Consolation Prize (Forbidden Men Book 9) (4 page)

I felt like crap.

“And as for the God’s gift to women part,” Colton said before I could fumble out anymore inarticulate sounds. “I wasn’t shooting quite that high. I just wanted to be God’s gift to
you
.”

“Oh, Jesus.” My shoulders fell. Had he merely been playing me this whole time, trying to make me feel bad for making
him
feel bad? Now I wanted to strangle him all over again. “You are so freaking annoying.”

He only shrugged, his eyes glittering mischievously as his grin grew slowly. “God must’ve thought annoying was what you needed most.”

“I don’t think God would wish your kind of annoying on anyone.”

“Hmm. Maybe. I bet he knew you’d get just as big a thrill out of disagreeing with me as I do from disagreeing with you, though.”

I sucked in a breath and my skin crackled with awareness. I didn’t want to know he got a thrill out of bantering with me. And I certainly didn’t want him knowing I liked it too, or that everything inside me felt so very alive right now.

Scowling as hard as I could to hide the rush flowing through my veins, I muttered, “I do
not
like disagreeing with you.”

“She says as her skin flushes and eyes sparkle with vitality as she…disagrees with me yet again,” he murmured theatrically.

I huffed and scowled for real this time. “Well…try to say something decent and maybe I’ll agree with it.”

“Okay, fine. I like your earrings.”

“Oh…shut up.” Realizing I was still playing with them, I dropped my hand.

But seriously, why the hell had he mentioned my
earrings
of all things? I’d worn them because they were my very own mini security blankets in disguise. I hadn’t meant to bring attention to them. Wishing he’d have commented on any other piece of jewelry I wore—pearl hair clip, butterfly necklace, bangle bracelets, anklet, toe ring, thumb ring,
anything
—I cleared my throat and finished my glass of champagne, only to become a little panicked because I’d run out.

“Here, take mine.” Colton extended a fluted glass across the table, nearly full of the bubbly stuff.

I stared at it a moment before taking it hesitantly—hey, he was underage, it wasn’t as if he needed it—and then I gulped down his glass too.

He watched me with a pleased glint in his gaze before murmuring, “So, about those earrings...?”

I cleared my throat and glanced away. I didn’t realize I’d started to play with them again until I said, “What about them?” and quickly dropped my hand.

“They’re dream catchers.”

I arched him a dry glance. “Wow, you’re quick.”

Grinning, he said, “I am. Do you have some Native American ancestry in you?”

“Nope,” I answered in a bored voice, keeping my attention on the dance floor.

“Then why dream catchers?”

I veered my gaze back to him. “Because they’re my thing. Is that
all right
with you?”

He grinned. “Perfectly all right. Did you used to have bad dreams?”

I blinked, not expecting him to ask me that. People usually just assumed I thought they were neat and left it at that. But the way he was looking at me, as if he really wanted to know, made me mumble, “Yeah, when I was little.”

I clamped my lips shut and swallowed.

Why had I just told him that?

He kept watching me, his gaze doing that intense crawling-into-my-head thing again. “What did you dream about?”

The hushed, intense question made me shiver.

I began to play with my dream catcher earring again. “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on, baby doll.” He leaned in across the table and flashed his cajoling grin that had probably won him whatever he wanted in the past. “You can tell me.”

As my mouth opened to confess all, I realized something. Colton Gamble was nothing but a facade. He wasn’t the lazy, brainless flirt who cared about no one but himself that he appeared to be. The boy was deceptive, calculating and canny, hiding under a layer of shallow whimsy to learn about his prey. He craftily used his intel to build his web without anyone even being aware of it, and then bam, he pounced.

Almost feeling the silken, deadly strands of his trap tightening around me, I tried desperately to think up a way to escape. After clearing my throat, I evasively answered, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Which means it matters a lot,” Colton murmured intuitively.

I gulped, afraid he’d pick at it more. But he appeared to be lost in his own head a moment before he opened his mouth and took a breath as if he had something deep to say. When no words came, I tilted my head to let him know I was ready to hear it.

Except he closed his mouth, took another breath—through his nose this time because his nostrils flared—and then he asked, “Do you want to dance?”

