Page 6 of Colt
She pushed open my door and pulled me inside, already sinking to her knees before the door clicked shut. Her hands were already working at my belt, practiced fingers making quick work of the buckle.
I let her. Closed my eyes and tried to lose myself in the mechanical relief, the promise of forgetting.
But when I closed my eyes, I saw Lilac.
Not the Lilac from today—the cold stranger who’d looked through me like I was nothing. The Lilac from before. My Lilac. The way she used to smile at me in the morning, sleep-soft and beautiful. The way she’d wrap herself around me like I was the only solid thing in her world. The way she’d laugh when I said something stupid, that full-body laugh that made me feel like the funniest man alive.
Do I know you?
I stepped back abruptly, pulling away.
“What—” She blinked at me, more annoyed than confused now. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do—” She looked down pointedly, then back up with a smirk. “Your dick seems to disagree.”
“Not happening.” I tucked myself back in and refastened my belt. “Go find another brother.”
Her eyes flashed, irritation morphing into real anger. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Dead serious. Plenty of men downstairs who’ll take what you’re offering.”
“Fuck you, Colt.” She stood up, brushing off her knees with sharp, angry movements. “You’re not that special.”
I almost laughed. If only she knew. They all thought the same thing—these club girls who circled me like I was some prize to be won. Like if they just sucked my dick good enough, I’d make them my old lady. Tame the VP, lock him down, secure their place in the club hierarchy.
If only they fucking knew.
She pushed past me and out the door, leaving me alone in the dim room with nothing but the sound of my own breathing.
Fuck.
I sank down onto the edge of the bed and dropped my head into my hands.
I’d met Lilac at a gas station, of all places.
Not some romantic setup—no bar, no party, no mutual friends. Just a Texaco off the highway where I’d stopped to fill up my bike and she’d been standing next to her piece-of-shit car, staring at the steam pouring out from under the hood like it had personally betrayed her.
I could have kept walking. Should have, probably. I had club business waiting, a dozen things more important than helping some random woman with car trouble.
But she’d looked up at me with those eyes—warm and brown and completely unafraid despite the fact that I was six-two in a leather cut with Death’s Head MC patches all over it—and said, “Please tell me you know something about cars, because I think mine just died.”
I’d laughed. I remember that—laughing at her matter-of-fact tone, at the way she’d assessed me and apparently decided I wasmore likely to help than hurt her. Most women looked at the cut and crossed to the other side of the street. Hell, there was that whole thing on the internet about women saying they’d rather meet a bear in the woods than a strange man—and I was pretty sure a six-two biker covered in Death’s Head patches ranked even lower than “strange man” on that scale. But this one had looked at me like I was just a man who might know how to fix an engine.
“I know a little,” I’d said, popping her hood. Blown head gasket. Her car wasn’t just dead, it was gone. “You got someone you can call?”
“No.” She’d said it simply, without self-pity. “I just moved here. Don’t really know anyone yet.”
So I’d called one of the brothers to come tow her car to the shop, and I’d offered her a ride to wherever she was going. She’d hesitated—smart, I’d thought, she should hesitate—but then she’d squared her shoulders and said, “Okay. But if you try anything, I should warn you I took three years of karate as a kid.”
“Three years as a kid?” I’d raised an eyebrow. “How old were you?”
“Eight to eleven. But I’m sure I remember some of it.”
That was Lilac. Cautious but brave. Scared but not letting it stop her. She’d climbed onto the back of my bike and wrapped her arms around my waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And somewhere between the gas station and her apartment, I’d known I was going to marry her.
