3. Chloe #3
“Detective?” the man beside me mutters. His eyes trail to the badge clipped on Colin’s hip and then he ducks his head, rushing away without another word.
Colin glides up to the bar next to me, folding his forearms over one another like it’s the only place in the world he’s supposed to be.
“Pulling out the big guns, are we?” Angling my body toward him, I raise my eyebrows and nod toward his badge. “Sure seems like you’d do anything to protect me, detective. I’m flattered.”
He scoffs. “Make no mistake, Stark. It’s him I’m protecting.”
Pushing my lips out in a feigned pout, I turn back to face the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Before he can answer, I hold up two fingers to Mickey to indicate we want a couple of shots, and a moment later, she’s sliding two tiny glasses of dark liquid across the bar.
“To your return. May you learn something new this time around,” I offer in cheers, lifting my shot into the air in Colin’s direction. He grunts before picking his up, but he avoids my cheers, which hurts more than it should as I watch him toss it back.
“You still running?” he asks, wincing at the burn of the liquor, keeping his eyes glued to the five red letters above the bar like mine had been. Wouldn’t you like to know, detective?
No, I’m not still running. I found other ways to relieve my rage, it turns out.
I swallow as I stare over at him, the action strained because sometimes being around Colin feels so normal.
Sometimes it feels like he’s my friend, and that is precisely the feeling that I’m constantly chasing after.
The feeling that I let pull me off my path of self-preservation.
But until he’s willing to be honest with himself, to voice it, I do have to protect myself. Keep my own walls at least half up.
“Trying to plan your itinerary?” I arch an eyebrow at him, but he doesn’t notice as he glances in either direction.
The people staring over at us—at me—look away hurriedly when he meets their nosey glares.
Colin stiffens when I lean into him, bringing my lips impossibly close to his ear, feeling the jitter of electricity spark through my chest when I whisper, “Guess you’ll have to follow me to find out.
” Like usual. I push off the bar and leave him behind me as I head down the hall toward the bathroom.
Well, my intention was to leave him behind me.
Okay, that’s not exactly true. I was betting on the fact that he’s a creature of habit.
And thank God he is.
In the dim light of the hallway, his warm hand slides across the front of me, circling my waist and pulling me flush against his body.
I’m sure it was meant to be a power move, but it sends a jolt of warmth through me before he’s releasing me and spinning me around to face him.
He presses his hand to my chest, forcing me against the wall behind me, his face inches from mine.
This is where we frequently ended up before he left. It always felt like we’d been standing at the edge of a precipice together, looking into each other’s eyes and daring each other to make the jump.
I can feel it now, too, in the slight hitch of his breath and the way his eyes search mine ever so briefly. He speaks before he allows himself the chance to see me as anything other than the demon he thinks I am.
“Do you know what your problem is, Stark?” His words are low, deep.
The timbre of his voice sends vibrations down his tattooed forearm, up his fingers, and across my chest. Perhaps he didn’t mean for the question to sound so goddamn sexy, but he’s shit at hiding his true feelings, and I can hear the lust laced around every word.
I can practically taste the whiskey still burning on his tongue, and I so badly want to slide mine into his mouth.
I tilt my head in question, the corner of my mouth lifting, silently encouraging him to go on, tell me what my problem is, detective.
“You’re an optical illusion,” he says softly, almost to himself.
“You’re so beautiful from far away.” My stomach tightens at his admission, the desperation for his praise and approval sliding around my insides like silk.
That year away must have made him bolder, because never in all the time before did he ever pay me a compliment—though I have a feeling it’s about to turn backhanded. “So innocent looking. So soft.”
“Yeah?” I rasp, my voice shaky despite trying to sound confident.
“Yeah,” he confirms, his hazel eyes bouncing between mine as he brings his face closer. “But up close, I can see your scales. Your snaky nature. The lies on your lips.” His gaze drops to my mouth. A beat passes, and then, “Do you know why I came back?” he asks.
I lift my chin, parting my lips for dramatic effect before answering, and I don’t miss the way his gaze pings to them again before he strains to refocus on my eyes. “I don’t even know why you left. Too afraid to admit you wanted to fuck me?”
Colin scoffs, shifting his gaze from mine for a moment so he can convince himself there’s no regret in those eyes of his. “Men are going missing, Stark. Good men. A teacher, a father.”
It truly takes all of my willpower to bite my tongue about how neither of the missing men have a single drop of good blood in their bodies.
Or had, I guess.
“I don’t know what that has to do with me,” I say, keeping my chin tilted up in defiance. The corner of his mouth lifts into a smile, just barely revealing his perfect, white teeth behind those God-given lips.
Stella’s right: this man wants to destroy me, and all I can think about when he’s this close is what it would feel like to have my lips wrapped around what I’m betting is his perfect cock.
Fuck. Does he think things like this when he looks at me? Or does he only see what he believes lies below the surface of my carefully crafted, thick skin?
The scent of him overwhelms my senses, distracting me from the fact that he’s trying to pin the missing men on me. I lift my nose into the air in his direction, putting our lips closer together. “Did you get a new cologne, detective?”
The pressure of his hand against my chest increases, and I swear I can feel the mixture of both hatred and longing beneath his fingertips. His thumb unconsciously glides against my chest like he’s feeling a collarbone for the first time in his life.
“Richard Soffett. Grayson Tyler. Ringing any bells?” Grayson. That’s it! Well, I was close.
I lift the shoulder that’s not pinned under his hand in an innocent shrug.
“Can’t say that it is. But back to that cologne.
You don’t strike me as the type of man to waltz into a Sephora and sniff samples.
Do you subscribe to Ulta magazine? Department store shopper, by chance?
” I lift my hand in the direction of his shirt collar, which he very promptly grabs and pins against the wall above my head.
Barry MacGregor would have a field day with a shot like this. I almost wish he were here to capture it. I really wouldn’t mind looking at it from another angle.
The moment stretches on, the skin of his hand against my wrist burning an image into my mind of what it would look like pinning me to the sheets of my mattress.
“Detective,” I whisper. “Better be careful. Your desire is showing.”
He releases me immediately, taking a step back in the dimly-lit, narrow hall.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Stark. The only thing I desire is to see you rotting in a six-by-eight cell for the rest of your life.”
He’s turning and walking away before I have a chance to respond. I really don’t know what I’d say to that anyway, besides what I do say to his back as he gets further and further away from me. “In your bedroom, by chance?”
Now that’s a punishment I could get on board with.