I pulled back in surprise, totally unprepared for such a turn in the conversation. My gaze strayed to the right where other people were laughing and lumbering around on the dance floor.

The emcee was playing “The Cupid Shuffle,” and if I knew more than a handful of people in attendance, I probably would’ve been out there with my girls, getting down to the beat that very second. But my friends weren’t here, and I didn’t feel nearly comfortable enough to go anywhere near the dance floor.

So I said, “No.”

“What? You don’t like to dance?”

“I just don’t want to dance with
you
.” There. Nothing made a person back off quicker than a little bit of rude. And I could wield rude as if it were a deadly weapon if I did say so myself. I found it was the most direct, effective defense when someone threatened to get too close, exactly like the way he was nudging his business right into my emotional space.

But apparently, Colton Gamble was rude-retardant.

“Well, technically, being that this song is one of those group dance things, you’d be dancing beside me, not
with
me.”

“I don’t want to fucking dance,” I bit out. I needed him to go away so I could regain control over my heartbeat, settle my nerves back to normal, and kill the sudden spike in my hormones. I couldn’t remember feeling this messy inside in a good, long while. If I didn’t watch it, my composure would slip. And for me, that was the end of civilization as I knew it.

Colton, however, either didn’t understand the word no or he just wasn’t capable of giving up. He grinned. “I am
so
getting you on this dance floor.”

I sniffed. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Chuckling, he glanced away and scanned the entire reception hall, and then the dance floor before cupping his hands to his mouth and calling, “Hey, Bo Bo! Come here.”

I glanced in the direction he’d bellowed, bewildered to see a small boy lift his face and race toward us. I frowned, confused, and glanced at Colton, wondering what he was up to.

Once the kid was close enough, Colton snagged him around the waist and in one swoop, picked him up and plopped him onto his lap, making the boy screech with laughter. The way “Bo Bo” grinned and leaned into Colton’s chest let me know the two knew each other well, which made sense since I recognized the boy as the ring bearer from the wedding. I’d read from the wedding pamphlet that his name was Beau Gamble, nephew of the groom, meaning he must be Colton’s nephew too.

Beau was adorable, with Brandt’s hair and blue eyes but Colton’s impish grin.

“Whatcha doing, kiddo?” Colton asked him.

“I’m dancing. Come dance with me, Colt.” He had the most adorable lisp ever. His Colt sounded like
Coat
.

“Ah, bud, I wish I could.” Colton made a regretful tsking sound as he shook his head. Then he glanced my way, and his eyes glittered with mischief. “But I’ve got to keep this pretty lady here company, unless...you can talk
Juli
into dancing with us too.”

My eyes bugged with shock, unprepared for just how devious he was.

What was worse, the freaking Chicken Dance started next.

The Chicken Dance
.

The whitest freaking dance of all white dances.

“Boy, you must be up out of your mind,” I blurted, beginning to panic.

“But, Juli,” Colton begged. “Don’t you want to dance with us?”

“Yeah, Juli,” an adorable, begging little voice echoed, making me jump because I’d been too busy sending Colton the glare of death. I’d totally missed Beau hopping off his uncle’s lap until he took my hand and stared up at me with the most solemnly begging blue eyes ever. “Please dance with us.”

Oh my God.

How did you say no to a cute kid? No way was I dancing to the freaking Chicken Dance, but Beau Gamble had such big blue eyes, and when they focused on me the way his were focusing on me, no way could I say no.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shitty, shit.

“Uh...s-sure, little man.”

Cheering, Beau tightened his grip on my hand and dragged me from my seat, straight toward the crowd of pathetically awful dancers. Glancing back at his uncle, I hissed, “You are so dead.”

“What?” Colton flashed a fakely innocent grin and then started to flap his arms chicken-style, already dancing with the others. He winked at me before wiggling his hips and bending his knees.

I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing. He was just so ridiculously cute when he chicken danced. No way could you hate on a person when they were imitating a chicken. Just try it, I dare you, and then you’ll know what I mean.

But dammit, my laugh made his smile stretch wider, encouraging him. A tugging on my hand had me turning back to Beau just as the chorus started. Since Beau was determined to dance with both Colton and me at the same time, he wanted the three of us to hold hands and sway in a circle through the chorus together. I jumped when Colton took my free hand, immediately playing along.

