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One week without Callisto seems like one month without Callisto. The fact that school is out, and I have my mornings to myself now doesn’t help much. My ultimate dream is to open my own practice. And today is about celebrating me being one step closer to that goal.
Thanks to a close friend of John’s, we got a great spot on Magazine Street to hold the party. I’m in the middle of helping my mom place floral arrangements on tables when Callisto walks in. My eyes soak in every inch of his raw masculinity as he steps into the courtyard.
“Am I too early?” he asks with a grin, his lips rousing the sleeping beast within me the moment they touch my forehead.
“Hey,” I say once I manage to remember where I am and what I’m doing here.
An irresistible grin spreads across his flawless face. “Hi.”
“You must be Cal,” my mom says, slicing through the waves of sexual energy flowing between us.
“Oh. Right. I’m so sorry. Mom, this is Cal Suppato. Cal, my mother, Abigail Meche.”
I’m careful not to use his full name. I fully respect the fact that he doesn’t share it with many people. I actually kind of like it being another part of him that belongs to only me.
He moves his attention to my mom, who is blatantly appreciating my taste in men. “Mrs. Meche, it’s a pleasure.”
“Oh, no. Abby. Please,” she says, “And I’m glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things.”
He huffs at her admission. “Most of them exaggerated, I’m sure.” Sexy and humble. That’s my man.
“Well, just the fact that you’re here, now, with my daughter, tells me you must be pretty special.” Mom gives him two soft pats on the shoulder before letting us know she is needed by the bar. I’m fairly positive that’s a cover up created to give us some alone time.
“She’s right, you know?” I say as my fingers trace the smooth fabric of his navy-blue shirt.
“Oh?”
“Yep. You are pretty special.” My hands reach the point where the shirt is no longer buttoned, exposing just the right amount of tanned flesh. My eyes linger there, remembering what lies just beneath the designer fabric. I lift myself up onto my tiptoes and press my lips against his. He doesn’t reject the affection, but he doesn’t return it with as much enthusiasm as it was given. My insecurities get the best of me, and I wonder if something happened while he was gone to make him change his mind about… whatever this is that we’re doing.
“How was Miami?” I ask, forcing myself to ignore the gnawing sensation in my gut.
“Too far away from you.” His answer helps the gnawing ease off a bit.
I grab his shirt, just below the collar, and pull him forward. “Well, you’re closer now…” I’ve been craving the taste of him since he walked through that door. But the most I can get out of him is the clench of his jaw and a brooding stare. “Why won’t you kiss me?”
“We have all night for that.” When he realizes that I’m about to boil over with sexual frustration, his fingers dig deep into my hips as he urges me to move. “Turn around, Makenna,” he says. There’s a trace of emotion in his voice that I haven’t heard before now. Regret? Apprehension? I can’t tell.
I do as he says, and as soon as I have my back toward him, he eases forward and presses his body against mine. My breath hitches when I feel the evidence that he is happier to see me than he lets on.
And when he leans forward and places his mouth just inches from my neck, I forget my own name. “You think I don’t want to kiss you right now? That I don’t want to fuck you, right now?”
My lungs open up, and my breath finds its way back out, heavy and labored. My tongue darts out to moisten dry lips.
He continues. “Look around you. Your mother is watching my every move. The guy behind the bar hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he came out here. There’s a woman inside wearing a red dress. She’s peeked out of the door to your left three times in the last five minutes. And the couple in the corner by the fountain, they’re watching and whispering as if they know one of us—or both of us—but can’t quite place how.”
I never saw him take his eyes off me. How in the world did he catch all that?
“It’s just one kiss, Callisto.”
“Control, Makenna. Without it, you become vulnerable. I would think of all people, you would understand that,” he says, straightening himself back up.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, pulling away as I turn to face him. I knew he was cold, but I thought after… I thought I had changed that, penetrated that exterior.
He reaches behind his neck and attempts to rub away built-up tension. “Nothing. It’s been a long week. We’ll talk about this another time.”
I try to unlock the mystery behind his actions and words, but as usual, deep, black irises keep me in the dark.
He keeps his eyes focused on mine. Then he raises his hand to my chin, slowly tipping it upward with just one finger. I recognize his efforts to control his reactions—the strain in his muscles, the tight clench of his jaw, the way he stares at me with heated intensity. He wants control? That type of control can only come from years of practice, practice I haven’t mastered yet. I catch the slight bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
