“Definitely the eye candy.” She cracked a smile. “But think—we might’ve had classes together if you’d gone.” It gave her serious pause. She’d always believed she would meet her Mr. Right in college. Maybe she hadn’t been far off. He’d simply decided at the last minute not to go.
Oh, stop. He’s Mr. Hot, not your Mr. Right, stupid.
“I have a degree in music composition with a minor in finance.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes. Really,” he said, sounding a tad insulted.
“I can’t figure you out, Colt. Why are you always getting yourself into so much trouble?”
He stared out the window for a moment. “If I could remember, I’d tell you. But I don’t.”
“Colt, do you know what the doctor said about your condition?”
There was a long moment of silence before he looked at her. “It’s in my head—at least, that’s what Mike told me. I don’t actually remember seeing the doctor.”
“What do you think about that?”
“I think if I don’t get better soon, my career is over.”
“So why haven’t you tried therapy or anything like that?”
“Mike says I tried and it didn’t work.”
Mike. Fucking Mike. That guy couldn’t be trusted.
“So what are you going to do when your tour starts?” If he couldn’t remember, he couldn’t play.
“I can tell you what everyone wants me to do: get up there and play anything.”
That didn’t make much sense. Colt would be humiliated, his career over.
Sarah glanced down at the contract in her hands. It was signed right before his motorcycle accident. She started flipping through the pages until she found the section pertaining to breach. What the hell?
She looked up at Colt. “You know this says that if you are physically unable to perform due to illness or events outside your control, you have the right to delay the tour.”
“I know that.”
“Then why not delay?” she said, asking the obvious.
“If I do that, everyone is going to know I’m unwell, which is not good for my image. Or sales,” he added.
“But, Colt, you can’t go up on stage and wing it.”
“I know.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be here.”
Sarah shook her head and flipped through the pages again, skimming the clauses. She noticed that Colt had the right to choose the music performed and that he, “The Performer” would receive ten million dollars at the beginning of the tour and another ten at the end upon successful completion. It sounded like a whole hell of a lot of money, but she remembered reading an article once that The Stones made over one hundred million per tour. Sure, their followers might be a bit older, but Colt sold out stadiums around the world like they did. He was quite possibly the biggest solo artist in the world right now.
“How much does your brother make off of you per year?” Sarah asked.
“I hardly think that’s any of your business.”
“Okay. Fair enough. But does he get a percentage of your earnings?”
“Yes. He gets fifteen percent since he acts as my agent, too.”
Sarah growled inside her head. “So, basically, if you show up on opening night, he gets one point five million dollars, even if you bomb.”
He gave her a look. “I know what you’re thinking, Sarah, but my brother doesn’t care about the money. He can be a dick. A big fucking dick, but he does care about me.”
I’m not so sure about that. She had to tell him. But then again…what about Colt’s recovery. She needed to think this through, as she would any difficult case that came before her.
“Well,” she folded the contract and set it down on the table beside her plate, “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, and it looks like your options are clear—delay the tour and tell the world the truth or tank on opening night and get paid the initial fee—which will absolutely ruin your career unless you miraculously heal.”
“That’s what I keep hoping for.” Colt nodded and looked down at his half-eaten pancake.
“Still have that itch?” she said, referring to his comment on the phone earlier.
“Yes, actually.”
“Try not to think about it—maybe your brain will figure it out. You know, like when you can’t remember the name of a song, you just put it out of your mind and it comes to you two hours later.”
“Why did you have sex with me at the nightclub?” he asked, startling her.
She blinked at him, trying to process why he’d asked this particular question out of the blue.
The coffee maker beeped. “It’s ready.” She popped from her seat and went into the kitchen, feeling Colt’s eyes on her the entire time.
“Sarah? I asked you a question.”
“I know.” She reached into her cupboard and grabbed two white mugs. When she turned around, Colt stood right behind her. Close. So close.
“And tell me why you really turned me down last night.” Suspicion filled his eyes.
“I thought I told you.”
“You said I’m not good enough for you. Or was it that I’m not good enough for your career.”
The way he said it made her sound so shallow, but why was it wrong to want to protect her career? Being a judge was what she loved doing. It was who she was, and she’d fought tooth and nail for everything she had. If I were a man, no one would criticize me for making my career a priority.
“You’re oversimplifying the situation, Colt. We both know it’s more complicated than that.”
He stepped in closer. “But I remember that look in your eyes last night. You weren’t telling me everything.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. How did he know? Sarah’s heart pounded inside her chest. She didn’t want to tell him about Mike. Not yet. Not without knowing more.
She looked up at him and those lips and kissed him hard.
He pulled her away and stared down at her, his eyes full of intense emotion. “What are you doing, Sarah?”
“I’m taking you up on your offer. Fuck me.”
Colt froze for a few short moments and then he kissed her hard. He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her into his warm, hard body. His hot tongue plunged between her lips, deep into her mouth in a frantic fiery kiss.