His grip was warm, and male, and oddly comfortable, but it still made my body throb with complete awareness, because I couldn’t stop thinking about all the different things I’d imagined him doing with these very hands. On the other side of me, his nephew’s fingers were small and hot and sticky, yet even that couldn’t detract from all the yummy sensations springing to life inside me.

The three of us twirled to the tune until we had to separate. Beau was having so much fun his enthusiasm was contagious. I could almost forget about how absurd I felt when I watched him clap his thumbs against the rest of his fingers like a chicken beak and then flap his wings. Laughing again, I found myself glancing Colton’s way, only to giggle even harder over how much he was getting into the song too.

“Juli, no. Here, it’s like this,” Beau encouraged when I didn’t dance along. I bit my lip, thinking up every excuse I could to get out of it, but I couldn’t disappoint him, not when he was glowing over how much fun he was having, so...

I chicken danced.

I’m not proud.

But it happened.

And we’ll never speak of it again.

We went through the chorus a second time, and I tried to ignore the way Colton’s hand in mine kept sending shivers up to my elbow. But then I glanced at him and he was watching me with the most amused, affectionate grin. I couldn’t look away. From that point on, the whole thing became a competition between us: who could wiggle lower, flap faster, snap harder.

He definitely knew how to challenge a girl.

I was laughing so hard I didn’t notice Beau had completely deserted us to run off and play with the flower girl until the song ended.

Beyond embarrassed to realize I’d been dancing alone with Colton for a good thirty seconds or more, I started to slink off the floor, cupping my hands to my mouth. But a new song started, making Colton catch my elbow.

“Hey! The Macarena.”

“Oh, hell no!” I laughed and pulled back, except the crazy man wouldn’t let go. “Colton!” I shrieked.

The Macarena was already starting, so I just dragged him away with me, laughing as I went.

“Boy, you’re lucky you got the last song out of me. Besides, after the Chicken Dance, I need alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. And something a hell of a lot stronger than champagne.”

He grinned and tugged on my fingers, changing directions. “I can help you with that. This way, my lady.”

J
ULIANNA’S
C
HAPTER
|
4

A
fter dancing, my heart was beating a little faster and my skin felt flushed. And I really did need that drink because my mouth was bone dry.

I was relieved that Colton was a resourceful kind of guy. He knew exactly where the open bar was located, and bless him, he took me straight there. Once we each had a plastic cup in hand, he set his free palm on the small of my spine to escort me back to my table, which felt…nice, actually.

But a guy waiting in the back of the line for the bar pointed at us. “Yo, Colton. That’s just pop, right?”

I recognized the man as being a groomsman. There’d been two—the wedding pamphlet had named them Noel Gamble and Oren Tenning. Since this guy looked Brandt-ish, I figured he was Noel, which would make him Colton’s big brother.

Lifting his cup as if in cheers, Colton answered, “Of course.”

I glanced at him, frowning slightly and trying to remember what he’d ordered for himself.
Had
it only been cola? I wasn’t sure.

“You were drinking champagne earlier,” I suddenly remembered.

He shrugged as he took a sip from his cup. “They let me since I had to make the toast.”

“Oh.” I nodded in understanding. That made sense. As we approached my table, I drank from my own Crown and Coke. “You know, that toast you gave actually didn’t suck.”

With a gasp, he clutched his chest. “Holy shit, is that a compliment? From
the
Julianna Radcliffe?”

“What?” I sniffed, a little hurt. “I can give a compliment.”

“Yeah. Just not to me.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but damn...was he right? I tried but couldn’t think of a single time I’d complimented him or even said a polite thing in his direction. Damn, how utterly bitchy of me. Feeling crappy about that, I blurted, “Well...the way you tricked me onto the dance floor was evilly genius. Well done there.”

He snickered. “Damn, girl. Slow down. Too much more praise from you and you’ll convince me you’re in love with me or something. I mean, not that I’d blame you, but—”

“Oh, shut up...jerk.” I shoved at his arm only to chase it with a laugh.

