Colton's Killer Pursuit

Oh, so sweetly.

Everleigh sat there, her face raised to his, letting him move his mouth on hers. She didn’t respond. Just let the shock of it all consume her. But when he went to pull away, she groaned and reached her face up to him, her hands flat on the floor, bracing her, while she kissed him back.

Chapter 7

What in the hell was he doing?

Even as Clarke leaned into the kiss, he started to pull back. Had to stop what was starting...to make it go away, not just in the moment, but permanently.

He was on the job. Would absolutely not sacrifice the hard years he’d spent earning back the trust of his family or his professional reputation. He was done jumping into what felt good in the moment.

And more...he couldn’t take advantage of Everleigh Emerson when she was vulnerable. She deserved so much better.

His lips still moving against hers, his body aching to press against hers, he tore his mouth away, wiped it with the back of his wrist as he stood up.

Scrambling for a way to stay on the job so that he could keep her safe.

A way to maintain her trust in light of what had just happened. A way to ensure that it didn’t happen again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I...have never...in my entire career...made a move on a client.” He was breathing hard still. His words were punctuated by the deep breaths; he needed to figure out what he was doing.

She nodded. Busied herself finishing up with the fishing tackle. Not looking at him.

And he realized...she’d kissed him back. As opposed to pushing him away.

Did she want him to kiss her again?

Was she hurt by his rejection? That idea was alarming.

He stood there watching her filling sections of the plastic container with hooks and flies and lures with no rhyme or reason to their organization. Her fingers...so slim and gentle compared to his own...

He couldn’t have sex with her. And the temptation would be that much more dangerous if he thought she wanted him to.

He didn’t want to hurt her. In the short or long term.

He absolutely didn’t want to start any kind of relationship, either. With anyone... The last burn was still stinging with a little too much repulsion for him to even open that door.

“You asked if I have a current girlfriend...” The words started to roll, and while he wasn’t sure of them, he didn’t stop them. “I don’t, but I did. Aubrey agreed that we were only having fun, enjoying each other’s company, but she read far more into things than was there. To the point that I was uncomfortable. She started checking up on me, didn’t want me going anywhere without her, and when I ended things, she wouldn’t go away. Kept calling in tears, texting. Driving by. Trying to talk to my family. When all of that got her nowhere, she threatened some things...”

He sounded like some kind of victim of an abusive relationship. That hadn’t been the message he’d wanted to impart. Everleigh didn’t look at him, but her fingers on the tackle had slowed. And when she turned, her eyes glaring points at him, he knew he should have kept his mouth shut.

“You think I’m going to make something out of one kiss?” she asked. “Or that I’d resort to running to Melissa, tattling on you?”

He couldn’t tell if she was more hurt or pissed... “No!” He advanced, but at her steely look, he backed up again. “That wasn’t where I was going. At all,” he said, putting all of the conviction inside him in his voice. In the look he gave her. “I swear. I just... I like women, Everleigh. I’ve known a lot of them. I’m forty years old,” he added, as though the “a lot of women” needed justification. “But that’s all it is. Liking them, and if they like me back, we see if there’s something between us. I enjoy lighthearted relationships that aren’t going anywhere...”

He sounded so shallow. And it wasn’t that, either. He just...

Didn’t know what it was.

He’d started the conversation to distract her from what appeared to be a mutual attraction. Maybe to show her that he was the type of man she’d never want. Someone like her husband—minus the cheating—even if he knew he was entirely different from Fritz Emerson.

But all he’d done was confuse himself.

“I find you...intriguing,” he said. “And I feel for you...your situation. Seeing you sit there...sorting tackle, cleaning up your ransacked house without a single complaint...having just been r

eleased from prison after being there for something you didn’t do...”

She closed the tackle box. Stood up, put it in a cupboard with the rest of the boxes and shut the door. Then turned to him.