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He moved to stand, assuming the night was over.
But Roseline caught his wrist, surprising them both with her urgency. She held his gaze unflinchingly. “Stay. Please.”
Callan searched her face, then nodded. He drew her up into a passionate kiss that left no doubts about his desire. He would stay.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Roseline’s hand trembled in Callan’s as she led him past the threshold into her bedroom. The familiarity of her cozy space, with its patchwork quilt and stacks of well-loved books, usually relaxed her, but tonight, her heart raced wildly in breathless anticipation. She felt Callan’s firm grip tighten around her fingers, sensing her nervous excitement. Roseline glanced back at Callan, his chiseled features etched in the dim light. She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding in the quietness, feel the thrill coursing through her with his hand in hers.
Memories of their first kiss flooded her mind—the warmth of his lips, the strength in his embrace, the tenderness in his touch. Roseline recalled how her body had melted against his.
She wanted this. She wanted him. But old wounds ran deep.
The door creaked open, revealing Roseline’s modest bedroom. She led Callan inside, her hand shaking as it clutched his. The space was dimly lit by strands of white lights dangling above the bed, casting a warm glow over the simple furnishings.
They stood only inches apart, heat radiating between them. His eyes gleamed almost silver, burning into her with a hunger that set her nerves alight.
“Welcome to my humble world,” she whispered, feeling both nervous and exhilarated.
“Your world is beautiful, Roseline,” Callan replied softly, his twinkling eyes taking in every detail before settling on her face.
Flashes of their passionate kiss flickered in her mind like the soft lights above them, kindling her longing for more of his tender yet demanding touch. But as they stood inches apart beside the bed, hesitation began to cloud her thoughts. She knew they were moving fast, yet every fiber of her being ached to give herself over fully to him. Roseline searched Callan’s face, looking for any sign of uncertainty to match her own. But his eyes shone bright with desire, his body tense with need. He wanted this, wanted her, and she could no longer deny her own cravings.
“Callan, I…” Roseline hesitated, her voice almost inaudible. She met his gaze, seeing an intensity that mirrored her own desire. But old hurts still held her back, the ghost who had once claimed to love her, only to betray her trust. The familiar fear made her wary.
“Roseline, if you’re not ready, we don’t have to do anything,” Callan assured her, his deep voice full of understanding. “I just want to be here with you.”
A sigh escaped her lips as she searched his eyes for any hint of deception. Instead, she found sincerity and genuine affection. It was this connection that had drawn her to him in the first place—their shared dedication to justice, a passion for unraveling the twisted games of the elusive Game Master.
“Thank you, Callan,” she said, the gratitude in her voice almost tangible. “I’m just… nervous, I guess.”
“Trust me, Roseline. I would never hurt you.”
And somehow, in that moment, she believed him. Her fingers traced the outline of his jaw, her heart pounding in anticipation.
The familiar fear began to fade, replaced by a surge of trust and longing. Roseline leaned into his warmth, her lips parting in invitation.
He needed no further prompting.
When Callan’s mouth descended onto hers, the kiss was filled with a tenderness and passion that shattered the last of her doubts. She gave herself over to the exquisite sensation, secure in the knowledge she was safe here in his arms.
His lips claimed hers, and a sweet ache bloomed inside her. His kiss was slow, deep, and all-consuming, stripping her of her hesitation and leaving raw need in their wake. As they drew closer, she could feel his warmth seeping into her, soothing her nerves and filling her with a sense of security.
Her hands found the bottom hem of his shirt and tugged upward, her movements impatient. She needed to feel his skin against hers, to lose herself in the hard planes of his body.
Roseline’s heart thundered in her chest as Callan helped her discard his shirt, revealing his muscular torso. His athletic build had made her curious to see what he looked like underneath his clothes, but seeing it up close and personal was even better than her imagination. She traced the lines of his abs with her eyes, marveling at the definition of his muscles.
Callan chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. “I don’t complain, but you look about to pounce on me. Remember, we’ve got all night.”
“Not enough,” she breathed. Not nearly enough. So, instead of battling his top, she hurriedly peeled her own shirt off, leaving her very unfancy bra.
Roseline froze as she let her shirt fall to the floor, suddenly self-conscious, standing before Callan in just her simple cotton bra. It was a far cry from the lace and silk lingerie she imagined a sophisticated woman would wear for a moment like this.
She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling exposed. Callan’s intense gaze burned into her, devouring every inch of bare skin. She noticed his eyes linger on the scar near her collarbone, a relic from her childhood she usually kept hidden away.
A wave of vulnerability washed over Roseline. She wasn’t used to baring herself like this, physically or emotionally. Old instincts told her to cover up, to protect herself from being hurt again, especially with her abundant curves.
But then Callan stepped closer, his large hands coming to rest on her hips. She inhaled sharply at the contact, her heartbeat quickening.
