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“Let’s head inside first.”
“Okay.” What else can I say when he’s looking at me like I’m everything? Like he revolves around me, and it’s more than likely wishful thinking on my part, but I indulge in the feeling and let him. I settle my head in the crook of his neck and breathe him in as the door closes behind us and his loafer-covered feet walk past the foyer and straight to the back deck with views of the ocean a short distance from the sliding glass door.
The view is pristine. His hold is the sweetest torture, but all I can focus on is the happiness seeing him brings.
My earlier concerns over getting caught are gone. I know he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He’ll protect us.
Callum takes a seat at the edge of a large hammock while balancing me in his hold, hoisting me a little higher on his hip so he can lay back with my body over his. It’s a little awkward at first, I’m gripping him hard and afraid we’re going to fall, but a low relax and another short shift and I find myself nestled against his warm body.
We stay like that for a while.
Lying in silence with the soft breeze off the ocean flowing around us, my body slowly gives in to the fatigue that’s been building since before this trip. I know we need to talk, all the questions I need to ask, but as his hand sweeps up and down my back and his lips press against my forehead, I close my eyes.
Each slow swing settles me. His earthy scent soothes me.
“You’re in so much trouble, love.” That’s the last thing I hear before going under, but I’m too tired to fight the heavy blanket of sleep knocking me unconscious.
I’m pulled from sleep by the scent of food. I don’t know what time it is or how I got on the hammock, until Callum’s low timbre greets my ears from somewhere to my left. He’s not beside me anymore and I peek out carefully, barely opening my eyes, but he sees.
Standing at the large outdoor kitchen and without a shirt is Callum with a phone between his ear and neck while holding a pair of grilling tongs. The sizzling of meat permeates the air with a delicious aroma, just like the view of him flipping what looks to be steak before stepping back.
Wide awake and biting my lip, I look away just long enough to catch the setting sun. Jesus, how long was I asleep? It was barely midday when Callum took me by surprise, but now it looks to be easily six in the evening.
“You’ve been out for a little over five hours,” he says from beside the hammock, and I jump, almost falling down. Callum rights me, gripping my arm with one hand and the fabric with the other and pulls me in close. “Careful. The dismount can be tricky for a first timer.”
“Thank you.”
He nods, bending a bit at the knees once he’s sure I won’t fall. “Let me help you out.”
“Please.” Not because I can’t get out by myself, but I want his touch. Crave it.
“Arm over my shoulder, love.” I do as he asks and strong hands lift me out, turning with me in his hold to walk back toward the outdoor kitchen/dining area. The table there is set for two—plates and silverware with a small crystal vase holding a delicate white flower inside. I’ve seen that flower around the property; his garden is full of them.
His garden. His house.
He has to know.
“Thank you for letting me sleep for so long. I’ve been exhausted.”
“I bet.” There’s a slight hardening to his eyes, but it doesn’t last long and he doesn’t elaborate. And I’m glad. I’m not ready to have the who, what, when, and how the hell conversation. “There’s also a bit of selfishness in why I let you sleep for so long.”
“There is?” I squeak a bit and he laughs, full on and loud before settling back with that smirk that does things to me. “Why?”
“Because I want you well rested tonight.” The implication is there while the heat of his stare holds me captive, and all I can do is let out a shuddering breath. There’s no fear or nerves, more of a building anticipation of what’s to come, and for now, I’m pushing away all thoughts of the reasons we’re both here.
I know we’ll discuss it. That he’s going to be mad.
But for now, I want to enjoy this because he might leave after knowing what I did.
Or did he send the man there to protect me? That thought strikes me like a lightning bolt where I sit and my head tilts, analyzing him from head to bare feet.
Would he do that? Does he care enough to?
Or, more importantly, how did he know? Because he does, of that I have no doubt now.
“How did—”
“Hungry?” he interrupts, and as if on cue, my stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, too nervous to do so. “I made a mixed grill churrasco for tonight with picanha, and some chicken in case you prefer that. The sides aren’t extravagant: salad, sweet potato fries, fried banana, and cheese bread I picked up while you slept. There’s a lady in a market a mile down the road that makes the best I’ve had.”