She opened up to him and threw her arms around his neck. Oh God. He tasted so good. But his warmth and tall lean body were even better.
He lifted her onto the counter, pushing aside the bowls and mixer to make way for her ass.
Her hands were everywhere. His hands went to cup the sides of her face to deepen the kiss. Their panted breaths mixed together, and their mouths and tongues sucked and licked and kissed like two wild animals.
Wanting him closer, wanting to feel his skin and those ripped pecs and abs, she slid her hands down and grabbed the hem of his shirt. She pulled up quickly, breaking the kiss only long enough to get the thing off him.
He took advantage of the break to reach for her shirt and pull it over her head, only stopping a moment to stare at her breasts. “Just as beautiful as I remember.” His hands went straight for them, and his mouth went straight back to her lips.
Every part of Sarah’s body ached for him, but nothing compared to the throbbing between her legs and deep inside. The tension and need already had her wet and ready.
She reached for his top button and popped it open, wasting no time to shove her hand inside. Their mouths lapping, his hands squeezing and massaging her breasts, the breath from their lungs practically steamed. Her fingers found the soft, velvety head of his cock. He was so damned hard and long that his dick practically stuck out of his waistband. The tips of her fingers were instantly damp with his pre-cum. Oh, God. He feels so good. She circled the drops around the opening of his shaft, eliciting a sharp, ecstasy-filled gasp from him.
She played with the tip of his erection, wanting to taste him on her tongue
and wrap her hands and lips around it. So many nights she’d fantasized about his cock, the way it had filled her and stretched her, the way its length and thickness pushed her limits of pain and delicious pleasure.
She ripped open the button fly of his jeans, hearing the little pop, pop, pop as she completely freed his eager cock. It sprang out like a sinful invitation and she wrapped her hand around it, stroking him firmly. She loved the sensation of the velvety skin sliding over the hot, hard steely shaft.
So thick. So good. She would be tapping into this memory for the rest of her life.
Colt reached for her pajama bottoms and shimmied them down, his mouth never leaving her lips, her hand never leaving his hard dick.
“You sure you want to do this, Your Honor?” he panted between kisses.
She felt like she might actually die if she didn’t. “Yes. I need you to fuck me.”
“Why? Why now?” he said, tugging at her pants and working them down past her ankles, where they dropped to the floor, leaving her completely naked, sitting on her counter—I’m so going to have to really sanitize the kitchen later. Colt’s jeans had fallen down to his thighs, but he still had his cowboy boots on.
“Because you fucking turn me on,” she replied, sliding her hands to his soft, muscled ass, pulling him between her legs, and enjoying the sensation of the base of his shaft and balls pressing into her. She loved it. Almost as much as she loved the view—his tanned skin, his ropes of muscles on his arms, his ripped abs and chest, rippling with tension. Then there was the dark trail of hair running from his navel down to the thick patch of hair encircling his cock. God, he’s so sinful. Every inch of him.
Colt stopped kissing her and cupped the sides of her face, staring her in the eyes. “That’s the only reason?”
Sarah’s mind was too full of sexual need to think straight. “You’re my biggest fantasy.”
The moment those words left her mouth, she knew she’d said something wrong. The look in his eyes—anger—was instantaneous.
“What did I say?”
His light brown brows pulled together, and he gave her a hard look. “I’m only a fantasy to you—not a real man—not worthy of a real relationship.”
He stepped back and started putting himself away.
“Colt, of course you’re real to me, but—”
“You’re like everyone else, Sarah.” He finished buttoning up his pants.
She hopped off the counter. “What’s that mean?”
“Neverfuckingmind.” He swiped his shirt from the floor, and she quickly went for her pajama bottoms and T-shirt. “And she called me a ‘man-whore,’” he muttered under his breath.
“Whoa. Don’t tell me you’re getting all pissy because I actually wanted—past tense—to have sex with you. What happened to ‘spend the night with me, Sarah’ or ‘I really want to fuck you’?”
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he grabbed his contract, his hat and sunglasses, and headed for the front door.
“I’m sorry, Colt. But I already explained; there’s no future for us.”
He turned and gave her a look. Pissed would be an understatement. “Fuck you, Sarah.”
Nothing in Colt’s life ever went according to plan—his fame, his motorcycle accident, meeting Sarah. Strangely, he’d been thinking on the way here that if his fate hadn’t taken a turn for the worst a year ago, he wouldn’t have met her. Or perhaps he would’ve, but without his current predicament, he might not have realized how special she was. But all of this—this pain and suffering—had led to Sarah, and he now started to wonder if given the chance to do it all over again, would he? Because while he had his issues, he knew that things were beginning to feel different. He couldn’t explain how, but he knew why: Sarah was confident, strong minded, and filled with a disciplined passion. She felt like that anchor his life needed. The fame, the tours, the exploitative people surrounding him; his life had been living him, not the other way around.
And now, each day, the memories from his past became clearer and his ability to retain new ones was improving, especially anything having to do with her. Maybe it was foolish to want her like he did—yes, of course it was foolish—but he did.
