Page 6 of Claim Me, Colt

"I'm twenty-eight years old, and I've never made a single decision for myself. Never chosen my own clothes or friends or career. Never dated anyone who wasn't pre-screened by my father’s campaign manager."

The pain in her voice does something to me I haven't felt since Afghanistan—that protective instinct that used to get me in trouble for taking risks to keep my unit safe.

I cross the room in three steps, stopping just behind her.

"You can figure out what you like now," I say quietly.

She turns, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I can?"

"Of course.” I brush a strand of hair from her face, and she leans into the touch.

"I like you," she whispers.

The words hit me like a punch to the solar plexus.

I should step back. Should be the responsible adult who drives her back to town and helps her figure out her next move.

Instead, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her.

She melts into me immediately, all soft warmth and desperate need. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer as she kisses me back with a hunger that tells me she's been starving for affection longer than she probably even realizes.

I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the couch. She breaks the kiss to pull my henley over my head, her eyes going wide as she takes in the scars that map my chest and shoulders.

"Military?" she asks, fingers tracing a particularly ugly one near my collarbone.

"Army Rangers. Three deployments."

She nods, no pity in her expression. Just understanding.

"Is that why you live up here alone?"

"Partly.” I sit down on the couch with her straddling my lap. “I came back from my last tour and everything felt... loud. Just… toomuch.I couldn't handle cities or crowds or people who complained about shit that didn't matter."

Her hands are gentle on my shoulders as she gazes into my face. "So you built your own world."

"Built a world where I could control the variables," I correct. "Where the only person who could screw things up was me."

"And now?"

I look at her—hair mussed from my fingers, lips swollen from my kisses, wearing my shirt like it belongs on her.

"Now I'm thinking maybe some variables are worth the risk."

She smiles then, the first real smile I've seen from her, and it transforms her entire face.

"I've never been anyone's worthwhile risk before," she says.

"Then they were all idiots."

I kiss her again, deeper this time, pouring five years of loneliness and want into the connection between us. She responds with equal fervor, her body arching against mine as my hands explore the soft skin beneath my borrowed shirt.

I gently pinch her nipples, and she gasps. I take the opportunity to explore her mouth with my tongue, kissing her until we’re both desperate for air. When I finally break away, we're both breathing hard.

"I don't want to be a rebound," I tell her honestly. "Or a rebellion against your parents."

She studies my face with those intelligent green eyes.

"You're not," she says firmly. "You're the first choice I've made entirely for myself."

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