Colton's Ultimate Test Read online

  “Don’t be skeevy, DiMera.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it, Colton.”

  “Then what’s your offer?”

  “A date.”

  A trill sang in her blood, but she shut it down and quipped, “July 4, 1776.”

  His brow creased. “What?”

  “You asked for a date. I gave you one.”

  He pulled a wry grin.

  “Okay, how about tomorrow? That’d be December 19, if I’m right.”

  She frowned. “Okay, you’ve lost me.”

  “A date. Tomorrow. You and me.”

  “Then...you’re serious?”

  “Do you want my help finding where Spence might launder that cash?”

  “That’s extortion!”

  He gave her a dismissive look. “It’s a fair trade. I do you a favor, and you join me for dinner. Happens all the time in business. It’s just dinner. A chance to talk and get to know one another. Your brothers can vouch for me. They come up here to play billiards all the time.”

  “If you know my brothers, why not do this as a favor for them? As a friend?”

  “Because that wouldn’t get me a date with you.” His smile was lopsided and devilish, but his eyes were kind and warm. “Do we have an agreement?”

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to Blue Larkspur, Colorado! I have the honor of wrapping up the latest Colton family adventure as Morgan Colton gets her well-deserved happily-ever-after. Morgan has devoted herself to helping raise her brothers and sisters, establish the Truth Foundation, and make Colton and Colton a thriving law firm...at the expense of her own personal life. Then an ill-advised stolen kiss one January night sparks an ember with bar owner Roman DiMera that no amount of practicality or denial can extinguish. When Morgan asks Roman for help in catching a thief, that attraction gets ignited and fanned to full flame. But danger and past tragedy stand between her and Roman. Can Roman and the family she’s always supported help her find the happiness waiting just beyond her reach?

  I hope you enjoy the conclusion of The Coltons of Colorado series as much as I loved bringing Morgan and Roman to life. Cheers and happy holidays!

  Best wishes,

  Beth

  COLTON’S

  ULTIMATE TEST

  Beth Cornelison

  Beth Cornelison began working in public relations before pursuing her love of writing romance. She has won numerous honors for her work, including a nomination for the RWA RITA® Award for The Christmas Stranger. She enjoys featuring her cats (or friends’ pets) in her stories and always has another book in the pipeline! She currently lives in Louisiana with her husband, one son and three spoiled cats. Contact her via her website, bethcornelison.com.

  Books by Beth Cornelison

  Harlequin Romantic Suspense

  The Coltons of Colorado

  Colton’s Ultimate Test

  Cameron Glen

  Mountain Retreat Murder

  Kidnapping in Cameron Glen

  Colton 911: Chicago

  Colton 911: Secret Alibi

  The McCall Adventure Ranch

  Rancher’s Covert Christmas

  Rancher’s Hostage Rescue

  In the Rancher’s Protection

  Visit the Author Profile page at

  Harlequin.com for more titles.

  For my mom—my once and always biggest fan

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Secret Alaskan Hideaway by Karen Whiddon

  Chapter 1

  Last January

  “A toast to th’ bir’day girl!”

  “To Lorie!” Morgan Colton raised her nearly empty glass, joining her friends in Helen’s salute.

  “Girl?” Connie asked with a snort. “Lorie hasn’t been a girl for a looong time. It’s woman, thank you.”

  The table of women had been drinking to Lorie, who was turning forty, all night, but what was one more toast? The clink of glasses seemed loud in the now nearly empty bar. With it being closing time on a cold January night, Morgan and her friends had the place almost to themselves.

  Morgan leaned over to whisper to her friend Stacy. “Connie gets more feminist when she’s drunk, doesn’t she?”

  Stacy nodded and laughed.

  Morgan had never been a frequent customer at the Corner Pocket, the English pub-style billiards bar poised on a choice riverfront location in downtown Blue Larkspur, Colorado. The bar was more her brothers’ kind of place. But Helen had arranged the night out and had picked the pub for the celebration, and Morgan approved. The place had a coziness to it. And good food. And plenty of libations. She could see why her brothers like the place. Or maybe that was just the margaritas talking...

  “Hey!” Lorie replied with a frown to Connie as all the ladies around the table sipped their drinks. “Are you calling me old?”

  Connie paused, gave the black Mylar “Over the Hill” balloon tied to Lorie’s chair a meaningful glance and with a wry grin said, “Yep.”

  Helen raised a hand. “Billy’s shift ends at eleven. By midnight I plan to have him naked.”

  Stacy hooted a laugh. “Way to go, Helen!” Then, rocking her shoulders as if proud of herself, Stacy pointed a manicured finger across the bar to a patron at another table. “I think I’m taking that fine thang home with me. He’s been watching me since he came in.”

  Morgan blinked and cast a glance over shoulder at the man in question. “Stacy, are you sure you want to do that? Do you even know him?”

  Stacy flapped a hand at her. “Colton, you worry too much. Of course I know him. He’s my future husband.” Helen cackled and high-fived Stacy.

  “I mean, are you—”

  She grabbed Morgan’s wrist. “I know what y’ mean. I appreciate your concern, mama hen. I’m a big girl.”

