Colton Storm Warning Page 9

  He, on the other hand, was having to fight gaping at her. He was sure the rather simple knit pajamas she had on weren’t intended to be sexy, but on her long almost lanky, yet entirely female shape, they were. The soft cloth flowed over her, especially the soft curves of her breasts, in a way that made his fingers itch oddly.

  “Did you need something?” he repeated, his voice rather harsh because he was fighting an inner battle he was quite rusty at.

  “I... No,” she said, dragging her gaze away from his shirt. “I just...couldn’t sleep.”

  “Strange place.”

  “No, it’s not that, I’m used to that, I just... I couldn’t...”

  “Couldn’t find the off switch?” he suggested.

  Her mouth shifted into a small smile. “Exactly that,” she said, although something in her voice suggested to him that she meant it in a different way than he was thinking.

  “I’ve always wondered if you turn off that switch, who turns it back on again?”

  The smile widened. Damn, he liked that smile. “I’ve always assumed it’s on a timer, and will come back on in the morning in time to start thinking about whatever it is again.”

  “Sort of an automated Scarlett O’Hara approach?”

  The smile became a laugh. An appreciative laugh that warmed him far more than it should have. “I wouldn’t have thought that was on your reading list.”

  “More that it was my grandmother’s movie. She was born on the day it came out, so it was a big deal to her. She and my mom watch it on her birthday every year.”

  “That’s a lovely tradition.”

  “Better than Oz. I can only handle so much ‘If I Only Had a Brain.’” He got the laugh again. And the same burst of warmth. He put on his best glum face. “Easy for you to laugh. You didn’t have your uncle whistling that at you as a kid, any time he thought you were doing something dumb.”

  “Actually, that sounds like a rather sweet way of guiding you.”

  He couldn’t hang on to the glum, and his own smile broke through. “It was, in retrospect. At least he cared.” He winced inwardly. He hadn’t meant to let that out. So he quickly asked, “What do you usually do when this happens?” He wondered if she relied on medication, smoked pot or what.

  “What I was about to do. Find a book to read until I can fall asleep.”

  Well, that was about as benign as it gets. “I thought you had one.”

  “I did, but it was too engrossing.”

  “So you need something boring?”

  “No, because then I’ll just sit there, thinking how boring this is and not get any closer to sleeping. It’s better if it’s something that hooks me just enough so I fall asleep almost without realizing it. Best is something I’m familiar with but still like enough to get into, just enough to turn the rest of the brain off.” She grimaced. “Sorry, more than you asked. I’m tired. And frustrated.”

  Quickly deciding that thinking about her and frustration was something best to avoid, Ty shoved off from the doorjamb and walked into the great room and over to the bookshelves. He bent down, grabbed a hardcover volume and held it out to her. She immediately recognized the colorful dust jacket of the first book in the wizard series they’d talked about, and the grin she gave him was like a punch to the gut. And all he could think was that it was a good thing he’d kept his jeans on instead of pulling on the pajama bottoms that were much more comfortable, but much less able to hide what was currently happening south of his beltline.

  “Perfect,” she said as she reached out and took the book from him. He fought the urge to hang on to it—to make her ask or pull, anything to draw out the moment. He wanted more than anything to slide his hand forward just enough to brush her fingers with his, but fought down that very unprofessional urge, too.

  Book in hand, she headed for the couch. She turned on the light at the end closest to the fireplace and sat. And he blurted out, “You’re not going back to bed to read?”

  She shook her head without looking at him, already seated and opening the cover of the tale. “If I do that, my brain knows what I’m trying to do and fights back.” There was such a rueful note in her voice the corners of his mouth twitched. But at the same time, he smothered a sigh, because now there would be no sleep at all for him.

  As if he could have anyway, after the sight of her in those pajamas that weren’t in the least sexy.

  Not in the least.

  Chapter 14

  Ashley stared down at the first inside page of the book, at the name written there in a bold yet childlike hand. The combination didn’t surprise her in the least. Fighting the image of the man this child had become standing there in the sudden flare of light, the T-shirt with that silly bird caricature on it tight across his chest and short enough to give her a peek at an impressive set of abs, she tried to keep her voice even.

  “How old were you when this came out?” she asked, still not looking at him.

  “Exactly eleven,” he answered.

  She smiled, the same age as the intrepid hero. She turned to the title page just as he turned to walk away, and instinctively she looked up. Immediately her gaze fastened on the back pockets of his jeans. She didn’t think she’d ever seen a pair of jeans filled out better, front and back.

  Heat shot through her, and her eyes widened as she forced her gaze back to the title page. What was wrong with her? She did not—ever—react to a man like this, especially a man she’d just met less than twelve hours ago. She didn’t understand, and so instead of reading as she’d planned, her sometimes-riotous brain tackled the question.

  It wasn’t just that he was good-looking in a very masculine way, but he was bigger, more confident, to the edge of swagger. She supposed it took a very confident man to do the kind of work he did, but it was more than just that.

