Page 69 of Colton's Last Resort

He opened his eyes, saw the afterglow shining off her so brightly it made his eyes water.

She was so beautiful it made his eyes hurt.

He swallowed, still unable to catch his breath. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re shaking a little.”

He took stock and felt the fine tremors in his joints. “I’ll be all right. Just give me...”

He trailed off because she was caressing his face in soft, loving strokes that made him still.

Her eyes were all too blue in the dark.

His heart stuttered, banged, fired and drummed. And it hit him.

He’d never loved a woman. Naturally, it took him a minute.

It hit him like a Sherman tank going max speed, artillery firing.

He released her hands, sliding his away. Careful not to hurt her, he pulled out of the nest of her thighs before rolling to his back beside her.

She turned onto her side, skimming a kiss across the ridge of his shoulder. Laying her hand on his chest, she placed her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. “Stay.”

It wasn’t a question. Still, the answer was there before he could make himself think. “Yeah,” he said.

“Your heart’s still racing. Are you sure you’re all right?”

He gathered her hand from its warm spot on his chest and pulled it away, up to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles to distract the both of them from what was happening inside him. “Pearl?”

“Yes?”

“Go to sleep.”

She gave a little sigh. Her fingers played lightly through his beard until she dozed off and he lay awake—wide the hell awake—trying to fathom how far and fast he’d fallen.

Laura bolted upright in bed, alarmed at the sight of sunlight peeping at her from between the curtains and the sound of knocking from far away. “Oh, no,” she said to Sebastian, who peered sleepily at her over his mustache of orange fur.

She slid out of bed, groping for the robe over the back of the purple wingback chair in the corner. She fumbled it on, tied the belt, then combed her fingers through her hair.

Scenting coffee like a bloodhound, she spotted the mug, still steaming, on the nightstand next to the framed portrait of her mother. There was a small scrap of paper next to it with Noah’s handwriting.

L.,

Fulton called. I have to run. We’ll talk later.

Made you something. It’s in the oven.

N.

The knock clattered again, louder this time, followed by Joshua’s voice. Laura stuffed her feet into her slippers and padded quickly from the bedroom to the entry corridor.

When she snatched open the door, Joshua looked immensely relieved. “Ah, jeez, Laura. You had me worried.”

“I’m fine,” she blurted. “Sorry. I slept through my alarm.”

Joshua gave her a puzzled once-over. “You never sleep in.”

“I know,” she said, frazzled. “I was up late and must have crashed hard.”

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