I’m lost in Colt’s kiss. It’s as though we’ve picked up where we left off almost a decade ago. My body hums erotic vibrations. Electric currents pulse through me and settle between my thighs. A creamy wetness seeps into my panties. Colt still has the power to turn me to mush.

I clutch the back of his shirt as he nibbles my lips, my earlobes, and then the sensitive slope of my neck. When his tongue slides inside my ear, my knees threaten to buckle faster than a lawn chair on a windy day. He pins me against the elevator’s white marble wall, grinding his pelvis against mine.

I moan. “Oh, God.”

I’ve missed his touch. I want to feel desired again, have him dissolve the block of ice I’ve built around my heart.

The melodic ding of the elevator reaching the Penthouse level yanks me to my senses. Breathless, I pull away. I can’t believe I’ve succumbed so easily. I’m in more danger than I thought.

Why am I so weak around him?

My voice comes out cold and chastising. “I thought I said no touching.”

He nods. “You said it. I just didn’t listen.” As the doors slide open, he sweeps me into his arms and carries me out of the elevator cab.

“What are you doing?”

“Carrying you over the threshold. Welcome home, Mrs. Emerson.”

As his long, firm fingers cradle my bottom, I shift awkwardly, struggling to keep from laying my head on his shoulder. Been there. Done that. Had the annulment papers and the splintered heart to prove it. Thankfully, one of his hands fumbles in his pocket for something. I force my racing pulse to slow down as he withdraws a passkey and inserts it into a thin slot near the door handle.

A green flashing light follows a soft click. Colt opens the ornate, black door, and I breathe in a pleasant citrus scent when he deposits me inside.

“Mi casa, su casa,” he says.

“Temporarily.”

His good-natured smile falters. “Of course.”

I follow him in trying not to look at the firm lines of his ass encased in jeans that fit him like a glove. Mercy!

“Cee! Where are you?” he calls, his booming voice bouncing off the exposed-brick walls.

As Colt wanders from room to room, I look around his spacious apartment. My mouth drops at the stylish décor. Chrome and black leather furnishings dominate the room. Oversized windows stretch from the floor to the ceiling. Polished marble floors look like black ice beneath my feet. A glass staircase floats in one corner of the massive living area. Black and white photography lines the walls. My gaze finally rests on a massive saltwater tank teeming with colorful fish and vibrant coral.

Remnants of bitterness loiter the dark recesses of my mind. Though I’m proud of Colt and the success he’s achieved, I can’t help but think this could have been my world. While I’ve scratched out a living, he’s obviously wanted for nothing. Yet, he needs me now. Ironic.

“Cee? Kiddo, I’m back!”

This place is big, but not big enough for a teenager to get lost in. When he comes back to the living room alone, I purse my lips. “Let me guess. There is no kid.”

“I assure you, there is a kid.”

“Maybe she has an amazing superpower you aren’t aware of. She can make herself invisible. Or maybe she’s your make-believe friend.” I’m being sarcastic, but it suddenly occurs to me that Colt might have brought me here for some other reason. I cock my head to the side and thrust my hands on my hips. “Wait a minute! Was this all some elaborate ruse to get me back in your life?”

Within seconds, his long strides eat up the floor as he reaches me. He tips my chin upward, forcing me to look into his hazel eyes. I’m momentarily mesmerized by green and gold flecks framed by dark lashes. “I would never lie to you, Shayla. No matter what. I’ve never done that. I can’t believe you think so low of me.” Fear and vulnerability lace his words.

My breath catches as I battle feelings of guilt. How does he always manage to make me second-guess myself? He hadn’t outright lied to me years ago, but he hadn’t exactly been honest either. “Look, I…”

A knock at his front door interrupts my apology. Relief floods his features. “That’s probably Cee.”

When he opens the door, a well-groomed, older man in a black suit is standing on the other side. A pink carnation peeks from a pocket in his lapel. I zero in on his Clark Gable mustache. The only things missing are a top hat and cane.

“Nigel.” Disappointment laces Colt’s voice.

“Sir, the young lady who was staying with you, Cee, left a few hours ago.”

“Where’d she go?”

“I’m not certain. She only said she was going to ‘get what was hers.’”

“Damn! I told her to stay put.”

I turn to Colt. “What does that mean? Get what’s hers?”

“Knowing Cee, she’s got an old score to settle.”

Nigel’s thin lips stretch into a frown. “Shall I contact the police?”

“No!” Colt practically barks.

The way Nigel’s manscaped eyebrows shoot up would be comical if the situation weren’t so serious. “Sir, dare I ask what’s going on?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Colt warns.

Nigel’s curious gaze lands on me. His mustache twitches. His mouth probably knows better than to ask any more questions, but he does it anyway. “Is this another one of your friends?”

Colt wraps a brawny arm around my shoulder. “This is my wife, Shayla. She’ll be staying here.”

“Temporarily,” I add.

If Nigel notices the tension, he doesn’t let on. Both his face and stiff demeanor remain Botox Bland. “Congratulations. If there’s anything I can do for you, Mrs. Emerson, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m the head concierge here.”

“For one thing, you can stop calling me Mrs. Emerson. My last name is Carter, and I’m not changing it.”

He politely nods. “Well, this week has certainly brought more than its fair share of surprises.” He glances at Colt. “Do you require anything else, Mr. Emerson?”

Colt shakes his head. “No thanks, Nigel.”

Once the door shuts behind the stuffy concierge, Colt turns to me. “You may as well have told him we’re sleeping in separate beds. That was so embarrassing.”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but now that you mention it…”

“You don’t have to take my last name, but stop telling everyone that this arrangement is only temporary.”

“You have a problem with brutal honesty?”

“Listen, Shayla. I’ve been more than—”

I hold up my hand like a stop sign. “You don’t have time to stand here and argue with me. You’ve got bigger issues than a wife who won’t share your last name. What are you going to do about this missing child?”