  “Woman!” Connie insisted.

  “I’ll be careful,” Stacy said, giving Morgan a smile. “You should try a one-night stand sometime. It’s very freeing. No strings. No commitments. No regrets.”

  Morgan twisted her mouth, considering Stacy’s stance. She’d never felt comfortable assuming the same casualness toward sex as her friend. She wanted what Lorie had. A husband, a home. Permanence. Love.

  And, as they’d all been reminded tonight, thanks to Lorie’s birthday, she wasn’t getting any younger. She’d turn forty next year. She’d let years slip by, put her dreams of a husband and family on hold while she helped raise her brood of brothers and sisters after an accident had claimed their father when the youngest girls were barely six.

  Mama hen, Stacy had called her, because of her tendency to extend that motherly nurturing to her friends as well. Chicken soup and cookies when they were sick. A shoulder to cry on when needed. And more than a little advice concerning everything from clothes to business contracts.

  She couldn’t help it. As the oldest of twelve—well, technically Caleb was ten minutes older—she came by her take-charge, order-and-str
ucture attitude naturally. But the babies of the family, Alexa and Naomi, were strong, competent women with careers who no longer needed her mothering. Maybe it was time—past time—to consider what she wanted her life to look like in the years to come. The law firm she and Caleb owned, Colton and Colton, filled her days, satisfied her professional yearnings. But what about her nights? Her more intimate yearnings? And, yes, her physical needs. Maybe she did need a wild night of no-strings sex to satisfy her—

  “Last call, ladies,” said a deeply masculine voice from over her shoulder.

  Morgan tipped her head to look up...and up. Holy mackerel, the guy was tall! And dark. And tattooed. Her chest tightened. Then the guy wobbled...

  Oops, that was her wavering.

  Morgan grabbed the edge of the table as she canted too far and nearly tumbled out of her chair. Tall, Dark and Tattooed grabbed her under her arms. “Whoa! Easy there. You all right?”

  She nodded and wrenched free of his grasp, sputtering, “Rain as right!”

  Beside her, Helen barked a raucous laugh. “What?”

  Morgan replayed what she’d said in her head. “I mean, right as rain. I’m just a little—”

  “Too drunk to drive,” Tall, Dark and Tattooed—whom she quickly recognized as Roman DiMera, the bar’s owner—said, holding out his hand. “Car keys?”

  She’d met Roman here at the Corner Pocket once when he took over running the place a couple years ago but hadn’t exchanged more than niceties with him. Her brothers knew him somewhat, having spent more time at the billiards bar. She’d heard rumors Roman was an ex-con.

  She studied him now, up close and personal. Muscles. A firm, square jaw beneath a short black beard. If she concentrated on his rugged face, those dark eyes, she could get swept up in his masculine appeal. She inhaled deeply, certain she could smell the testosterone oozing from him. Or maybe she only thought so because her friends had reminded her how long it had been since she’d had sex.

  Roman wiggled his fingers, his hand still out. “Keys? You’re not driving.”

  Morgan opened her mouth to protest but immediately thought better of it. She was far too drunk to drive. “Fine. Will you get us all ’n Uper... Uber?”

  “Definitely.” He cast his gaze around the table to her friends. “How many of you need an Uber to get home?”

  Lorie waved a hand. “My husband is pickin’ me up at closin’.”

  “I’m goin’ home with ’im,” Stacy said, pointing to the same patron as before.

  Tall, Dark and Tattooed called to the other man, “Dan, how many drinks have you had?”

  “Nada. I’m working tomorrow. Gotta have a clear head,” the future Mr. Stacy called back, wiping his mouth and tossing his napkin on a platter of chicken-wing bones.

  “You’ll see this nice lady home?” Morgan asked.

  Dan nodded. “Indeed I will,” he said as he pulled a chair from another table and started chatting up Stacy.

  Helen pointed to the door, where a burly guy with a baby face had just walked in. “That’s my ride. An’ then I’m gonna ride him!”

  Helen laughed at her own joke, then staggered from the table to tip into her boyfriend’s arms. Morgan waited at the table until Lorie’s husband arrived, then she gave the birthday girl—woman!—a hug, promising to call her soon for lunch.

  Things between Stacy and her conquest seemed to be going well, so Morgan excused herself to the ladies’ room, trying to act as if the floor wasn’t swaying under her. While in the restroom, she took a moment to reapply her lipstick, smooth her hair and check for food in her teeth. Through the muddle of alcohol pickling her brain, she had the wherewithal to question whom she was primping for. The night was over. Her friends were heading home. Her Uber to take her back to her house would arrive soon.

  She squared her shoulders defiantly. She didn’t have to be primping for anyone. She just liked to look tidy, professional, put-together. So why were Roman DiMera’s wide chest and brown eyes burned like an afterimage in her mind? On the heels of that thought, she pictured the tattoos on his arms, wrists...

  She clutched the edge of the sink and took a few deep breaths, clawing back memories too harsh to face at the moment. With a cleansing exhale, she straightened her blouse and headed out of the bathroom.