When I rolled my eyes, he chuckled too and fell into the chair he’d been sitting in earlier across from me. No one else who’d been assigned to sit at my table was there. In fact, they’d never shown up at all. The only items that had been used at their seats were their champagne glasses, which I’d drank from, one after another, when the server had come around to fill them for the toast: the witty, clever, sweet, endearing toast Colton had given.

When I sat in the seat next to him and not the one I’d been sitting in earlier all the way across the table, he glanced at me pointedly with lifted eyebrows.

I ignored his surprise and watched the dancers as a slow tune started. It wasn’t as if I actually wanted Colton’s company, I tried to convince myself. But he wasn’t acting as if he was going to go away anytime soon, and…well, having someone to talk to—even him—made things suck a little less.

Okay, fine...he was amazing to talk to—entertaining, perceptive, and fuck...that little leap in my pulse every time he looked at me with those hooded, brown bedroom eyes was becoming addictive.

I’m not sure why I didn’t consider leaving. I’d been ready to walk out the door not too long ago. My tush had been out of my seat, my gaze had been locked on the exit, and my purse would’ve been in hand...if he hadn’t stolen it. But here I was now, purse returned, and I was voluntarily sitting by Colton Gamble of all people.

Just how many glasses of champagne had I stolen from my absent table companions?

“So what else do you like about me?” he prompted before taking a long draw from his cup and eyeing me speculatively over the rim.

I watched his throat work as he swallowed, wondering how that strong column of skin would taste if I licked it. Then I jerked my gaze away. “Nothing. You know how to manipulate people into getting what you want, and you give non-sucky speeches. That’s...that’s about it.”

No way would I admit how my thighs had trembled, or my breathing caught, or my mind raced with the most inappropriate thoughts every time he’d ever come into the bar.

“Nah, that can’t be all.” He shook his head before looking me straight in the eye. “What about my big brown eyes? A girl once told me I had penetrating eyes, like I could see straight inside her.”

I ground my teeth, mad at myself for just admiring his eyes. Then I grew mad at that girl for being stupid enough to inflate his ego even more by telling him how awesome they were. And then...then my anger rose toward him for talking to another girl at all, or getting close enough to her that she could see his eyes and compliment them. But at the end of it all, I was only mad at myself for the stupid knee-jerk sensation of jealousy I felt.

I mean, why the hell would I be jealous of another girl for merely talking to him? That was just stupid.

“No,” I said, glancing away from those all-seeing eyes. “I don’t think you have penetrating eyes.”

“Good.” He swiped the back of his hand over his brow in relief. “Because honestly, I’d rather penetrate you with far different parts of my body.” When his tongue came out to wet his bottom lip and he lifted his eyebrows in proposition, I realized that was one of the body parts he was talking about. Suddenly, I could only imagine all the places he’d like to penetrate me with his tongue.

My stomach clenched as if I could already feel the wet glide from his mouth working between my legs.

“Seventeen-year-old boys shouldn’t talk that way,” I said and knew it was a mistake as soon as the words passed my lips. I’d only called him seventeen to remind him how much younger than me he was. But we’d already had this discussion, and he’d already made it clear he didn’t care.

His brown eyes gleamed with awareness, dammit,
penetrating
my psyche as if he knew my saying that to ward him off meant I was down to my last bag of resistance…which I think I was.

“Thank God I’m not seventeen, then.” His voice was so low and sensual a full-body shiver seized me.

Not sure how to respond without popping out of my chair and racing out the door to escape the capsizing way he affected me, I clutched my cup and accidentally drained the contents in one guzzle.

“Shit,” I croaked when I realized it was empty. Now what was I going to do? I needed something to drink, something to hold in my hand and sip from to help distract myself from thinking things I knew I shouldn’t think.

“I can get you more.” Colton snagged the cup from my hand as he stood. With a wink, he said, “Be right back.”

With a crazy, stirring hitch bubbling in my stomach, I watched him walk away, my gaze unable to tear itself from the back of his slacks and the way they molded oh so perfectly to his ass. When he disappeared out of sight, I kept sitting there, waiting for him to return.

