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“I don’t know what we would’ve done about Todd if you hadn’t been there.” She shakes her head. “I can’t even think about it.”
“Then don’t,” I grunt as a gut-clenching sensation hits me at the thought of my lady in danger. “Callie’s never going to be in that sort of situation again. I won’t allow it.”
She spins, turning to the floor to ceiling windows, looking into the apartment. The place already has a homier feel, with thrift-shop rugs over the floors and prints on the walls, Callie’s shoes tucked near the door in the hallway. I told my woman she could get anything she wants, but she loves to hunt in thrift shops.
“It’s weird, but it sort of gives me a thrill, when I find something I really like.”
“That’s not weird,” I said, kissing her cheek softly. “That’s you. So maybe a little weird…”
She nudged me, and right away we were kissing. We’ve been like magnets and metal ever since our first time, unable to stop ourselves from consuming each other.
I push the thoughts from my head.
“So when she wakes up, she’ll see the note?” Janet says.
“Exactly. There’s a dress for her to wear, and instructions to meet me out here. Then I’ll take her to the spot.”
“She’s going to love it,” Janet says, reaching down to the table and picking up her coffee. Blowing on the steam, she takes a short sip. “It will mean so much to her.”
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “Part of me thinks it might bring back some bad memories. Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe she’ll resent me for bringing it all back.”
“I don’t think so,” Janet says. “It’s what started all of this. It’s a good way to finish it.”
More like to seal it, this chapter, so we can begin a new one.
This isn’t the end by any means.
It’s just the beginning, our glittering future laid out before us like a never-ending beach.
“Ah, here she is,” Janet says, gesturing toward the window.
I walk over to it, narrowing my eyes past the glare of the sun, and look into the living room.
My breath catches in my throat when I lay eyes on my woman, in the flowing ice-silver dress, the silver making her look like a curvy glittering prize just for me. She’s ruffled her hair and she looks ready to be kissed, claimed, tamed.
I open the door and swagger in, smirking down at her.
“Whoah,” she says, stopping short, gesturing at my suit. “You look amazing. What’s the special occasion?”
“You look incredible, Callie,” I snarl, moving forward and placing my hand on her shoulder.
But I’m conscious of her mother just beyond the glass, able to see everything we’re doing, so with a herculean effort, I stop myself from sliding my hand over to her breasts and instead stare into her perfect eyes.
“Are you dodging my question?” she murmurs.
“Maybe.” I grin. “Do you trust me?”
“Always,” she says right away.
“Then come for a drive with me.”
I reach down and take her hand, squeezing so she can feel all the affection blaring through me, a deafening cacophony that comes straight from the fucking Stone Age. I feel like a wild beast claiming his woman, ready to fight and kill and bleed to keep her safe, to keep our family safe.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
She squeezes my hand back, as though she’s telling me she can feel it too.
We drive through the city.
Focusing on the road is difficult, my gaze always tempted to flit down to Callie’s thick juicy thighs, to slide over their voluptuous beauty.
Then I’ll start thinking about what would happen if I slid my hand down her thigh, right down to her panties. She’s always so ready for me, her body receptive to my every touch, gushing when I stroke or massage her throbbing enflamed clit.
I bite down, watching the lights as they change from red to green, and pull out of the intersection.
Callie gives a short breath like she’s trying to exhale all of her anxiety.
A stab of guilt hits me. This is a mistake. I wish I could turn back, get as far away from here as possible – from the place that has caused so much pain.
Can present perfection truly cure past pains? Can love cure agony?
“This is the road Dad died on,” Callie whispers.
“I know. Your mother told me.”
She flinches, glancing at me. “Why are we here?”
Her voice rises as I slow down and drive into the underground parking of an office block, a mid-level tower that rises high above the surrounding, smaller buildings. We disappear underground and I glance at my woman, unable to look at her for too long in case I lose control, even know when pain is quivering through her features.
“Trust me,” I say.
“I do, I do,” she says with a flourish of passion.
I can’t stop thinking about her saying I do in a very different context, the ring box pressing forcefully through my suit pocket against my chest like it’s trying to remind me how important this is. As if I need reminding.
