Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain 2)

“Thanks, Ned, that’s sweet of you both,” I replied.

“Didn’t figure you’d wanna work all day and then schlep your stuff to a new room,” he explained.

“I owe you a bottle of champagne and another round of Clue,” I told him.

“Lookin’ forward to that, Laurie,” Ned said and Tate grabbed my hand, Ned’s eyes dropped to it and he quickly finished with, “’Night you two,” but he said it while grinning huge.

“Later, Ned,” Tate murmured as he pulled me to the door.

“’Night, Ned,” I called as the door swung closed behind us.

Tate kept my hand in his as we walked to room three which was way closer to Ned and Betty’s. I had to walk double time to keep up with his long strides. He didn’t release my hand when he made it to the door; he just unlocked it, opened it and pushed me inside.

I walked four steps in while Tate flipped the light switch.

It as an exact copy of my other room, to the letter.

I threw my purse on the bed, turned to Tate and remarked, “Weird, it’s like I didn’t even move. It’s the same room.”

“Enjoy the ride?” Tate asked and I blinked at him.

“Sorry?”

“Did you enjoy the ride, Lauren?” he repeated and I smiled.

“Yes, Tate it was –”

I didn’t finish but I made another sound. It was a gasp because one second he was standing inside the closed door, the next he was standing right in front of me, one of his hands was sliding up my neck into my hair, the other arm was wrapped around my waist pulling my body into his.

“What are you –?” I got out before his fingers in my hair fisted, pulled down just a tad less than gentle and his mouth was on mine.

And he kissed me.

No. He kissed me.

Brad was a good kisser and he was great in bed. He wasn’t my first kiss though, or my first lover. I’d had a better kisser than Brad, but not a better lover.

But Tate’s kiss…

There was no describing it.

It didn’t start slow, it started hard and wet and so demanding I had no choice but to give back what I got. And I did. Our tongues sparred then our teeth bit at each other’s lips and our heads twisted this way and that, all of it a mindless, sexy dance that was all-consuming. There was nothing but his mouth and my mouth, what they were doing and what they were making me feel. Nothing. Not in the whole universe.

When he lifted his head a fraction of an inch I found one of my hands was up his shirt in the back and one of them was cupping the back of his head. His hand was still fisted in my hair but his other arm had moved up to curve tight just under my shoulder blades, the pads of his fingers pressed into the side of my breast.

We both were breathing deep, our breaths mingling between us, I could feel his on my sensitized lips and he had to feel mine.

Finally, he spoke. “Shit, Ace.”

“Shit what?” I whispered, staring into his eyes, so close, I could count the tawny flecks.

“This isn’t good,” he whispered back and I swallowed and felt a sour pit forming in my belly.

“It isn’t?”

“I gotta focus,” he went on whispering.

“On what?” I asked also whispering.

“On shit that doesn’t include what that mouth and tongue of yours could do to my cock.”

My hand at his back fisted. “Tate –”

“And if your pu**y is as sweet as your mouth.”

“Tate –”

“Shit,” he muttered.

“Tate –”

“I gotta find this guy,” he told me.

“I know.”

“I get back, Lauren, you’re on the back of my bike.”

I blinked at what he said, mostly because I didn’t understand it, then I swayed because he let me go and without a word or looking back, the door to my room closed behind him.

Several moments later, when I could speak, I asked the door, “Get back from where?”

Like the hall earlier that day, the door didn’t have an answer.

Chapter Six

Trash

I was sitting, cross-legged in the middle of my bed at the hotel and staring at my laptop in front of me.

It had been a month since Tate’s kiss, a month where a lot had happened, a month since he’d walked out of my room and I hadn’t seen or heard from him again.

I’d spent the last however-many-hours finally going through over six months of e-mails.

I should have checked sooner.

My mother, father and sister all had my new location and the number to the cell phone Tate had bought me. I’d given up that information weeks ago. They had been in constant contact since then, first freaked way the heck out then settling in because they heard I was settling in. My folks were planning to come out and visit me at the end of the summer and Caroline and her partner Mack were thinking of coming with them. I liked this idea. They’d like Carnal and Betty and Ned could always do with the business.

That was all good, the rest of my e-mails were all bad.

First were the ones from my so-called friends sending so-called concerned e-mails about my quick exit from town, selling off all my stuff and cutting off my ties to my old life. Invitations to dinner and drinks abounded, they said so they could talk to me, find out if I was okay, make sure I was doing the right thing.

What they meant was so they could find out where my head was at and then inform Hayley. She knew I had the goods on Brad and I could make the divorce uncomfortable. She knew all I had to do was tell my attorneys to nail his ass (and they were practically begging me to do it) and I could wipe the floor with him.

But I didn’t. I signed the papers, took my half of our life, sold it within days of signing the papers and got the heck out of there.

But then the e-mails changed. Instead of seeming fake concerned, they seemed more concerned. Then they seemed contrite. Then they begged me to call, check in, touch base.

Something was happening, my old, fake, two-faced friend Audrey told me, something I needed to know.

She’d sent that e-mail just two weeks before.

Which was one week before Brad sent his one and only e-mail.

Ree, it began and just seeing his nickname for me typed on the screen sent a knife through my heart that hurt so much I almost couldn’t read on. Conversely, it also pissed me off so much I almost couldn’t read on.

I wished I didn’t. But I did.

The rest of it said:

Where are you? I’ve been calling your cell and it says I can’t leave a message. Your parents won’t tell me. I’ve called Caroline a dozen times and Mack won’t let me speak to her.