Too Long: Chapter 11

DAD STOLE COLT again after dinner to finish the tour of the yacht. He promised to give him back in half an hour, but they must’ve stopped at another bar because it’s been an hour, and they’re still not back.

That’s not ideal because I’m exhausted and pleasantly mellow, though still slowly working through my first bottle of wine. After the seven-course meal, I need two to get a proper buzz on, so I’m not worried about calling Colt a git when the elevator dings and he and my father exit arm-in-arm, accompanied by two other men—Samuel Frost and Millington Burns. They’re not part of our family, but they’re treated like they are.

“I think it’s time for bed,” Colt says, approaching the couch I’m lounging on under an inky black sky speckled with bright stars. “You’ve been up for nineteen hours already.”

“So have you,” I point out, but I don’t protest when he helps me to my feet and tucks me against his firm side.

He smells like expensive cologne, cigar smoke, and bourbon. A surprisingly satisfying combination.

“Here, take this,” I urge Amara, holding out my half-empty wine glass.

The plush throw protecting me from the ocean breeze sighs to the floor, and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. The cold wooden decking under my bare feet makes me step from one foot to the other, shuddering in place.

“Grab that for me,” he tells my brother, motioning at the throw, then scoops me into his arms, bridal style, and curves me into his broad chest. “Cover her up.”

“I can walk,” I mutter as my brother drapes the throw over me. “I’ll be fine once we’re inside.”

He tucks one corner of the throw under my butt, adjusting his hold, zero fucks given about my protest. After saying his goodbyes, he carries me inside, up the stairs, and stops by suite seventeen.

“Key in the code, Addie,” he urges.

“You can put me down now, you know?” but .

It’s been a while since someone held me so close… even longer since someone’s touch made me feel this good.

A little too good, actually.

Taking my sweet time, I tap in the four-digit code, and as soon as we’re in, he gently drops me on the bed.

“How do you think that went?” he asks, entering the walk-in closet to snatch a pair of pajama bottoms off a hanger.

“I think it went really well. My dad sure likes you, and my mom’s behaving herself, so I’m happy.”

“From what you told me, I expected your mom to be a walking nightmare. You’re doing her a disservice. She’s alright.”

She is not alright, but I have to admit, she surprised me tonight, if I don’t count her implying I always make things up.

We take turns in the bathroom, and when I emerge wearing the most modest nightdress I own, Colt’s in bed with his phone, the glow from the screen illuminating his chiseled features.

Another thing we haven’t discussed: sleeping arrangements. Seeing as he’s already in bed, I don’t think he’s given it a second thought. Maybe I shouldn’t either.

We’re adults. We can sleep in one bed without it meaning anything but… it’s intimate. Judging by how little it takes for him to send desire surging through me it might not be the best idea to lay down beside him.

I glance at the large couch. It’s so big it’d fit two of me, and looks as comfortable as the bed. A slight shudder shakes my shoulders, my fingers twitching. Sleeping with Colt isn’t the smart choice, but it’s so tempting.

“What’s wrong, Addie?”

“Nothing… I’m fine. I’m just thinking.”

A slow smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. “Are you considering the couch?”

“Maybe?” I clip defensively.

“There’s enough room in here for you.” Getting no reply, he bends one hand behind his head, getting comfortable. “Fine. Take the couch.”

A challenge hangs in the air, stirring a stubborn streak within me. Raising my head higher, I cross the room, sinking into the plush couch cushions, and bounce lightly, assessing its comfort in great, fake concentration.

I’m challenging Colt’s authority—something he doesn’t take lightly, judging by the heavy silence stretching between us. The tension winds tighter with every passing second.

“I know you’re trying to piss me off,” he finally clips. “It’s working. I’m nothing if not a fan of a little bratty attitude, but careful, Addie. Good girls know when to stop pushing the wrong buttons. Get your ass in bed before I do it for you.”

The loaded meaning behind his words has my heart skipping a beat. The insinuation, the alluring promise of discipline, draws out a side of him I find hard to resist.

He holds my gaze, his expression stern, but there’s a glint in his eyes, a silent dare that hitches my breath.

We’ve not been here ten hours yet, but I’m already debating whether the rule wasn’t a huge mistake. How can I keep my libido in check when his scalding gaze devours me inch by inch like he’s starving and I’m the best meal he’s ever laid eyes on?

We stare each other down, the air crackling with electric current. It’s a dangerous game. His innuendos toe a fine line, but he doesn’t seem to have any desire to cross it.

I think he gets off on my reaction.

With a final glance at the couch, I let out a defeated sigh, and join him. My cheeks warm as I lift the comforter. I don’t think I’ve ever blushed as much as I have over the past two days.

“The couch is uncomfortable,” I say, holding onto the illusion of having the upper hand in this game we’re playing.

“If anyone’s sleeping on the couch, it’ll be me.”

“No,” I blurt out too eagerly. “I mean… you’re right. We’ll fit here together.” I fluff the pillow, slipping onto my side, leaving enough space between us for another adult. “Are your brothers checking in?”

He nods, staring at the screen. “Yeah, making sure Shawn’s report on you was solid and I am, in fact, alive and well.”

“Are you?” I prop my head on my palm, ogling him from his face to his muscular chest. A long scar between his pecs has me scooting closer. “How did you get that?”

Every muscle in his body turns to stone before he catches my wrist to stop me touching the long line.

“Sorry,” I mutter, retreating. “How did you get it? It looks like—”

“It’s nothing. Go to sleep, Addie.”

?

That’s not nothing, but he’s obviously not keen on sharing. I’m surprised how much that stings.

Rolling onto my side, I turn my back on him. “Don’t you think I should know in case someone asks? You’re on a yacht. You plan on wearing a tee the whole time?”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he barks.

A long silence follows. Long enough that I start drifting off, abandoning all hope he’ll explain, but then he shifts closer to the middle of the bed and states without emotion, “Car accident. Aortic valve replacement.”

“Oh…”

“Goodnight, Addie.”

A whirlwind of questions twists and turns in my mind. Did he crash during a race? How bad was it? Was it his fault? Why is he still racing? Despite the nagging curiosity, I bite my tongue, sensing now isn’t the time to prod.

The only sound in the room is the occasional soft rustle of sheets. In the privacy of my thoughts, I picture high-speed crashes. The images drag me along on a rollercoaster ride until sleep finally comes. But even as I drift off, the unease doesn’t fully dissipate, and I realize I’m about him…