Dreaming in Color by Cameron Dane (autobiographies to read .TXT) 📕

Colin glanced down at Marek's hold on him and swallowed. “Yeah, I do,” he said, his voice hitching just a bit. “But I'm trying like hell not to let it hurt.” He didn't turn away from the eye contact, which made Marek feel even more like a cowardly bastard.

His chest lifted and fell in choppy swells under Marek's hand, but Colin pressed on. “I don't like picturing myself as a yippy little dog biting at your ankles, trying to get your attention, but I've also never had such a powerful need for answers. I know you say you haven't experienced these dreams, so you can't understand, but there's something pressing on me that is forcing me to this house and to you.” Colin lifted his hands and smoothed his shirt. Their fingers brushed against one another, and the small contact jolted right through Marek, weakening his knees. “I sometimes lay in the dark thinking if I don't figure out the answers, if I can't uncover why I started having these dreams and why I suggested my best friend get married in Fiji—the place where the house and man in my head ends up being—that I truly will go insane.”

Marek ripped his hand off Colin and backed away, jamming his tailbone into the kitchen island. “I can't help you. I'm sorry, but I can't.”

Obvious frustration filled Colin, but he held his ground, still too close, even with five feet now separating them. “Give me one day, Marek.”

“Why?” Marek made the word sound like a curse.

Colin moved in again, eliminating more than half the space between them. He stood up straight and looked Marek in the eyes; renewed confidence made the green shine bright. “I dare you to give me a chance to prove myself. Spend the day with me. Just you and me, here on this island. Talking and hanging. Simple as that. If at the end of the day, you still don't want to see my face or hear my voice again… Well, I'll be honest and admit I can't say I'll disappear forever, but I'll find a way to get my answers with minimal interaction with you.” Colin closed the rest of the distance between them, mere inches away from riding his body right up against Marek's. Leaning in, he planted his hands on the counter on either side of Marek's waist. “Do you have the balls to take up my challenge?”

Marek snorted, but his arms shook with restraint. Damn it. He was two breaths away from being hard enough to fuck Colin right here on his kitchen floor. “Are you calling me out as a pussy if I say no?”

“Just wondering exactly what you have under those khakis of yours, Donovan.” Colin pushed away from the counter and walked backward to the door. “I'll be outside enjoying the beautiful day, seeing how the water feels. You'll give me your answer.” He walked outside and called out, “One way or another.” A second later, his T-shirt flew through the open door and landed in a white puddle on Marek's tile floor.

Once he was sure he was alone, Marek ran his hands through his hair and let out a shaky breath. “Christ.” He stared at the vacated door. “What a cock-tease.”

No way is he blackmailing me into joining him on the beach.

Still, Marek walked across the kitchen and picked up Colin's T-shirt, his desire for self-preservation not strong enough to ignore the deliberate flirtation. He put it to his nose, inhaling the warmth still clinging to the fabric. It said “Colin” even though Marek could not possibly identify scents or natural musks as belonging to this man yet.

Fuck, though, he smells sexy.

“Shit.” Marek shook his head. “Maybe he does know me.”

Marek went in search of his swim trunks.

Chapter Six

Marek spotted Colin stretched out across the dock, and he raced through the sun-heated sand in the direction of his prey. “I thought you said you were going swimming, Baxter? Sunning yourself isn't exactly—” Colin rolled over and stood right then, robbing Marek of his voice. His towel slipped out of his hand, the blue-stripe pattern drifting to the edge of the dock.

Oh Christ. I helped do that to him.

A long scar started somewhere under the waistband of Colin's trunks and veered in an upward arc over his lower stomach to around his side where Marek imagined it continued on his back.

“What?” Colin looked at Marek, only to follow his gaze down to where Marek stared. “Oh, you like that?” He scratched at the narrow line where it cut across his abdomen. “It's a little souvenir from a few guys back in Henderson. I was work—”

Marek lifted his hand. He couldn't stand still and listen to the details of Colin's attack. “I remember the story.” Three people in Halloween masks jumping a sixteen-year-old boy in the alley behind where he worked. “I read the newspaper after you were hurt. I know there was a knife involved.”

“Right.” Heat flamed across Colin's cheeks. He dropped his gaze and moved back a few steps but then stopped himself and stiffened his chin. “Don't look so damned horrified by it, for God's sake. It's a scar; it's not contagious.”

“Fucking hell, Colin. I didn't think it was, and you damn well know it. I just… It just…” Goddamn. Shit. Fuck. Marek paced to the edge of the dock, needing a minute to breathe and regroup. The idea that he would find anything repulsive about Colin, even with his uncertainty at the man's reasons for being here, was laughable. Guilt attacked him the second he saw the scar, yet Marek still wanted to drop to his knees and lick Colin's stomach. Jesus, the man had an incredible body.

A body you had a part in someone else damaging, Donovan, so stop thinking about it sexually.

Bracing himself, Marek turned and found Colin standing some ten feet away. “Obviously I know you were badly beaten and cut, but I didn't know it left such