Sarah stepped back from him. “You can’t be serious, Colt.”
He pulled her to the side of the room to avoid curious ears. “Why not?”
“Because you’re…you’re…”
“Go on, spit it out.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
She lifted her chin. “You’re a man-whore, that’s why not.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. Had she really called him a “man-whore”? Okay, it’s not the first time I’ve been called that. His PR people made sure he was always seen with a new, hot girlfriend each month. It was all staged.
“You can’t believe everything you read in those magazines. You of all people should know that, Judge Alma-drool.”
Her jaw fell open, irritation flickering in her eyes. Damn, she looked hot. He so wanted to fuck her.
“My point is, Sarah, that you shouldn’t care what ‘they’ think. But why do I get the impression you’re just making up an excuse?” She knew damned well he hadn’t been with anyone in over a year. She’d read his notebook.
“It’s not an excuse,” she snapped. “Okay—maybe just a little.” She leaned in close to whisper, “What would people say if I started dating people who get in trouble with the law?”
He bobbed his head, eyeing her judgmentally. “Ah, so that’s the real reason you’re turning me down.”
“You don’t understand. I can’t be seen doing anything that even implies impropriety,” she hissed.
“So being with me is inappropriate.” Now he was getting irritated.
“What will they say about a woman, a judge, who gets cozy with a famous rock star who also happens to have been in her court as a defendant? For urinating on a police officer. Wrecking cars. Damaging property. Drug charges!”
“Sarah, I can explain all that—I think.” There were still parts missing from his memory. “But I’m not a bad guy, and what we’re doing isn’t wrong.”
She leaned in close and hissed, “We slept together. That’s got wrong written all over it.”
But he hadn’t even known who she was. And she still threw the book at him. He shouldn’t have had any punishments given the circumstances.
I think? Dammit. He hated not being able to remember everything.
“Colt,” she said, holding out her hand and shutting down the argument, “it’s not going to work, okay? There’s way too much risk. And for what? A casual fling?”
“I-I…” Okay. She had him there. He wasn’t exactly in a position to offer commitment, especially considering how he might forget all about her in an instant. That being said, it was a bit premature to be talking about a relationship. He liked spending time with her. She was good for him. He wanted to see where things went. Period. End of story.
“What’s wrong with casual?” He flashed a charming smile. “Every relationship has to start somewhere. We can be discreet and see where it goes.”
Her eyes suddenly teared up. “Just stop. I’m trying to be strong here, Colt. Because I like you,” she said softly. “I really, really like you. But I can’t see how this will ever work.”
It struck him as genuinely odd that a woman like this—tough as nails—suddenly got all teary eyed. Had he missed or forgotten about something? Because this conversation suddenly felt way more intense than it should. Like she’s not telling me something.
“Sarah, what’s—”
“You’re wasting your time with me,” she cut him off, pleading with her eyes. “So please just go back to your…hot date. I’m sure she’s missing you already, and she’ll be more than willing to help you forget all about me tonight.” Sarah turned and headed through the crowd.
He scratched the back of his head as Sarah disappeared among the tuxedos and ball gowns. “She thinks I want to go to bed with Ms. Luci?” Something is seriously wrong with Sarah.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Later that night, Sarah was completely unable to sleep. She tried herbal tea and some of those sleep aid pills, but her body was wound up so tightly she felt like she might snap in two. All she could think of was how badly she’d wanted to throw caution to the wind and say yes to Colt.
I could be with him right now. She remembered how he’d held her from behind and thrust his thick cock into her, driving so deep she thought she would lose her mind. She remembered his hot breath on her neck as he hammered her into the wall, fucking her so hard, the little ridges of the tile had dug into her back. Not that she’d cared. Because then he’d pushed the tip of his velvety shaft against that sweet, sweet spot deep inside, making her come so hard that she remembered seeing little flecks of light exploding on the inside of her lids. Fireworks. That was what she’d seen.
