By the time my parents get home from work, Colt is gone. I had already planned to hole up in the University of Portland library to meet with a study group for my class. But that’s not where I’m headed and—God help me—I fib to Mom and Dad about it, just so they can take care of Sebastian tonight while I’m with Colt.

I really do need to work things out with him, but my parents don’t need to know that right now. It’s all I can do to take matters one step at a time.

I put on a flowery sundress with a light sweater and sandals, kiss everyone goodbye, then drive to the luxurious Royal Pointe Hotel in downtown Portland where Colt told me to meet him. After I leave my embarrassingly modest compact car with the valet, I look at the text Colt sent me.

Check with the concierge and ask for my assumed name, “Darrin Hayward.” You’ll get a key for the penthouse suite.

Reality hits me: Colt Brooks is waiting for me incognito in a movie-star, rock-and-roll hotel room, and I gird myself for the talk we’re sure to have there. I don’t belong in a place like this. And I sure as hell don’t belong in his room.

But I’m drawn there anyway, and I consult the concierge, take the private, mirrored elevator, then arrive at Colt’s door. I swipe the key, my pulse floundering as I walk inside. “Colt?”

No answer, but I’m a little busy being struck dumb by my surroundings. After the gilded foyer ends, there’s a floor-to-ceiling window with a grand view of the Willamette River, and everything around me is decorated in plum, gold, and black with velvet upholstery covering the opulent furniture. Dark marble floors gleam, and the ceilings are high with fancy crown molding. Everything smells like expensive lemon polish, and I can tell there are several rooms that branch off from here.

I wander in farther until I get to the main room. “Colt?”

I feel him before I see him: my skin prickles with heat, and my tummy flips as I turn toward my left, where he walks out of a bedroom with a massive, pillowy bed in the background. A glass of red wine is dangling from his fingers, and he’s wearing jeans with a white button down shirt that’s open, revealing his broad, tanned, ripped chest. His hair is loose, and he’s barefoot and incredibly hot, just like the grifter he played in his first movie. But he’s still my Colt—or at least he was once upon a time—and the sight of him is almost pornographic to my starved body.

I glance away, already creaming. My breasts are aching as I imagine his fingers and mouth on them, just like the other night. My gaze lands on a bottle on the dining room table, along with another filled glass of wine.

“It’s an Oregon pinot,” he murmurs as if he’s continuing a nonchalant conversation we were just in the middle of. “I poured some for you.”

Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking anything around Colt. Then again, maybe I should do this one small thing to please him since I’ve already done so much to displease.

“I like pinots.” I wander to the glass table and pick up the wine, swirling it around.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Colt sit on a tufted chair, then he leans forward on it, resting his arms on his thighs. He seems too in control of everything around him to be drunk. Actually, it’s the opposite—I’ve rarely seen him more sober.

“I thought we’d get room service later,” he says. “For privacy. I’m not in the mood to be caught on camera again. The other night at the bar was bad enough with all those flashes going off around us. My PR reps even had to concoct a story for the press that I left Portland the other night so I wouldn’t be hunted down by paparazzi in town.”

Okay. So room service means we’re meeting in secret again, just like we used to. The thought gives me a brutal, naughty rush that ignites a flame in my belly. “I’m glad you stayed around so we can talk about my side of the story.”

“I think I told you that I’m not ready to hear it yet.”

I glance at him, and his gaze is devouring me. I stifle a gasp and fidget with my dress. But it’s like Colt’s gaze is stripping every shred of material off me, telling me that he remembers the other night in every detail. I start to go weak.

This isn’t the Colt who met our son today—the gentle, loving man who accepted Sebastian without hesitation, the one who was with me two summers ago. This is the Colt who used to go out on the town every weekend and get in fights, drink, and sometimes even get arrested and spend a night or two in jail. The cops liked and hated that Colt—hated him because he was edgy and mean when he was in a mood. But, at the same time, he’d give anyone the shirt off his back, so that’s where the like came in.

I quiver when I realize that this is also the Colt who talked dirty to me the other night, finger fucked me, and made me climax again and again.

My clit pounds with anticipation, and maybe even with fear of what’s in his intense gaze.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Drink some of that wine.”

I drink, and the wine is smooth and fruity. It sends a stream of warmth through me, and I put it down on the table before I imbibe too much. “So why did you ask me to come here if you didn’t want to talk?”

The fire in his gaze tells me everything. He wanted to see me alone.

As a sensual chill rolls over my skin, I fidget some more. “Colt…”

“Did you like what happened the other night at the lake?” he asks.

“I think you know I did.”

He smiles ruthlessly. “That’s what I thought. Although how could I possibly think otherwise when you were coming for me so hard? I think you missed me a little, Cookie.”

