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The winds died and reality returned.
He felt Isobel tense against him and knew that she too was coming back to the world. Callum’s sex-addled brain sputtered back to life and he silently cursed. He’d only meant to make her breathe. He didn’t know what had happened. Never had it been like that before. Never.
It was a huge mistake.
Isobel was a woman made for relationships. And Callum was damaged goods. Useless to everyone around him.
“Oh no,” Isobel whispered, bringing him out of his own head. “I’ve done it again.” She shoved at his shoulders. “Put me down.”
There was nothing else he could do but comply. With a wince, he slid from her body and then lowered her to the ground in front of him. He didn’t step back, but kept her between him and the wall. Her top was gone, ripped and tossed to the floor. Apart from that, she was still wearing everything she’d arrived in.
Everything she’d worn to his house to ask him for help.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
“Aye.” Isobel looked at him with a mixture of horror and flushed satiation. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a vasectomy?”
As her words registered, it was Callum’s turn to feel faint.
CHAPTER 5
“We probably shouldn’t have watched that,” Elle Roberts said as she shut her laptop.
As tech expert for Benson Security, she’d been the one to install the cameras in Callum’s house. She was also the one who’d written the program that would make alarms go off in both Benson Security offices if Callum mentioned any key words or phrases—like “kill myself”, “end it all”, “dead”, and “I need my gun”. To say they were worried about his state of mind was putting it mildly.
“I think this is a sign he’s getting over his depression,” Megan Raast said as she fanned her burning face. Her smile was supermodel wide. “Who knew Callum was that hot?”
“You won’t be thinking that when he kills you after he finds out we watched him having sex.”
“Baby? You watching porn again?” Dimitri, Megan’s husband and fellow security specialist, sauntered into the computer room. “We talked about that. No watching porn without me.”
Megan launched herself into Dimitri’s arms. “I don’t watch porn. Trust me, women don’t find porn sexy. It’s an objectification of their bodies and it’s really icky. But I have watched erotic female cinema.”
“Lady porn,” Dimitri scoffed, but it was ruined by the smile that lit up his eyes. The one that said his wife could do no wrong.
“I can live with it being called that.” Megan pulled him in for a kiss. One that lasted until they were both panting.
“I’m sitting right here,” Elle snapped at them. “I just watched one colleague have sex. I don’t need a repeat right in front of my face.”
Dimitri tore his mouth from his wife, and his eyebrows shot up his fo
rehead. “Callum had sex? Who with? Did you record it?” He looked behind him at the open door and shouted, “Joe, Ryan, Callum had sex.”
Elle groaned and smacked her palm to her forehead. “We were trying to be discreet, for Callum’s sake.”
“No we weren’t,” the blonde traitor, who was wrapped around Dimitri like a clip-on monkey, said. “If we’d been thinking of Callum’s privacy, we wouldn’t have watched in the first place. Mainly, we were thinking that it’s hot the way he goes all caveman when he does it.”
Elle scowled at Megan, but as usual, she shrugged it off.
“Callum had sex?” Ryan, the most laid-back member of their team, strode into the room. “Who with? Where? What position? Did you tape it?”
“You lot are sick.” Elle was aware she should be wearing a T-shirt with the word Hypocrite emblazoned across it instead of one that said I Own a Deathstar.
“He had sex with the woman who delivers his shopping,” Megan said, still clinging to Dimitri. “He threw her up against the hall wall. They didn’t even get as far as taking off their clothes. It was hot.” She leaned in and whispered something in her husband’s ear that made his eyes turn dark and his cheeks flush.
Elle pointed at them. “Whatever you’re planning, keep it out of the office. We don’t want to be your audience.”
Megan pouted, but there was pure mischief in her eyes. “I can’t help that I have an exhibitionist streak. It’s genetic.”