And now that she’d gotten to know him a little and seen some of that sweet-hearted, playful side, she couldn’t deny that she could easily fall into serious like. Dare she say, she found his persistent, strong-willed personality more alluring than his outside.
Dammit. He’s so hot. Now she felt hornier than a teenaged boy band.
“Fuck it.” Sarah turned off the light on her nightstand, closed her eyes, and slid her hand into her panties. Her c-spot was already plump and throbbing and probably needed just a few strokes to release the agonizing tension. She let her mind drift off to a mental recording of the sound of Colt’s gravelly voice as he came, grunting as his cum exploded inside her while she—
Sarah’s phone rang on her nightstand. Crap! “Come on.” I was so close. And it was three in the morning.
With one hand still down her underpants, she picked up the handset. The caller ID said Bruno Mars.
Huh? “Hello?”
“Sarah, it’s me. Colt. Did I wake you?”
She pulled her hand from her pants. “No. I was just—” rubbing one out while thinking of you “—lying here watching…” Crap. What am I watching? “Some boy band documentary.”
“You mean porn?”
“No. I don’t watch porn.” Much. “Do you?”
“Yeah. I’m a man. We all watch porn. I especially like—”
“Wait. Stop. I really don’t want to know.” Oh, but she did. She really, really did. Was he into cheerleaders? Cowgirl ménages? Naked judges with guns strapped to their thighs?
Ugh. Stop it!
“Why are you calling, Colt? And how’d you get this number? And…why did my caller ID say Bruno Mars?”
“It’s a code name so my people know it’s really me. You’d be surprised how many assholes impersonate me over the phone to get info from my staff. Sometimes I’m Madonna. Or Pepe the Butcher. But I think the real question is why you answered.” There was an audible smile in his voice.
“Colt, I’m hanging up now.” Though, it really was a good question. Did she honestly think Bruno Mars went around calling strangers at three in the morning?
“I got your home number from Luci,” he said hurriedly. “I need to talk to you—or ask you for a favor, actually. A big favor.”
Yes. You can come over and finish what I started. Oh God. I would so, so like that. But no. Nothing had changed. She was attracted to him, but that wasn’t enough. They could both get into serious trouble if anyone suspected they were in a relationship. Then there was the fact she would never reach her career goals dating a guy like this. And finally, what if he forgot her again? It all added up to one big risk she wasn’t prepared to take—her heart, her career, and possible jail time.
“Sorry. I thought we covered this already; I’m not sleeping with you. But why don’t you ask your hot date from the party? She looks like the favor-giving type.”
“Thanks for the suggestion, but Luci is a little too old for me, and I didn’t mean that kind of big favor.”
Kristy G. wasn’t his date? Now she felt ridiculous. She’d been completely jealous for nothing. And…awww…how sweet. He took Luci to the party.
“Oh. Sorry. I just assumed,” she said.
“You seem to do that a lot when it comes to me, but I won’t hold it against you. I know you can’t help it.”
r /> She scowled. “What do you want, Colt?”
“I keep having these—I’m not sure what to call them—faded memories, dreams, something like that. And I need to figure it out.”
Sarah sat up slowly in her bed. “What are they about?”
“My contract—the one for the concert tour. Which is why I need you to read it for me and tell me your opinion.”
“Opinion on…?”
“You’re a lawyer. Maybe you can tell me what I’m missing. I understand what it all says, but there’s this nagging itch in the back of my head.”
A strange thing to say, but she could relate. She had little itches in her brain all the time, like a tiny voice trying to tell her something. It usually appeared when she was sizing someone up in court. Did they deserve another chance or the full weight of justice?
“Yes,” she replied, “I can read it for you. Fax it to my office, and I’ll look at it on Monday.”
“It can’t wait. I’ll bring it over now—I’m up the street at the Fairmont.”
Of course. He just had to be five blocks away. Five short, short blocks separating her c-spot from his thick, long cock that she ached to have deep—
“No. You can’t come here,” she blurted.
