The Consequence of Loving Colton (Consequence 1)

And he was all man.

I kid you not, if his name were in the dictionary, right next to it would be “Hot body.”

That’s it.

No more words. Words in a situation like this totally killed the moment. For example, I could wax poetic about the way the moonlight seemed to shimmer across his very bare, tan chest. Shoot, I could even say his abs were so ripped I was afraid if he took a deep breath he was going to pull one of them. Then again, if he pulled a muscle I was the only person close enough to be of aid.

We’d play nurse and soldier.

I’d ask him to tell me where it hurt.

He’d point to ab number two, or maybe three. I do like the lower abdominals . . . Then I’d gently caress the rippled skin and whisper words of encouragement like “Don’t worry, you’ll make it. I know CPR.”

Because um . . . you could never be too careful when a person . . . er, strained his body, and I learned in first aid that you should always, always be sure the person was breathing.

By sticking your tongue down their throat.

Swear it was totally in that textbook.

Probably because I wrote it there, but—

“Milo.” Colton’s smooth voice interrupted the mental image I’d created of our nurse/soldier story. No idea where the whole soldier thing came from. Probably because I was ready to say the Pledge of Allegiance. Something was seriously wrong with me.

He was a firefighter.

Which was kind of like being a soldier.

Because he risked his life every day.

Colton took a step toward me. Damn it, give the man a Purple Heart! I hope he wasn’t second-guessing being married to me.

Because I would be second-guessing it if I were him. I mean, I’m clumsy, the childhood friend, and apparently extremely violent.

“Milo.” He said my name like a caress. “Take your clothes off.”

“Um.” I tugged at my very pretty, very expensive dress and shrugged. “It’s kind of . . . nippy.” Holy crap. Shoot me now. I’d just said nippy. Why couldn’t I have said cold like a normal person? No, I had to say nippy.

Colton smirked and looked down the front of my dress. “I can see that.”

“Stop staring.” I laughed nervously.

“Why?” He pulled me into his arms. “I can stare all I want. You’re mine, remember?”

“Sure.” I nodded. “I also remember telling you I wasn’t into the whole alpha thing.”

“Too bad.” He shrugged, tossed me over his shoulder, and jumped into the pool.

I wish I were one of those girls.

The ones who cry really pretty tears, and whose screams don’t sound like a hyena giving birth. But I’m not that girl. I’ll never be her.

The scream that erupted from my mouth probably called pigeons home. Dogs started barking in the distance.

I’m sure I looked like a raccoon.

But Colton wasn’t distracted by my scream or by the fact that I had mascara running down my face.

Nope. His eyes were glued to my body.

“Colt—”

Ignoring me, he dove under water.

And that’s when I felt his hands on my bare legs, higher, and then higher. I would have happily drowned if this had been the precursor to my death. No joke. His fingers slid against my thighs and then, with the damned slowness of a tortoise, he pulled my lacy thong all the way down.

With.

His.

Teeth.

I pledge allegiance to the flag of—

Colt emerged from the water, a smug grin on his face as my underwear dangled from his teeth.

“Cute.”

He threw them to the side of the pool and held up three fingers. “One, two—”

“Why are you counting?”

“If you don’t take your own dress off in three seconds I’m doing to do it for you.” He smirked. “That little show I just put on is going to get a hell of a lot hotter. So, either you shimmy that tight little body out of that dress or I’m going to do it for you. And I really have trouble with zippers. Who knows how long it will take me to pull it all way the way down, not to mention the fact that I have a crazy obsession with the curve of a woman’s back and—”

“Stop!” I laughed. “Man, you’re bossy.”

Colt’s eyes darkened. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

The dress had to go. Like yesterday.

His eyes drank me in, I couldn’t remember how I’d even gotten the damn thing on! Zipper? Buttons? Did it go over my head? Crap!

Colton grabbed my shoulders and turned me around. “You’re sexy when you’re turned on.”

“I’m not,” I lied.

“Sexy?” His hands found my zipper HA! I knew it was a zipper! Score one for Milo!

“A-aroused.” Right. I couldn’t even say the word.

“No?” The zipper went down very, very slowly, but what was worse, his hands followed, touching, lightly grazing my back. It was stupid, really—that a simple touch could make me melt.

But there it was.

Apparently there was magic in his fingertips.

The zipper stopped.

His hands moved.

And then he tugged a bit harder.

Um . . .

And harder still.

“Colt—”

“It’s stuck.”

“Not the two words I would have chosen to use,” I said. “But okay, what’s wrong?”

“The damn dress!” Colton shouted. “It won’t go any further. Knife. I need a knife.”