Page 5 of Claim Me, Colt

"I don't think I've been real in a very long time," I admit.

He nods like he understands exactly what I mean.

And sitting in his simple kitchen, wearing his clothes, drinking his coffee while a storm builds outside—I realize I don't want to go back to being the other version of myself.

I want to stay just like this.

Chapter 3

Colt

She'ssittingatmykitchen table in my shirt, and I'm losing my damn mind.

The flannel swallows her whole, hangs off one shoulder to reveal the elegant line of her collarbone. Her legs are bare beneath it, skin still flushed from the hot shower, and every time she shifts in the chair, I catch a glimpse of smooth thigh that makes my jaw clench.

I’ve been here five years, and in that time, there’s never been a woman in my cabin.

After my last deployment—after watching my entire unit get torn apart by an IED outside Kandahar—I came home to nothing. No family left, no girl waiting, no idea what to do withthe rage and grief that followed me back from the desert like loyal dogs.

So, I built this place. Taught myself carpentry and plumbing and electrical work. Learned to hunt and fish and grow enough food to survive without depending on anyone. Created a life where the only person who could let me down was myself.

For five years, it worked.

Then she walked out of the woods looking like a fallen angel, and every wall I built started cracking.

"Tell me about your fiancé," I hear myself say.

She looks up from her coffee, eyes widening slightly. "You want to know about Jonathan?"

"I want to know what kind of fool pushes a woman like you away."

She's quiet for a long moment, fingers tracing the rim of her mug.

"Jonathan Blackwood," she says finally. "Junior Senator from Virginia. Harvard Law, old family money, perfect political pedigree." Her voice takes on a practiced cadence, like she's recited this biography a thousand times. "Handsome, charming, ambitious. Everything a senator's daughter should want."

A senator’s daughter. That explains the car."But?"

"But he's also a narcissistic sociopath who thinks women exist to make him look good." The practiced tone drops, replaced by something sharp and bitter. "And when I caught him kissing another woman at our engagement party, he acted like it wasn’t a big deal.”

My hands curl into fists. I want to knock the bastard’s teeth out.

"Said it didn't matter because our marriage wasn't about love anyway," she continues. "It was about combining political dynasties. Creating the perfect power couple for his presidential run in twelve years."

"And your father knew this?"

She nods, not meeting my eyes. "Dad orchestrated the whole thing. Jonathan brings youth and charisma; I bring the Morrison legacy and the women's vote. A match made in political heaven."

Senator Morrisson.I met him once, after I was awarded the Bronze Star. I didn’t care for him. He was smug and condescending as he shook my hand and thanked me for my service. But now that I know he’s treated Simone like a political pawn, Iloathehim.

"That's why you ran.”

"That's why I ran." She looks up at me then, green eyes blazing. "Because I realized I was about to spend the rest of my life as a prop in someone else's story. Smiling for cameras and giving speeches written by committee and pretending to love a man who only sees me as a stepping stone."

She stands abruptly, pacing to the window to stare out at the storm.

"You know what the worst part is? I almost went through with it. Almost walked down that aisle and said sacred vows to an unworthy man, just because it was expected."

Lightning illuminates her profile, and I see the moment her composure finally cracks.

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