“Sarah, stop acting like a teenage girl who’s afraid her father will find out she’s dating the bad boy.”
“Well, you are bad. And a boy.”
“I’m a man, Sarah. Not a boy. But I think you know that already since you’ve seen my—”
“Funny,” she said, not appreciating the torturous sexual undertones.
“Sarah, I’m asking for this one favor. One. I won’t ask for anything again.”
Dammit. She sighed. In all honesty, after Mike’s horrifying confession yesterday, she was a little curious to see why Colt’s brother was using his influence to make sure Colt showed up to play.
“You can bring the contract over in the morning,” she replied.
“It is morning, and I can come now.” His deep, deep voice poured through the phone, sending tingles down her spine and into her core. Did he have to use the word come?
“I need some sleep.” And a really cold shower. “How about nine-ish?”
“Eight.”
“Okay. But bring coffee. And wear your stupid disguise.” It would absolutely prevent her from getting turned on. “So no one recognizes you,” she added.
“See you then.”
“Good night, Colt.”
“You forgot to tell me how you like it, Sarah,” he said, his voice low and seductive. “Strong? Tall? Or do you like those whipped things.”
She swallowed hard. Why was he back to talking about porn again?
“My sexual fantasies are really none of your business.”
He chuckled. “Your coffee, Sarah. How do you like it?”
I’m such a horny moron. “Large, black, two sugars.”
“I can give you the large and sweet, but not the black. I tan well, however,” he said in a deep flirty voice.
“Goodbye.” She ended the call and whooshed out a breath.
Damn that man. I so need a cold shower.
Sleep had not been her friend last night. Not after the cold shower. Not after watching some porn—none of the men looked like Colt, so she wasn’t into it. And not after rubbing one out. Yes, yes, to the sound of his manly deep voice. What could she say? She couldn’t take it. That man had gotten her so sexed up, she’d felt like a randy sixteen-year-old again, the hormones stampeding through her body, impeding her mental thought process, and demanding she ensure the survival of the species.
Colt have strong sperm. Must fuck Colt, she said in her cave-girl voice. Me stupid.
So instead of dwelling on the fact that her body was stuck in BC, probably the Cretaceous Period, and her mind was somewhere in AD, she decided to make pancakes.
There. You see, Sarah? You don’t need a man like Colt to give you pleasure. You can have delicious pancakes instead.
The doorbell rang, jarring her from her task of setting her small kitchen table. She took a slow, steady breath. You can do this. You can ignore your inner Chaka. You do not want his baby juice.
Wearing her favorite gray sweats and a pink T-shirt, Sarah walked over to the door, expecting to see Mr. Geekoid, but instead found…
Holy shit. No. No. No. “You-you’re dressed like a…” She gulped down the libidinous lump in her throat. “A cowboy.” Did he have any clue how much she liked cowboys? They were right up there on her sexual fantasy list with naughty billionaires and well-endowed football players. Don’t forget sexy bad boys in tight leather pants.
Sarah couldn’t peel her eyes away from his just-right-tight jeans slung low on his narrow hips, accentuating the prominent bulge in his pants. Nor could she stop looking at his tight white T-shirt that showed off those broad shoulders, bulging biceps, and rock-hard pecs. The mirrored sunglasses and cowboy hat—probably used to hide his long hair—made him look like he’d walked off a cattle drive.
“Oh, and look,” she said with a shaky breath, “you’re all…glowing and sweaty.”
Seemingly oblivious to the fact that her panties had melted off her body, Colt pushed past her. “Goddamned paparazzi.”
Sarah closed the door, continuing to drink him in.
“Sorry,” he said, panting, “I ditched our coffee—fucking assholes had me running for ten blocks before I lost them through someone’s yard. I nearly gave some poor old woman a heart attack.”
Looking like that? She bet he did. “Are you sure you lost them?”
