Primal Instinct (10 page)

As if she were puzzling something out, unsure of the answer.

He raised his hand in a wave, smiling, and she returned his smile, slow and sure, erasing the frown.

Maintaining eye contact, she bit her lip and played the opening riff of “Feels Like the First Time,” shaking her hips a little in time with the chords, and he laughed, leaning his cheek against his fist. He wondered if Jamie had somehow sent her the video, and right now, she was just so fucking cute as she teased him that he didn't even care.

Ronnie glanced around Taylor's street, watching for nosy neighbors, traffic, anything that could derail his plans. But he knew she wasn't home, and there was no sign of the brute or the other one, the one with all the hair, either, so he knew the house was empty. The housekeeper came once a week, and she wasn't due to show for another few days.

Something cold and dark tightened in his stomach as he thought of the brute. He knew he'd have to do something about him. He couldn't let him keep hanging around Taylor indefinitely. Not only was it bad for Taylor, but it was bad for
them
.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. One thing at a time. With a final glance around, he pulled the straightened wire clothes hanger out of his duffel bag and slid it into the gap where the garage door met the door frame, right at the top center edge of the door. After a few tries, he was able to successfully hook the garage door opener release cable, pulling it hard enough to disengage the garage door opener.

Tucking the hanger back into his bag, he crouched down, and with another glance around, he lifted the door enough to roll underneath, pulling it closed behind him. Quickly, he reattached the garage door opener release cable, not wanting to arouse suspicion when Taylor arrived home and her garage door wouldn't open. He crossed the space to the door leading to the house and pulled the radio frequency jammer from his bag. Holding his breath, he switched it on and tried the doorknob. It turned all the way, and the door into Taylor's house swung open. Smiling to himself, he left the jammer by the alarm's console and made his way into the house, scoping out the best spots for the tiny, wireless cameras and microphones in his bag. Ultimately, he picked the living room, her bedroom, and her bathroom, hiding the cameras and microphones as best he could while still giving himself the best vantage point. He stashed the living room camera in a potted plant, which was the easiest task. Next, he moved into the bedroom, where he unscrewed the top of the DVR and slipped the camera inside, aligning it with the grill. Finally, in the bathroom, he unscrewed the vent cover, positioned the camera inside, aimed it at the shower, and replaced the cover.

Once they were set up, he sat down on her unmade bed and pulled his iPad from the bag. He linked it to the camera feeds and made sure each of them was broadcasting, and that the angle was what he wanted. Satisfied, he laid down on Taylor's bed and inhaled deeply, rubbing her sheets against his skin. Soon, that scent would belong to him.

T
aylor flopped down on her couch, pajamas on, hair up, a glass of wine in one hand and her phone in the other. She was out of gas for the day, even though it was only nine. After the sound check with Walker, she'd had lunch with Jeremy and several label executives. She'd assured them that she was hard at work on the new album.

While at lunch, someone at the restaurant had tipped off the paparazzi, and the sidewalk had been crowded with photographers as she exited. Her stomach fluttered as she remembered how Colt had handled the situation. He'd sheltered her from the lenses as they'd shouted at her, asking her rude questions about the plane incident, trying to get a reaction, and thus get better pictures that would fetch more money from the photo agencies. She was used to dealing with the paparazzi, and they usually didn't bother her much. But today, they'd gotten closer than usual, screaming at her, asking her how many times she'd joined the mile-high club, if she thought her slutty behavior was a bad example to her young fans, if she minded America having a laugh at her expense. She must've looked angry, or scared, or panicked (and she had been), because Colt had leaned in close and spoken directly into her ear, saying “Hey, you're okay. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you.” His words—spoken in his deep, rumbly voice—had washed over her, calming and settling her. Then he'd turned around and barked at the photographers to “back the fuck up,” his green eyes flashing in a way that had her entire body pulsing with heat.

After the sound check with Walker, lunch, and dealing with paparazzi, she'd headed back to the Sanctuary to work some more. It was as though something—or
someone
—had fixed whatever had broken inside of her, and the music was flowing out of her at an almost alarming rate. She'd come home wiped and had barely had the energy to eat a salad and take a quick shower.

She stretched, took a sip of wine and settled in to the couch, knowing she had several unanswered texts and e-mails to deal with. But instead of opening them, she found herself glancing at the stairs, her body practically vibrating with the knowledge that she and Colt were alone in her house together.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she texted Sierra.

Her eyes widened in shock as she saw what she'd sent. She'd typed “hey,”
not
“Colt is a sexy beast.” God. She must really be exhausted. Giving her head a shake to clear the cobwebs, she tried again.

In that moment, she remembered that she'd left her purse—and in it, her phone—with Colt at the sound check. Clearly, he'd done something to it as payback for the strippers.

She grunted in frustration. She'd simply tried to type “yes.”

She snarled at her phone. Apparently “yes” was out as well.

Reading Sierra's text, Taylor almost choked on her wine, sputtering with laughter.

“Goddammit, Colt!” She swore through gritted teeth. She'd tried to type “ok.” And he'd programmed her phone to change “ok” to “Have you seen my vibrator?”

