumped out the first notes.
“Dance with me,” I said.
“We already danced. At the fundraiser.”
“We’re talking about our wedding with everyone watching us,” I said. “We don’t want to look like we’ve only danced one time.” I held out my hand. “Please?”
She looked at my hand, then at my face, wariness in her expression. Finally, she nodded and hopped off the counter.
“One song,” she said.
“One song.”
I understood her reluctance. Neither of us was saying it, but there was some major tension in the room. We both agreed to no sex, but the desire was there, hanging in the space between us. We both wanted it. We both knew it was a bad idea.
I pulled her into my arms in the middle of my living room, and suddenly the massive space felt intimate. The massive windows surrounded us, Manhattan’s lights twinkling like stars. A gentle snowfall swirled outside like we were inside a snow globe.
“This view,” Hallie murmured, looking out at the city.
“Nothing compared to you,” I said, and watched her blush.
I led her in a slow dance, our bodies finding an easy rhythm. She fit perfectly against me, her hand in mine, her other resting on my shoulder.
“What do you think of the song?” I asked quietly.
She nodded. “Good. Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I like it,” she said with a soft smile.
“This would be perfect for our first dance,” I said. “Right? It suits us?”
“Actually, there’s a song.” She stopped.
“What? Tell me.”
“You’re going to think it’s silly. It’s one my mom and dad used to dance to. I used to watch them and think I wanted to dance to that song with my husband.”
“Name it.”
“The artist is Cat Power. It’s ‘Sea of Love.’”
“I don’t think I’ve heard it.” I grabbed my phone and quickly pulled it up. Her face transformed. There were tears in her eyes as she gently swayed.
I went right back to her and pulled her against me. “I’ve heard this song. A man sang it, right?”
“Yes.”
She was clearly not interested in talking, so I held her while we barely moved. It didn’t require moving. We simply held each other.
She leaned back just a little to look at me. There was something vulnerable in her gaze, something that made my chest tight.
“I’m nervous,” she whispered.
“About the wedding?”
“About everything.” She bit her lip. “What if something goes wrong? What if someone figures out the truth? What if—” She paused. “What if people are right about me?”
“Right about what?”
“That I’m just plain Hallie. That I don’t belong in your world. That this is all—”
I stopped dancing and cupped her cheek, making her look at me.
“Hallie,” I said firmly. “You’re anything but plain.”
“But the articles—”
“Fuck the articles. Fuck what people think.” I stroked my thumb across her cheekbone. “You’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re funny and kind and you bring me lunch and cook me dinner and you see through all my bullshit like it’s nothing.”
“Colt—”
“You’re not plain, Hallie. You’re extraordinary.”
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and every brain cell I possessed started yelling at me to step back. To remember the boundaries we’d just established. To keep this professional.
But I couldn’t.
Because Hallie was looking at me like I’d just given her something precious. Like my words meant something. Like I meant something.
And fuck, she meant something to me too.
So I kissed her.
I’m only a man.
A mere mortal.
It started tender. Soft. A gentle press of lips that tasted like the wine we’d had with dinner. But then she made a small sound in the back of her throat and pressed closer. The tenderness shifted into something more.
Her hands slid up my chest, around my neck, into my hair. She sank her fingers into it the way she had the other night. I groaned against her mouth with my cock hardening.
This was a bad idea. The worst idea.
We’d just agreed—literally just agreed—that sex was off the table. That we needed to keep things professional.
But I couldn’t stop.
Didn’t want to stop.
Not when she was kissing me back like she needed this as much as I did. She could say she didn’t want me, but I felt it. I felt it in her kiss and the way her body rubbed against mine. Her pert nipples were poking through her sweater.
“Hallie,” I murmured against her lips. “We said—”
“I know what we said.” Her hands slid under my shirt, her palms warm against my skin. “I don’t care.”
“We’re supposed to be professional—”
“Do you want me to stop?” She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, her pupils blown wide with desire.
Did I want her to stop?
Every logical part of my brain screamed yes.
But my body had other ideas. And apparently, so did my heart.
“No,” I admitted roughly. “I don’t want you to stop.”
“Then shut up and kiss me.”
So I did.
I kissed her like it was my last five minutes on earth and she was the only other person in the world. I backed her toward the bedroom, our mouths never parting, our hands exploring like we hadn’t just done this two nights ago.
Except this felt different.
The first time had been explosive. Desperate. We’d barely made it to the bed.
This was slower. More deliberate. Like we were savoring it instead of racing toward the finish line.
I pulled her sweater over her head and tossed it aside. Worked the button of her jeans while she tugged at my shirt. We shed clothing piece by piece, leaving a trail to the bedroom, until we were both in our underwear.
I laid her on the bed and took a moment to just look at her. She was beautiful. All curves and soft skin and dark hair spread across my pillow. Her chest rose and fell with quick breaths. The way she looked at me, like I was the only man on the planet, made something crack open in my chest.
“Come here,” she said, reaching for me.
I went to her like I’d been doing it my whole life. Covered her body with mine, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. Taking my time because I could. Because she was here and willing and we had all night.
“Colt,” she gasped when my mouth found her breast. “Please—”
“Patience,” I murmured against her skin.
“I don’t want to be patient.”
“Too bad.”
The woman drove me mad. I loved learning her body. There were so many spots to discover. And tease. I decided I would get to know every last inch of her. Her body was mine to tease and tantalize. To torture until she was writhing and begging me.
And I planned to do exactly that.
“Colt,” she said my name on a moan. Like she was in pain.
I liked that. I liked that I could give her so much pleasure her body didn’t know what to do with the sensations.
I hoped she was ready for a long night.