“Yeah. And do you have any idea how hard it is to run in cowboy boots? Ridiculous.” He tore off his hat, letting his soft silky brown hair fall down around his shoulders.
Sigh… How she wanted to run her fingers through it. Just like she had the urge to stroke his scruffy jaw and lick his chiseled abs and…
No. No, you don’t. You like men with short hair. Clean shaven. Responsible and serious men.
She cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll put on a pot of coffee, then. And I made you breakfast. Hope you like meat.”
“Meat. What kind? Bacon or sausage?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. I meant pancakes.”
He gave her a little look. “That was very thoughtful.”
“No problem. Let me heat them up and get the coffee started—have a seat.” She gestured to her little table. Colt removed his sunglasses, and she tried to resist peeking at him over the breakfast bar. Those honey-colored eyes were too hypnotic. Or were they more of a green with gold?
“So, what were you and Mike talking about last night?” Colt asked, taking a seat.
She froze for a moment, not feeling any clearer on the little situation than she had last night. If she told Colt what his brother had done or about the blackmail situation, he’d feel completely betrayed. And the last thing she wanted was to derail his healing process.
“You know—legal stuff,” she said. “Nothing important. But whoa-hey, that donation?” She wanted to change subjects fast.
Colt rubbed his scruffy jaw. “Yeah. That was a bit of a surprise.”
“So you forgot.”
“No. Mike didn’t tell me. He decided it would be good PR.”
“A hundred-thousand-dollar donation with your money, and he didn’t even consult you?”
Colt took a breath. “That’s my brother for ya. I realize he thinks he knows what he’s doing and has my best interests at heart, but the bullshit he pulls sometimes…” his voice faded off.
Sarah poured the water and grounds into the coffee maker and hit the button. She popped the plate of pancakes into the microwave and grabbed Colt a glass of water. He looked thirsty—and so, so sweaty—after his run. All the while, her mind kept spinning on the topic of Colt’s very untrustworthy brother. “So you have Mike managing your money as well as being your lawyer?”
“After the accident, I gave him power of attorney over my assets. It was necessary given the situation. And hey?
??if you can’t trust your own brother, who can you trust?”
Oh brother. Now she really wanted to tell Colt the truth, but she had to tread carefully. No one wanted to hear that a person they love had been manipulating and lying to them.
Sarah set his glass of water on the table in front of him and then brought over the pancakes and sat. “Please, help yourself. So did you bring the contract?”
He reached into his back pocket and produced a rolled-up stack of papers.
She took it and started skimming; meanwhile Colt served himself a pancake. She tried not to notice how he skipped the butter and only put on three drops of syrup.
“Carbs are the devil,” he said, noticing her watching him.
She chuckled awkwardly. Carbs are my life. But that was why he looked like an Adonis chiseled from marble and she looked like she’d been formed out of Play-Doh, all soft and ready for squishing.
Sarah went back to his contract for his world tour. There were about twenty pages of clauses related to nonperformance, lots of stipulations related to public appearances and his share of venue revenue, including all sales of trademarked goods sold at the concerts—T-shirts, cups, hats, and fake tattoos.
“I definitely went into the wrong profession,” she mumbled, noting the two-million-dollar upfront fee he received just for signing the contract, on top of the percentage of ticket sales and other revenue the tour would generate.
“I don’t know—at this point, I feel like I should’ve gone to Harvard like my mother wanted.”
Sarah looked up at him. “Harvard?”
He shrugged, swallowing down a bite of pancake. “I thought I’d follow in Mike’s footsteps and be a lawyer, but at the last minute, I realized that wasn’t what I wanted. I loved music. I have since I was little when my mother sang to me.”
“You ditched Harvard to go to music school?”
He gave her a look. “What’s so difficult to believe? That I got into Harvard or that I ditched it for music?”
“It’s just…I figured…”
He set down his fork and leaned back in his chair. “That I am some uneducated, unintelligent screwup, put on this Earth to be eye candy to millions of women?”