Taylor closed her eyes and exhaled slowly through her nose as it became crystal clear what Colt had done. He'd changed the shortcuts for various words, so that if she typed something, the texting app automatically inserted the shortcut he'd created. If she weren't so tired, she probably would've figured it out faster.

Taylor stared at her phone, running an index finger over her bottom lip as she thought. She didn't normally keep things from Sierra, but she didn't want to get into the whole story right now.

Taylor closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead. Oh, she would get him for this. When her brain was fully alert, she'd think of something.

She'd been about to type “yes,” but remembered that it was out of commission.

And he'd changed “home” to “the STD clinic.” Classy. But try as she might, she couldn't suppress the laughter spilling out of her.

Crap. She navigated to her shortcuts and reset everything, clearing all of the ridiculous (but admittedly hilarious) shortcuts Colt had put in. After a second, Taylor's phone buzzed again with another text.

Taylor frowned as she absorbed that piece of information. Colt had never mentioned working for Virtus, but then again, why would he? She felt guilty for keeping Sierra out of the loop, but now that she knew Colt was a former Virtus bodyguard, she was glad she hadn't told Sierra about the one-night stand. Taylor was still trying to sort through how she felt about him, and she didn't need any extra complications right now, like tension between her and Sierra because of any involvement Taylor might have with Colt.

There was a long pause between messages, and Taylor hated that she was asking Sierra to deliberately keep information from her boyfriend.

After responding to a couple of e-mails and proofreading everything twice to make sure there were no surprises, she glanced in the direction of the stairs again. Chewing her lip, she pushed up off the couch and took the stairs two at a time, unsure what she was even doing. Unsure if talking to him was a good idea.

Although when it came to Colt, her sense of good idea / bad idea was skewed, because he made her forget all of the shit, all of the pain, of the past few months. He made her laugh, made her feel good. She could be herself around him, and there was something so freeing about that. She could swear and drink and play stupid pranks, and he
liked
it. Being around him made her forget that her heart wasn't only damaged but unwanted.

Which was an incredibly dangerous thing for her to forget. And yet here she was, knocking on his bedroom door. She heard movement on the other side, and she nearly swallowed her tongue when he pulled it open. He stood there in nothing but a white towel, knotted dangerously low around his hips, and looking like the sex god she knew he was. Water dripped from his mussed hair and onto his gorgeously sculpted chest, his skin fresh and damp. She watched as a drop fell onto the Ranger tattoo covering his left pec, and she curled her fingers into her palms, stifling the urge to trace the drop's path, to trail her fingers along the edges of the tattoo. He took a breath, his abs contracting with the motion, and she clenched her thighs. For a second, they just stared at each other, and she could feel the weight of his green eyes as they dragged over her body. He smiled that cocky half smile and moved his big hands from the door frame to his hips, drawing attention to the muscular V that disappeared under the towel. It was slung so low that she could see where the faint happy trail of light brown hair started to become thicker.

“You're an ass,” she said before her brain stopped working entirely and she forgot why she'd knocked on his door in the first place. “Don't fuck with my phone.”

“I didn't. I improved it.”

She bit her lip, chomping down the smile that so desperately wanted to break free. “I'm surprised you didn't take a picture of your dick and set it as my wallpaper.”

Humor and something darker and hotter flashed in his eyes. “Damn. Didn't think of that.” He moved his hands slightly lower, his fingertips on the edge of the towel. “Guess that means you want to see it again, huh?”

She wasn't sure if that was a challenge, a threat, or an invitation, and she bit down on her lip harder, this time suppressing the whimper rising up in her throat. God. She never fucking learned.

“You wish,” she said, the slight tremble in her voice giving away just how turned on she was.

He studied her intently, his eyes doing a slow sweep down and then back up her body. The towel twitched as his growing erection tented the cotton. “You're right. I do.”

Her stomach did a somersault, and she took a deep breath, unsure what to say next. Before she could formulate a response, he'd backed her up against the wall, one hand on either side of her, caging her in. The towel slipped a fraction of an inch, and she couldn't help but glance down.

“Taylor.” Colt's voice was low and rough, and she tore her eyes away from his now fully erect cock beneath the towel and back to his face, her breath catching in her throat at the heat there. “You can run, and you can push me away, and you can put up wall after wall. But I'm not going anywhere, gorgeous.”

“Of course you're not. It's your job to—”

He cut her off by inching closer, his cock pressing against her hip. “
This
has nothing to do with my job, and everything to do with
us
.”

“
That
has everything to do with you getting me in bed again, and nothing to do with
us
because there is no us.”

“There could be, if you'd let me in. We would be so fucking great together, Taylor. In and out of bed.”

With his strong, masculine body surrounding her, his scent filling her, his eyes practically devouring her, she found herself wanting to give in, to take what he was offering. He wasn't wrong. They were like fire between the sheets, but there was more to it than that. She liked how she felt when she was with him. Liked that she could laugh with him and be herself. But to have all of that meant opening herself up in a way she wasn't sure she could handle. With Sierra's warning echoing through her mind, she ducked under his arm and stepped away from him.

“Don't touch my phone again.” It was the only thing she could think to say before she practically ran down the hall, locking her bedroom door behind her.