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“What I’m going to tell you will sound insane. It will sound like I’ve completely lost my mind.”
She sits up, running her thumb over my knuckles, tilting her head as skepticism takes hold of her perfect features now. “Okay…”
“When I first saw you,” I growl, unable to hold it back anymore, “I knew I had to claim you. I knew I had to make you mine. All my damn life, I’ve been waiting for the woman who would ignite something in me, who would make me feel something, anything other than cold. I was waiting for the impossible, my dad said, my friend said, I was waiting for a woman who didn’t exist. But then I found her – I found you. You crashed into my life.”
She whimpers at the reminder of how we met.
“Your mine now.”
Perhaps I should take it slower, lay the groundwork first, but I can’t stop myself from giving her the whole truth.
I can’t stop myself from tearing open my soul and sharing what’s inside.
“Do you understand? You belong to me. For the rest of your life. You are mine. No other man ever gets to touch you. No other man ever gets to be with you or even think about being with you. I’ll fight and bleed and kill to protect you, to protect our family… our family because that’s what we’re going to have. I’m going to fill your young fertile body with children, lots of children, enough to fill our home with laughter and happiness and hope.”
I stop, panting heavily, realizing I might’ve gone too far. I planned to tell her how I felt, but not on unleashing myself like that, on exploding with all the primal force of my claim.
Maybe I should’ve taken it slower if her facial expression is any indicator.
She stares at me with her mouth hanging open, her eyes filled with too many conflicting emotions. It’s like there’s a fading sun inside of her, flaring to life one minute and then threatening to supernova the next. I don’t know what’s going on inside of my woman, my woman, and it bothers me.
“Callie?” I murmur gruffly, as she just stares at me, saying nothing.
“Is this a trick?” she whispers after a moment. “A game? A joke?”
I flinch. “What?”
“Just answer the question.” There’s a warble in her voice as she pulls her hand away, folding her arms. “Because surely you can see how unbelievable this is.”
“How?” I snap.
She waves her hand, glaring at me, her eyebrows furrowed. Despite the rage now clear in her eyes, I can’t help but admire her sassiness, admire the fire the burns inside of her, telling me our children are going to be strong and self-assured.
Her sassiness blazing through her shyness like the sun blossoming from behind thick clouds.
“Because look at you and look at me,” she hisses. “You’re an experienced freaking… just look at you. You could be on the cover of a magazine.”
I smirk. “I guess by experienced, you mean old?”
“No, no, no,” she says firmly. “I mean experienced. I like our age gap, actually.”
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Twenty. And you?”
“Forty-three.” I let out a husky breath. “Are you sure I’m not too ancient for you?”
She giggles, which was my plan all along – to make her laugh, to push her sadness aside. “No, not even close. That’s not what I’m trying to say at all. I like that you’re older, more experienced, able to help me, guide me through life… but…”
“But what?”
She groans. “Can’t you see how unbelievable this is from my point of view? We only met earlier today and I’m not exactly the sort of woman men just fall for.”
“Good,” I snarl. “Because the thought of another man touching you, being with you, it makes me sick. It makes me want to hunt down this mystery man and make him pay. So I’m glad you haven’t got a bunch of men out there, gunning for you.”
She blinks, as though fighting back tears. “But then why do you want me?”
I reach across, my chest tight at the note of sadness in her voice. It’s like she can’t possibly accept how beautiful she is, how curvy and sassy and appealing in every damn way.
“Because everything inside of me, every instinct, is roaring at me to claim you.”
“But look at you.” She shakes her head firmly. “And look at me. You’re ripped, muscular as hell, handsome. You’re rich. You’re a surgeon. You must have women throwing themselves at you all the time.”
I look closely at her, wondering if she’s talking about the pink bundle Alexis left on my door handle. My gut tightens and part of me roars to tell her, but if she doesn’t know there’s no reason to muddy her mind with all that mess. She doesn’t deserve to be weighed down by it.