  There was a reason she’d never gotten to know DiMera beyond greetings and pleasant small talk. They ran in different circles. The men she dated reserved ink for signing contracts, not their skin. In fact, she avoided men with tattoos entirely because of that day in college. Her type of man ordered Cristal, not microbrews. She preferred a tailored suit to a snug rock band T-shirt any day of the week. Although...

  Her breath caught remembering how Roman’s Rolling Stones T-shirt hugged his broad frame and revealed just a hint of the black hair on his chest. Her head swam, and, blaming the last round of margaritas rather than thoughts of Roman DiMera’s physique, she marched back out to the bar. Well, sort of marched. The floor was still swaying a bit, which made a confident, purposeful stride rather difficult.

  Roman met her halfway across the bar, his brow furrowed. “Local Uber drivers seem to be tied up thanks to the Symphony Guild benefit that’s just ended across town. I guess they figure symphony patrons tip better than billiard players.”

  Morgan lifted her chin. “I go to the symphony!”

  Roman raised one eyebrow, silently reminding her the point was moot.

  She sighed and flapped a hand. “Forget a rideshare. I’ll call one of my siblings. What’s the point of having eleven brothers and sisters if you can’t wake one of ’em in the middle of the night to drive you home from a bar, hmm?” She frowned as she calculated which of her brothers or sisters owed her a favor. “Not Rachel. She’s got the baby...”

  She dug in her purse for her phone, finding it hard to keep her balance while she rummaged in the deep shoulder bag. “Did ev’ryone else leave?” She cut a glance past the numerous billiard tables that occupied one side of the bar to their now-empty table. “They all had someone to drive them? I don’t want anyone behind th’ wheel.”

  Roman caught her elbow as she teetered on her high heels and guided her to a chair. Heat from his strong fingers seeped through the filmy material of her blouse and made her pulse stumble.

  “All of your friends have gone. All safe and squared away. Tell you what,” Roman said, peering down at her with serious brown eyes. “Instead of waking one of your family, let me take you home.”

  Morgan angled a suspicious look at Roman. “You?”

  He nodded.

  “I live in the Brookhaven subdivision. Is that on your way home?”

  A lopsided grin transformed his face. “Hardly. I live upstairs. I have an apartment here, above the bar.”

  She frowned. “But—Then why...?”

  “Give me a minute to get my coat and the bag with the night’s deposit. I’ll swing by the bank on the way back.”

  “I, uh...” She was trying to form a response, to decide if letting Roman drive her home was a good idea or not, but before her inebriated brain sorted past he’s an ex-con, Roman quickly disappeared through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

  Ex-con. The term didn’t bother her as much as it might some people. If her work with the Truth Foundation, the nonprofit she and Caleb had established to help the wrongfully convicted clear their names, had taught her anything, it was not to judge a person based on the label convict. Not everyone in prison was guilty. And not everyone out on the street was innocent.

  “Okay,” Roman said, emerging from the back of the bar and tossing the barkeeper the keys. “You’ll lock up for me, Tim? Check the grill before you go?”

  The man behind the bar nodded. “Sure thing, boss.”

  He bade a waitress good-night as she headed home, then turned to Morgan. “Ready?” he asked as he pulled on a knit hat with a Philadelphia Eagles
logo at the front.

  Her brothers seemed to like him. They’d spoken well of him on occasion, even holding Roman up as an example of how someone could turn their life around.

  Morgan chewed her bottom lip. “Two questions first.”

  “Okay...” he said, his tone wary. He folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes.

  “First, this is Colorado, bub.” She pointed at his hat. “Where’s your love for the Broncos?”

  He twisted his lips as if in thought. “They’re okay. But I’m Philly born and bred. The Eagles were my first love.”

  She scoffed lightly. “Okay. Fair enough. Question two.” She held up two fingers like a toddler telling someone how old they were. She stared at her fingers, realized how silly she looked and tucked her hand under her arm as if she could erase the gesture from his memory.

  “Yes?”

  “Did you do it?” she asked, lifting her chin along with one eyebrow.

  His brow furrowed, and his expression dimmed with confusion. “Do what?”

  She flapped a hand. “Whatever landed you in jail. Word on the street is you’ve had a scrape with the law.” Belatedly, she realized her question might be considered rude. But her job required her to ask prying, blunt questions of her clients and witnesses in court, so she’d blurted the question without thinking about manners.

  His back straightened, and his face darkened. For a moment, he said nothing, then he muttered quietly, “Yeah. I did it.”

  Morgan blinked, a bit surprised by his confirmation. Typically she heard denials. Protestations of innocence and justifications that tried to excuse dubious behavior. For long seconds, she stared at him, as if waiting for the punch line, the retraction. His ownership impressed her.

  Instead, he said, “Ready to go?”

  He said it calmly enough, but she heard a challenge in his tone. He seemed to be daring her to refuse his offer of a ride home based on a prejudice against him for his past. Morgan knew her reputation for not backing down preceded her. What kind of lawyer would she be if she had no backbone, no conviction, no determination? Likewise, she had to put that terrible night twenty years ago behind her and stop looking over her shoulder. Both literally and figuratively.