Yes, I missed his body, but now I miss the sweetness he used to save just for me. Then again, I betrayed him in every way I could, so I shouldn’t expect kindness. Even so, his closed-off demeanor and obvious disappointment in me is rubbing me the wrong way right now.

“All right, Colt. You got me over here to your hotel room. So what comes next?”

He smiles a dirty, sexy smile.

My adrenaline is yelling at me to get out before I do something really stupid with him like I did the other night on the hood of his car.

“Serena,” he says, capturing my attention again with his low, sexy voice. “I’d say you’re pretty good at guessing what comes next—what always comes next with us.”

I melt, knowing I’m not going anywhere. Why fool myself anymore? Maybe he has one of those open relationships with J.Page and this is how they do it in La-La Land. Maybe I suck so much that it doesn’t matter if he has a girlfriend or if he’s angrier than hell at me, because all I want is him, and every wrong is right when I’m around freakin’ Colt Brooks.

He clearly sees me fold, because he gets that ravenous look on his face again.

“I can’t get you out of my head,” he says. “Damn you for that.”

A flush roars through me at the jagged need in his voice.

He goes on. “Admit it—when you came here this evening, you knew we weren’t even close to finishing what we started at the lake.”

He’s testing me, probably seeing if I have it in me to lie to him again.

So I nod, refusing to tell Colt anything but the truth from now on, no matter what kind of trouble it gets me into. I’ve got to be an idiot, but it’s getting easier and easier to be that way with the blood pounding in my head, obliterating all rational thought. The thudding, crashing sensation is echoing everywhere in my body—my chest, my belly, my clit.

Colt leans back in the chair. “You came here because you couldn’t stay away. Admit that too.”

“Yes.”

His gaze only gets hungrier.

“Jesus,” he says with a catch in his low voice. His gaze hardens again. “Maybe instead of standing on the other side of the room, you should show me how much you want to be here.”

I see a flicker in his eyes, a glimpse into the Colt who still wants me more than life itself, and that does it for me. I succumb to the moment, to him, knowing I could never do anything but give in.

I reach up to slide off my sweater.

A fierce longing flares in his gaze as he lays his head back against the chair, watching every move I make. Bolstered by how much he wants this, I let my sweater drop to the floor. The only sound in the room seems to be my ragged breathing.

“Goddammit, Serena,” he says with an edge.

It’s my name that does it this time, because he says it with such torn desire that I could never possibly refuse him, so I unbutton the front of my sundress, letting it part to show how my breasts bulge out of my simple white bra with a pink ribbon in the center. As Colt clenches his jaw, I undo the clasp in front, then hesitate, feeling something dark and insatiable growing inside of me. Cream is coating my pussy, making me slick, urging me onward.

I open my bra and expose my aching, swollen tits, wallowing in how much he craves me.

“Now touch yourself,” he quietly commands.

He’s never gotten this naughty with me, but…I like it. And I instinctively obey him, slipping my hands under my breasts, slowly kneading and fondling them. Colt leans forward again, watching raptly, seemingly moments away from bolting out of the chair, closing the space between us, and pulling me to him in a crushing kiss.

At the thought, lust spikes me, and I slide my hands up my breasts to stroke my fingers over my nipples, arousing them. Then I drag my palms down to my stomach, then to my belly, which isn’t as flat as it used to be before I had a child. Colt doesn’t seem to mind, because his gaze has gone completely hazy.

“Is this why you wanted me to come here?” I ask. “To watch?”

He closes his eyes, then opens them, almost as if he’s trying to regain control. Then it’s as if he remembers what I did to him with our baby, and he clenches his jaw, something like fury taking the place of everything else.

The temperature in the room seems to drop to freezing.

He stands from his chair, his obvious, building anger making him cool and detached. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, only lifts his glass of wine and takes a long drink. Then he starts walking toward me, taking his time. His bared abs flex with every step, the veins in his neck are standing out, the muscle in his cheek ticking. I’m palpitating all over as he gets close enough for me to smell the clean scent on his skin.

He begins to circle me.

My skin is blazing, steam seething through me, making me moist all over, but I don’t cover myself. I want him to see me, to clamor for me with every harsh breath he takes.

He stops in back of me, and I can hear him struggling to breathe as I tremble. I’m swollen and pumped, and I wonder if he can tell how turned on I am.

Then I feel my hair move, skimming my upper back as if he’s brushed his fingers over it in a tender moment, and my heart revolves so quickly in my chest that it feels as if it’s going to drop to my belly.

The seconds pile up one after another until it feels like they’re about to tumble over, and just when I’m pretty sure I’m about to scream out of anticipation and frustration, Colt walks away, leaving me as suddenly as I once left him.

This time, anger consumes me, and I shout after him.

“Don’t play these asinine games!”

He comes to a full stop, then slowly turns around.

“Games.” His injured gaze lasers into mine. “You’d be the one to talk about games, Serena.”

Then he turns and walks into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.