I should’ve left, escaped while I had the chance. But the second he swept back into view, carrying two refilled cups, my blood raced, my breasts tingled, and my breathing went shallow.

This time, I didn’t hate the messy effect his presence had on me. I embraced the awareness and excitement, eager to see where it’d lead. I actually
anticipated
the next suggestive comment he made. Maybe I wouldn’t act so offended this time. Maybe I’d just be real and appreciate it for once, like I wanted to.

“Here you go, baby doll.” He sat and extended my cup toward me.

“Thank you.” I reached for it just as he pulled it right back out of my reach.

I frowned.

He grinned. “First you have to tell me what you used to have nightmares about.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Really?” He was going to play it
that
way, huh? Well, I didn’t have to play at all. “I could go get my own drink, you know.”

“You could,” he allowed with a nod. Then he shrugged. “Okay, we’ll take baby steps. How
old
were you when your night terrors began?”

I blinked, startled to hear him call them that specific term. It was as if he knew what I’d experienced had been far more traumatic than a couple harmless nightmares as if he understood
personally
. Which made no sense.

Or did it?

Had
he
experienced night terrors too?

My mind caught on that little idea, I ended up saying, “Six,” without meaning to.

Colton nodded, taking my answer seriously, which I appreciated. He hadn’t shrugged off my bad dreams as merely a silly little girl frightened of harmless shadows on the wall.

“How old were you when they stopped?”

I tipped my head curiously to the side. “What makes you think they ever stopped?”

With a secretive smile, he reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers over one of my dream catcher earrings. He barely grazed the lobe of my ear in the process, which made my breasts tingle. “These wouldn’t be so important to you if they hadn’t been effective, now would they?”

Damn, he was an insightful shit.

I felt as if he deserved an answer for paying such close attention to me as to pick up on that. “I was nine when they stopped.”

He smiled as if relieved to hear it. “And what were they about again?”

He asked it slyly as if trying to trick the answer out of me without me being aware of what I was revealing.

It made me grin and shake my head. I’d never be able to say Colton Gamble wasn’t wily. “Why is it so important for you to know?”

“Because I
have
to,” he said as if it was really some kind of necessity, like food or air.

“But why?” I persisted, growing more curious by the second.

“Because...” He shook his head, looking a little lost before his gaze focused on mine, and those brown eyes went über intense. “What if you had night terrors about the same thing I did?”

Well, shit. I caught my breath.

I guess he did understand.

I guess he
had
suffered from his own nightmares.

I guess... God, I don’t even know what I guessed anymore. I felt kind of shaky to learn I shared such a connection with him. My brain went all jumbled and woozy.

“So?” Colton asked, leaning in as his stare took in every feature of my face. “
Were
we haunted by the same kind of dreams?”

“I...” I opened my mouth, but only a dry croak emerged. After clearing my throat and licking my parched lips, I managed to say, “I guess that depends. Did your mom die when you were six too?”

He shook his head, and I swear his shoulders fell as if he were relieved. Then he said, “If she had, I doubt I ever would’ve had a problem with nightmares in the first place.”

“That’s terrible,” I blurted, my mind already racing with curiosity, wondering what his mom had done to haunt his dreams.

He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “Yeah, well…so was she.” His gaze focused on my earrings, and his eyes softened with sympathy. “Was your mom a good mom?”

I pulled back, a little shocked he would even ask such a question. “Of course.”

Seriously, what the hell had his mother done to build that kind of distrust for all mothers?

With a nod, he murmured, “Then I’m sorry for your loss. Life can be seriously fucked up and unfair, can’t it? The good mom died, and the awful mom lived. How’s that for ironic injustice?”

“Geez,” I blurted. “You really don’t like your mother
at all
, do you? Which one is she?” I began to scan the room, focusing my attention on the wedding party’s table where his family had been seated.

But Colton only smiled as if amused. “Oh, she wasn’t invited.”

My eyebrows spiked. Wow, even Brandt wasn’t a fan of her. She must really be a piece of work. “What the hell did she do?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Nothing good,” he answered. “How did your mom die?”

“Cancer,” I spit out, thinking he’d be more willing to answer my questions if I opened up a little more about my own answers. “When was the last time you saw your mom?”