Page 21 of Keeping Denver

As I stride across the bathroom toward the tub, I catch a glimpse of my naked reflection in the large mirror on the wall beside the shower. Turning, I take a long look at myself. My hair is a knotted mess, still somewhat tied back in its braid. Removing the tie, my long red hair falls in loose curls around my waist. Deciding I need to wash it, I opt to take a quick shower before relaxing in the tub. But first, I pour some bubble bath in the tub and let if fill while I wash the grime and six months of stress from my body. After I finish, I step out of the shower and into the tub, moaning at how wonderful the hot water feels soaking into my skin. It's been so long since I enjoyed the luxury of a bath.

I don't know how long I stay immersed beneath the scented bubbles, but I don't get out until the water turns cold.

Wrapping a towel around my body, I make my way back over to the counter, taking advantage of the hairdryer I spotted earlier. By the time I'm finished drying my long hair, it appears shiny and full of volume for the first time in ages. Next, I apply a generous amount of lotion, covering my entire body from head to toe.

Moving out of the bathroom and to Callan's walk-in closet where he said he had some clothes for me, I open the double doors. The moment I step in, a motion sensor is tripped, lighting up the shelves lining the walls. "Holy crap," I gasp. On one side, there is a row of neatly pressed suits. On the back wall is a very well-organized shoe rack, and directly in the middle of the room are many sets of cufflinks and watches laid out on a center table. To my left are several articles of women's clothing, the tags still attached. Spying a red sweater hanging from the rack, I flip the card over, revealing the price. My eyes nearly pop out of my head. "Three hundred dollars! For a sweater?" That man is out of his mind. Shaking my head, I look through the neatly folded pile of clothes on the shelf below the sweater, coming across a pair of white satin pajama pants and matching spaghetti strap top with a white satin robe. Looking around, I don't notice any undergarments. No way am I going commando. I open the drawer attached to the shelf in front of me, finally finding what I am looking for. There must be at least a dozen bras and panties here, and all in my size.

How did he know my size?

At that thought, I blush. Callan admitted to taking my clothes off. Not only did he see my pathetic excuse for a bra and my threadbare underwear, but he was also the first man ever to see me naked. For a moment, I wonder what his thoughts were when he was stripping me, and my most private parts were exposed to him.

Snapping myself out of my musings, I go about getting dressed, slipping the satin top over my head. The material is cold on my flush body and feels like butter on my skin. Next, I step into a pair of white lace panties, followed by the pajama bottoms. With my nipples on full display, I make use of the robe, doing my best to hide them.

By the time I finish, my stomach lets out a loud rumble. Callan did say he was getting dinner. Only my nerves kick in and I become reluctant to leave the room. I'm not sure what faces me beyond the bedroom door. I've been out of my element the moment I woke up in his bed. I'm confused as to what Callan's end game is. He said this is where I belong, but what did he mean by that? Is it his intention to help me out for the night then send me on my way tomorrow?

I sigh. "Go out there and confront him, Denver. Quit being a chicken."

The smell of Chinese food permeates through the apartment, making my stomach growl again and I step out of the bedroom into a hallway. There is a faint light at the end of the hall, and I pad in that direction, coming to a stop when I see Callan shuffling around the kitchen. He's changed out of the suit and is now wearing a pair of well-worn jeans and a black shirt. Sensing my presence, he calls me. "Come here, Denver." The smooth timbre of his voice makes me shiver. "Sit." Callan nods to the stool at the kitchen island. Not once does he take his eyes off me as I make my way to him. Those green orbs run the length of my body. The intensity in which he stares has me thinking back to my earlier thoughts—thoughts of how the man in front of me has seen all my lady bits, and the look on his face tells me he's thinking the same.

I take a seat on the stool, remaining silent as Callan starts scooping rice and chicken onto two plates. My leg bounces, and I wring my hands in my lap as I try to calm my nerves.

"Relax, baby," Callan says, his tone gentle.

"I…I can't."

"Why?" he asks while continuing his task, and I blurt out the only thing currently on my brain.

"You saw me naked!" I clasp my hand over my mouth and my cheeks heat.

"It was either Dr. Morgan or me," he growls, "and no fucking way was I allowing another man to see you." Callan shrugs, his admission further confusing me. Setting a plate of food in front of me, he points, "Eat."

I think about defying him merely because his bossiness is getting on my nerves; my growling stomach chooses otherwise.

The two of us eat together in silence, and when I'm halfway through my meal, I ask, "Callan. Since you threw my clothes in the garbage, will it be okay if I take a few of the things hanging in the closet when I leave? I can pay you back when I get my next check."

Callan grits his teeth. "You can have everything in there. I bought them for you, but you won't be leaving, Denver. You're going to stay here."

I choke on the rice I've just shoved in my mouth. "What? Me…live here?"

"Was I not clear before when I said you are where you belong?"

"Uh…Not really, Callan. You're not very good at explaining details. Listen, I can't live here with you. I don't need your charity. Besides, what would Joslyn say about me staying here?"

"Joslyn has no say in what I do."

Callan's dismissal of the facts makes me angry. "So, what? You won't tell your girlfriend you moved another woman in with you? Am I some dirty secret or something? The poor pathetic homeless woman who works for you; who needs your help? Well, let me tell you something, Callan Hawk, I don't need your help and I damn sure won't be some secret you keep from your girlfriend. I may not like the woman, but I'm no homewrecker," I fume.

"First off," Callan moves around the kitchen island and twists the stool I am currently perched on until we are face to face. "If I ever hear you talk shit like that about yourself again, I'm going to put you over my knee. You are not pathetic, and you sure as fuck are not a dirty secret. Second, Joslyn is not and never was my girlfriend. Joslyn was nothing more than someone I used to pass the time with. All that stopped the day you walked into my office."

I flinch at his admission. "What do you mean? As I recall, she made several appearances since I started working for you. She also took pleasure in making snarky jabs toward me. All while you sat there and did nothing." I don't bother hiding the hurt in my voice.

"I ended things with Joslyn right after she made those comments too. I told her I didn't want to see her again. Her showing up at my office after that day was not me wanting her there, it was her not wanting to give up the fact she had been sent packing. Joslyn is an opportunist. She thinks I don't know why she was with me. I'm no fool. Joslyn has been a part of my life off and on for four years and is mad because I refused to define our relationship and give her the status she desperately wanted."

At a loss for words, I stay silent as I try to absorb what Callan is saying.

"I don't do girlfriends, Denver. Or at least I didn't before. That's about to change." Callan pauses, puts his finger beneath my chin, and brings my eyes to his. "Do you get what I'm saying, baby?"

I shake my head. My heart rate picks up and my breath gets caught in my throat.