  She heard him moving around in the kitchen and wondered what he was doing. Surely not coffee this late? He didn’t seem the sort who would go for decaf. Then again, if he planned on staying awake all night, on guard, maybe caffeine was the method. But he had to sleep sometime, didn’t he? Had she awakened him, or had he been still awake when she’d come downstairs?

  Maybe the key was that he was so different from the men she was used to. He dared to order her around—which was, she had to admit, his job just now—when most men who knew who she was tended to defer to her, sometimes to the point of obsequiousness. Ty Colton did not. Nor could she imagine him acting in any sort of sycophantic way. She would be willing to bet he would stand up to her father in a way no one, even Simon—or maybe especially Simon—ever had.

  No, Simon Karlan had turned into that sycophant, kowtowing to her father in a way that had made Andrew Hart’s lip curl and her own stomach churn. In fact, if anything, it had been that memory that had been the main factor when she’d decided she was much better off without him when he left for Europe.

  No, she couldn’t see this man fawning over her father or anyone else. Not even the former president he was distantly related to.

  She heard footsteps coming back and hastily turned a page so that at least she was looking at text and not the title page she’d never gotten past. He stopped in front of her, and she tried to mentally brace herself to look up, chanting the order not to end up gaping at that flat, toned stomach of his, or the breadth of his chest and shoulders.

  When she did look up, her gaze snagged instead on what he was holding out to her. A steaming mug. Her brow furrowed. Why would you offer coffee to someone already having trouble sleeping?

  “Hot chocolate,” he said.

  She stared at the mug for a moment, then at the strong, steady hand that held it. Managed not to let her gaze slide from there up that powerfully muscled arm. She gave herself a mental shake.

  “Just how long did you and my mother talk?” she asked.

  “Actually, it was your father who suggested we ha
ve this on hand in case you couldn’t sleep.”

  She took the mug, for some reason feeling off balance by this. “I suppose you think that’s silly, that my father would know that.”

  “Silly? Hardly. Enviable, maybe.”

  She took a sip and found the brew rich and sweet and soothing. And familiar. They hadn’t just gotten hot chocolate—they’d gotten her favorite. He’d also made it with milk, not water, just as she liked it.

  She studied him for a moment as he stood there, towering over her as she sat with her legs curled up under her. “I gather your father wouldn’t be able to match that feat?”

  He let out the barest breath of a chuckle. “I doubt my father could tell you what color my eyes are.”

  “That’s hard to believe. They’re rather striking.”

  He drew back slightly, as if she’d surprised him. She gave an exaggerated roll of her own eyes. “Oh, please. I’m sure you’ve had woman admire your eyes—” among other things “—before.”

  He seemed to recover quickly, and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Last client who did was old enough to be my grandmother.”

  She arched a brow at him. “Ageist, are you?”

  “No. I don’t hold yours against you.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Was that what all the ordering around was? He thought her a child? He couldn’t possibly be that much older than she was. If her phone were working, she could find out in a moment. But it wasn’t, so she had to guess, and put him at thirty to thirty-five until she could confirm. If I ever see civilization again.

  “How gracious of you,” she said, rather sourly.

  “She, on the other hand, was vetting me like a stud horse, for her granddaughter.”

  She blinked. She felt the corners of her own mouth twitching. And then she couldn’t stop it. She let out a laugh. “Well, at least she has good taste.” He blinked in turn. Went very still. She felt the pressure to say something else, to make what she’d said less of a blatant compliment. Perversely, the words that came out only made it worse. “Assuming she was going for good looks and a striking eye color.”

  His expression didn’t change. He didn’t move. He stood there, towering. And finally he said, his voice oddly quiet, “What makes you think it wasn’t brainpower she was after?”

  She felt herself flush. But she held her head up as she answered, purposefully making it not a question, “Then she would have hit the jackpot on all counts, wouldn’t she.”

  For a moment, he didn’t react. But then a slow smile curved his mouth—that mouth—and she saw a gleam come into his eyes that made her oddly twitchy. “Your professor,” he said with slow emphasis, “was a fool.”

  She should have been stunned that he knew about Simon at all.

  Instead, she was sitting here with alternating chills and heat rippling through her as she watched him walk away.

  * * *

  This was crazy. It was crazy and it had to stop. Right now. The loaded conversations, the utterly unveiled compliments, the whole back-and-forth thing had to stop.

  Ty drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter as he waited for the coffee machine to kick out enough to even half fill his mug. He’d tasted the hot chocolate and immediately rejected it. The soporific effect would likely do what he’d hoped it would for her, put him to sleep. But for now, if she was awake, he was awake.

  But when they were both awake, it seemed they couldn’t stop veering into those byways he didn’t want—couldn’t want—to go down.

  Even waiting for the coffee was too much. He walked out of the kitchen and over to the coat rack by the door and grabbed his heavier jacket and his keys. “Going out for a quick recon,” he said when he saw her look at him, even as he wondered why he felt compelled to explain when he was simply doing his job. As she no doubt knew, having grown up with security around her.

  He didn’t wait for her to respond but pulled the door open. Caught the sturdy stock of the Mossberg shotgun she’d handled with familiarity out of the corner of his eye. She was a bundle of contradictions, was Ashley Hart.