Until now.
I’m an idiot. He’d been holding her up on a pedestal, believing she was different. In reality, she was just another woman who wanted something that didn’t exist. An image. A fantasy.
“Colt, come on. Don’t be like that,” Sarah pleaded while he took to the stairs. “I’m only being honest.”
Colt shook his head at her. She didn’t get it. “If I was interested in fucking, there are a thousand women out there I could go to. I expected more from you, Sarah. Goodbye.” He yanked open the door and found a woman standing there. He almost ran right into her. She had short blonde hair, wore thick glasses, and looked to be in her thirties.
“Hello, Colt,” she said.
“Who the hell are you?” he scowled.
“Don’t you remember me, Colt?” she said with a sadistic tinge to her voice.
“No. I don’t. Now get the fuck out of my way.”
The woman produced a gun and pointed at him. “That’s too bad. Because I’m the person who’s going to kill you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Colt could choose to blame his memory for this oversight, but not everything in his past was a void. There were moments he definitely recalled. For example, his ass of a brother insisting Colt hire a bodyguard. Mike had warned him over the years that the risk was too high for a celebrity like him who frequently received death threats slash love letters. I want to go to heaven with you, Colt Young. Or, If I can’t have you in my spaceship, no one will. His team usually dealt with it quietly, only telling him if there was a real threat, which there definitely had been over the years. Two world tours, hundreds of live shows and television appearances—he’d always known that, statistically speaking, some nut job was bound to try to take him to their two-headed leader or shoot him or some crazy crap like that. He’d simply expected it to happen at his hotel room or while pushing through a crowd to get to his waiting limo.
He never expected this.
“Get back upstairs,” the woman barked.
Trying to calm himself and think, Colt slowly turned and did as she asked.
He reentered Sarah’s living room, and the moment she saw the gun, her face went from angry and confused to cool as a cucumber.
“Stand right over there next to that little whore,” the woman barked.
Colt held his hands in the air and stood next to Sarah. “That’s fine; kill me, but let Sarah go,” he said to the woman, now getting a good look at her. She had thick glasses and short blonde hair. She was the woman from his dreams. They had crossed paths before in real life, but he couldn’t remember when or where. He only knew that his visceral reaction to seeing her face meant she was tied to something in his past. Something big and ugly he didn’t want to remember.
“And have her call the police?” The woman flashed a sinister smile. “No, thank you. Now get over there.” She jerked the gun, gesturing for him to step back into the living room.
Slowly, he obeyed, his head and heart racing, both wanting to find a way out of this. “You really don’t want to do this. Just leave now, and we won’t tell anyone. We’ll all pretend this never happened.”
“Oh,” the woman chuckled, “this is happening. You had your chance to make me happy, Colt Young.”
“Why are you doing this?” Sarah asked, calm as ever. He realized that this was probably not the first time she’d dealt with a violent, crazy person.
The woman looked at her. “He was promised to me. If I did everything right, he would be mine. And you took him from me,” she snarled.
“I don’t want him,” Sarah said coldly. “I never did. And he doesn’t want me either. Ask him. Go ahead. It’s why he was leaving.”
“It’s true,” he said, his eyes now searching for a weapon. Or perhaps he could get close enough to knock the gun f
rom her hand. He merely needed to distract her for a moment.
He glanced at Sarah. “She’s uptight, shallow, and only interested in my dick. She can’t be trusted.”
Taking the bait, Sarah’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me? I can be trusted. I’m a judge—and a damned good one. I care about what happens to people. Maybe a little too much.”
“Well, you sure as hell don’t care about me. Unless you’re only counting what’s in my pants.”
“Wrong again,” Sarah spouted. “I don’t even care about that.”
From the corner of his eye, he noticed the woman had her gaze pinned to Sarah. There was a redness to her face.
Fuck. The woman was getting angry. He didn’t want her to shoot Sarah out of some disturbed sense of justice. He only wanted her to let down her guard for a moment. Dammit. He couldn’t risk it.
He turned his attention back to the lady with the gun. “Obviously, you can see that Sarah and I are not together. We never were.” He offered his most charming smile. “So, what’s your name?”
“Mary.” She pushed her thick glasses up her nose and smiled sheepishly.
“Okay, Mary. So why don’t you let Sarah go, and then we can talk about how much you care about me.”
Mary’s expression soured again. “You think I’m stupid? I’ve been watching you two. I videotaped you coming out of that bathroom at the club. I know she went to see you at that ranch. And I saw you together at the charity ball last night.”
“You took the video, didn’t you?” Sarah gasped.
Video? What video?
“Yes. And it was a mistake giving it up, but I wanted to protect you, Colt.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but that didn’t matter. Getting her to drop the gun did.
“No, no. It wasn’t a mistake.” He stepped in a little closer, hoping his chance would come. “I love that you care about me so much.”
“What you love are whores!” she yelled. “Because you’re weak! All these years, I kept praying you would change. But now I realize you never will. You’ll never love a good woman like me.”