Page 23 of The Spice Is Nice

My heart lurched into my throat and I spun, my hand going to the table behind me like I could steady myself on a surface covered in evidence of some kind, and for one horrible, airless second I was caught in a place I shouldn’t be, about to face the consequences of another reckless decision.

But it wasn’t Seth. It was Colt.

He shut the door, breathing hard, his eyes sweeping the room and landing on me with an expression caught between fury and relief. In his dusty work clothes, boots muddy, like he’d come straight from the ranch, he must have gotten my text and driven here without stopping.

“He’s coming back,” Colt announced, and his voice was tight in a way I’d never heard. “I drove here to stop you, but I saw you go in. I kept watch just outside, but I heard his motorcycle return.”

As if to prove a point, the noise of the bike’s engine came from just outside the door.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. “There isn’t time to escape.”

“Hide. Now.” Colt was already moving, taking me by the wrist with him. He crossed to the closet in three strides, opened it and crammed us in there together, enveloped in complete, suffocating darkness.

The closet was barely big enough for one person, and we were two, Colt with his frame of solid muscle and me with my curves, pressed together with no room to adjust. My back was against his chest, his arms holding us both in place, and his breath coming fast near the top of my head.

We stood unmoving at the motorcycle engine cutting. Every sound hit like a heartbeat. Footsteps on the walkway. The scrape of a key. The door opened and closed. Seth’s boots scuffing across the carpet. The creak of the bedsprings as he dropped something heavy, and then his voice, loud and furious.

“Of course I’ll shake them down. You think I drove eight hundred miles to go to barbecues?” He was on the phone, the volume up loud enough that we could hear theother person, but not the exact words. Seth paced, his boots passing close enough to the closet door that I could see the shadow of movement through the crack at the bottom. “Fuck you. I’m doing everything you want. Because we both know your littleSaint Trevorisn’t gonna do your dirty work. He never has. That’s what you have me for, right, Dad? Your fucking attack dog.”

Silence. Then a sharp exhale, the sound of a phone hitting a surface, and a string of profanity directed at his father, and brother, and the room in general that confirmed everything I’d ever known about the Brewster family dynamic. Seth hated them.

A drawer opened in the dresser. Metal scraped against wood. The gun drawer! Then he slammed it shut. His boots crossed the room again, the door opened and closed, and the motorcycle roared back to life. It faded down the road until the motel was silent.

We didn’t move right away. For several seconds, I realized things in stages. The first was Colt’s heartbeat against my chest, heavy and fast, which meant he was human after all and not the unshakable wall of calm he often projected to the world.

The second was the pressure of his hand on my hip, his thumb resting against the strip of bare skin where my shirt had ridden up. The warmth of that single point of contact spread through my body like a current.

The third was his other arm, under my breast, holding me to him, his thumb precariously in my cleavage, twitching. I shifted against him, and the unmistakable evidence that Colt’s body responded to our proximity was evident. My breath caught.

“He’s gone. We should go,” I breathed, exhaling at last.

“No. Wait. Let’s give it a few more minutes. He could come back.” He was right, but it did nothing to calm my pulse. The danger made everything sharper. The darkness of the closet. Thin walls. My breathing louder in my ears.

I started to speak, but he silenced me with a tighter hold on me.

“Quiet,” he murmured against my temple. “Just in case.” As if proving his point, footsteps and voices moved down the walkway. Next door, the door opened and more voices came, sounding like a family of four had just moved in.

We froze. Listening. Waiting. His heartbeat drummed against my spine harder. His cock, too.

“Calhoun…” I whispered in warning.

“Can’t help it, Wylde. It’s been some time for me.” His voice became ragged and gravely.

I snorted. “I don’t believe that.”

“I don’t make it a habit of lying. Especially when a beautiful woman is in my arms. All this fake dating, spending time together, kisses… you think this has been easy for me?”

“Then we’ll stop. We said we wouldn’t let this ruin our friendship.” I moved, but he drew me into him even tighter, his member getting quite cozy against my backside.

“I’ll bet it’s been a while for you, too. We could help each other out.”

At his suggestion, a thrill ran down my spine. This wasn’t a situation I could hide from or talk my way out of anymore. Not sure I’d want to, anyway. This was Colt, the man I’d fought an attraction to for months.

His thumb worked over to my nipple, moving in slow circles. I jerked, stunned. “No warning?”

“Do you want me to stop?”

My traitorous nipple pebbled hard for him.