  He stepped outside before he could change his mind. The cold air would do him good, chase the tiredness. Because he was tired, much more tired than he should have been.

  Keeping up with her wearing you down, Colton?

  He nearly laughed at his own thoughts. He took in a deep breath, watched his breath form a cloud in the light through the window from inside. If it wasn’t freezing tonight, it was close.

  He didn’t really need to do this. All the alarms and cameras were functioning fine and would warn him if anything outside the house turned up. Outside the immediate perimeter, he’d check with the drone tomorrow. What he needed was to be a little farther from her, for a few minutes at least, and this was the only way he could do it and not slack on his job.

  Then she would have hit the jackpot on all counts...

  He felt an odd thump in his chest he would have called his heart skipping a beat if it weren’t so ridiculous. He had to get his mind off this path before it became a rut he had to fight his way out of.

  So put it to work on the two dead bodies from the warehouse.

  The mystery of who they were had been solved fairly quickly, thanks to his brother Brooks. Sadly, the female had been identified as Olivia Harrison, the mother of Brooks’s now-fiancée, Gwen, and the male Fenton Crane, a PI her grandmother had hired to try to find Gwen’s mother who had vanished years ago. But who the killer was, or even if it was the same person—although the methodology certainly suggested it was—remained a mystery.

  He’d been hoping to dig into the case, to get to the bottom of what was turning into a scandal for Colton Construction, but instead here he was, making freaking hot chocolate for a spoiled rich kid.

  Even as he thought it, his sense of fairness kicked in. She was rich, all right, beyond most people’s wildest imaginings. But to his own surprise, she wasn’t spoiled.

  And she’s not a kid.

  Oh, yeah, don’t forget that one. She was not a kid, no matter that it would be easier for him if he could think of her that way. But no, Ashley Hart was all woman. Slender curves, luscious mouth, glossy dark hair, bottomless brown eyes—yes, every inch female.

  And a few male inches of his liked every bit of her. Too much.

  It took two rounds of the house before the chill of the air was able to take the edge off the heat from being in the same room with her. When he finally went back, he eased the door open as quietly as he could and locked it before he even turned around.

  Apparently, the combination of chocolate and book had worked. She was still on the couch but half lying down now, her head on the cushioned arm, clearly asleep. The book, while still in her hands, had fallen shut.

  He stood there for a moment, simply looking at her while silently delivering a barn burner of a lecture to himself. To stop noticing how lovely she was, to stop enjoying their bantering conversations so much, to stop wondering what it would be like to stop one of those conversations with a kiss. The Colton family might be a big deal in Braxville, in Kansas, in mid-America for that matter, but they were nowhere near the thin-air territory of the Harts of Westport. She wasn’t just out of his league; she was another game altogether.

  Not to mention forbidden.

  She stirred slightly, stretching out more comfortably but not waking. Ty sucked in a deep breath, then walked over to his mother’s favorite chair, where there was a thick knitted throw over the back. He brought it and gently spread it over Ashley. And when she smiled slightly in her sleep, released the book and snuggled into the soft wool, he took a hasty step back as an unfamiliar sensation of longing rocketed through him.

  He stared a moment longer, then reached down and took the book before it fell to the floor and woke her. He turned out the light above her and walked back to his mother’s chair, where there was a small lamp
she could angle onto a book or the frequent needlework projects she took on. Like the throw he’d just tucked around Ashley.

  He sat down, took a last look at the woman across the room, then turned on the reading light and opened the book himself. He wouldn’t look at her that way again, he vowed. This woman was his to protect, but nothing more.

  Chapter 15

  Ashley opened her eyes slowly, vaguely aware she was not in a bed. With her travels, she was used to not waking up in her own bed—sometimes she hardly remembered which place she technically called home—but she did usually make it to a bed. She blinked blurry eyes, feeling as if she’d slept more soundly than she had in weeks. Which seemed strange, since she remembered pacing the floor into the wee hours.

  And then her gaze focused on the reason for her restlessness last night. The man who had plunged her into a situation she’d never found herself in before. Not being under threat. That happened occasionally. But she’d never found herself walking the floor, unable to sleep because she couldn’t get a man out of her mind. Worse, a man she’d just met.

  He sat in the big chair across the room, a reading lamp aimed at the book on his lap, the only light in the room. The book she’d been reading last night, the loved but familiar story just enough to distract her whirling mind and allow her to sleep. Why he had it now, she had no idea. Perhaps he’d meant to stay awake reading. If so, it hadn’t worked, because his eyes were closed and his head lolled back against the chair.

  Which gave her far too much of a chance to study the strong, corded muscles of his neck and the long, powerful length of his legs, stretched out and crossed at the ankles some distance from the chair itself.

  It was a very pleasant sight. And she was glad he’d at least gotten some sleep.

  Don’t want your bodyguard too tired to function.

  That strange jolt of heat shot through her again as she realized other ways those words could be interpreted. Thank goodness she’d only thought them, not spoken them.