Page 17 of Colton’s Mate

Kitty. Maybe Kitty would help her. She’d worked for Bearcat Construction for a while.

Or just call Colt, a little voice inside her said.

That would probably be the smart thing to do. But he was just so…

Everything. Sexy and loyal and brave and funny—and now she had to add ‘smart’ on top of that. And ‘accomplished’. Because—engineer, for fuck’s sake. And licensed contractor.

She plucked the card he’d given her from in between the contractor bids. She’d checked out Bearcat Construction online. It was the construction company his home crew owned, and it was apparently very well regarded in the industry. Colt was listed on their website as a consultant and project manager, with a drop-dead gorgeous profile picture.

Who would have guessed?

She really had thought he was an immature goof-off who worked odd jobs and was only interested in how much partying he could squeeze into a week, and how many times he could get laid.

Although that was probably a lot, because she practically had to start fanning herself like a Victorian romance heroine every time he got within three feet of her. And he had this thing about him that woke Bad Callie up and made her want to do crazy stuff. Like making out with him for a selfie. Talking dirty with him.

Next she’d be running her hands up and down those washboard abs, or actually finding some 70s ‘fuck me’ music on Spotify and seducing him with a sexy dance in her thong. Which she had no plans to do, even though it turned out there was one lone thong in the bottom of her underwear drawer, which she never wore. Those things were like wearing dental floss in your butt crack.

And also, she had no clue how to seduce a man. Witness how Caleb had gotten bored with her after only three times. Of course, she hadn’t wanted to seduce him so she hadn’t tried, either. Just gritted her teeth and gone through with it so he wouldn’t beat her up.

Anyway, she was not seducing Colt McCall, because he was too sexy for her own good. She’d get all addicted to him and then she’d be back where she started.

With a man running her life, and her scurrying to make sure she was pleasing him in every way so he’d keep approving of her.

Cue the game-show buzzer sound. Wrong answer. Thank you for playing.

She heard a car pull into her driveway and froze. It was after midnight—who the hell would be coming over now? Without calling?

She raised herself up so she could look out the window.

Sitting in her driveway was a freakin’ black limo about ninety-three feet long, with tinted windows.

Holy shit. It was either the president or the Mafia.

A man in a suit got out of the limo and walked around to open one of the back passenger doors. A tall, elegant woman swung her legs out of the car and accepted the man’s hand to help her out of the car—not like she needed it. She looked about thirty, slim and athletic, with long, straight black hair that fell like a waterfall almost to her hips. She wore a slim black skirt and a red tunic top that shimmered like silk. Her lips were bright red, and her eyes were heavily made up with eyeliner.

Two more suit-clad minions followed her out of the limo and stationed themselves next to it, looking like Secret Service agents guarding the fucking president. The first one accompanied the woman up the uneven flagstone path towards the porch.

Halfway there they stopped, next to the biker scarecrow. She ran her fingers over the edge of Caleb’s jacket.

Callie got off the couch and went to the door. She slid her Beretta out of the sideboard drawer and stuck it in the back of her jeans, dropping the hem of her sweatshirt over it.

No silk tunics for her.

She quickly pocketed her keys and picked up the shotgun she kept by the door, before stepping outside and pulling the locked door shut behind her.

These people gave her the creeps, and they were not coming inside.

The minions came alert the second she stepped outside, pulling their guns from their shoulder holsters. The woman ignored her, because she was busy dipping her fingers into the pockets of Caleb’s jacket.

What the actual fuck?

“Looking for loose change?” Callie called, trying to look unconcerned about the guns. “Because I may have some I can spare.”

The woman calmly finished her search of scarecrow Caleb’s pockets. Then she turned her head and fixed her eyes on Callie.

Whoa.

Her eyes were deep black and huge, and they didn’t seem to have any whites to them. As she turned her head her hair caught the porch light, and it shimmered with faint blue and green iridescence.