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“You and me both, angel. I meant what I said that night. I love you, Zara. I love how strong you are and how you don't take any shit off me. I love your spirit.” He leans and kisses my wet cheek. “I love your smile and sass. I love how fucking beautiful you are. I love you, and I’m here.” Wide hands cup my face. “I’m here, and I’m not going.” He drops his face into my hairline. “I cried like a damn baby the night I sent you away,” he whispers into my hair. His shoulder shudders and I pull back to see his eyes filling up—his earnest confession bringing a guarded look to my face. His jaw works, and I can see he is fighting the emotion choking him.
“I’m sorry, so fucking sorry,” he pleads with me to believe him, trust him. He lifts my hands and kisses my palm. “Angel, forgive me. I’m here to stay.”
I stare at him, too scared to believe that everything I wished for is transpiring in front of me. I fight back tears and search his face. His words are everything I need to hear, but I’m terrified to accept them. I can’t grieve him again. I convey as much in my own stare. Callan’s mouth turns down, and he runs his thumb over my mouth. “You can trust me. I won't hurt you again. It was a mistake to let you go. I should have come with you.”
“Callan, I can’t lose you again.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing for you. I promised myself no matter how hard it was, I had to let you go.” Wide shoulders shrug, and he adjusts his stance, bringing himself flush to me. “I thought I had the strength to give you freedom.”
“I didn't feel free. I’ve been so alone.” I hiccup, burrowing my face in his wide chest and inhaling that familiar scent that gave me so many nights of respite.
“Angel, I’m sorry.” Dipping his head, he takes my lips in a soft kiss. Obsidian eyes, staring deeply into mine.
“I missed you,” I sob, kissing him frantically. The door shifts, and Callan is moving us inside backwards. He breaks away and scoops me up, and I fold myself around him and peck his mouth. “I didn't think I’d ever see you again.” I run my fingers into his hair, then trace his face with my fingertips. Tracing each crease, line, and curve.
“I thought I could let you go.” His light laugh is mocking, but the set of his mouth says more than words ever could. His heart has been hurting as much as mine.
“But you couldn’t?” I whisper.
“Too fucking selfish.” He grins, and he lets me run my fingers over his brow and down to float over his lips.
“Good.” I sniff and hold his stare. “You’re not going to disappear on me?” I secure his chin in my small hand, ensuring he can't look away.
“The world ending wouldn't keep me from you, Zara,” he vows roughly.
“Right answer.” I close the gap again and press my lips to his lush mouth. His tongue rolls out and tangles with mine. A sudden thought occurs, and I snap back and slap his arm. “What about all those women in the papers!” I glare at him.
He throws his head back and laughs.“It was to throw the paparazzi off your scent. I was seen entering Chloe’s after you were taken. They think I’m dodgy as fuck, and they’d be right, but if they thought I had any feelings for you, they’d never believe your death was real. My constant dating ensured your safety,” he tells me.
I scrunch my nose up. A woman a month. I guess old habits die hard.
“Well, my safety sort of thanks your—” I point downward, “penis.” I trail off, hating the thought of him bedding women. I drop my gaze, jealousy blackening my thoughts. Men haven’t entered my mind since I arrived. I wriggle free and give him a wary look.
“Zara, Nothing happened. I promise you. I could never do that to you.”
Avoiding eye contact, I tuck my hair behind my ear, put some distance between us, and lean back against the wall. All the emotions I have tried to keep locked tight are racing through my mind, bringing in their wake the reminder of sleepless nights and pained mornings when I would read about him with someone.
“I’d wine and dine them, then have Stalin take them home.” Taking my hand, he brings it to his mouth and kisses my dainty knuckles. “Angel, it’s you, from morning until night, it’s you.” Sincerity is evident in his rasp.
Chewing my lip, I nod. I believe him, but I’ve been so alone. He cups my face and kisses me swiftly. “I’d fake date Stalin if it meant keeping you safe,” he says with conviction, and I giggle.
“I guess, welcome home,” I whisper, biting my lip, and his shoulders drop in relief, the weight of anxiety lifted.
“Good. For a minute, I thought you might send me on my way.”
Smirking, I shake my head and lift to take his mouth.
“The Yovenko’s are dealt with.” He nips and bites my lip and groans. “Isabella is doing well.” He hums, deepening our kiss. “I couldn’t keep away any longer,” he says between kisses.
“She is. Where is she?” I pant.
“After, I’ll tell you after.”Hemoves through the villa. I know then that he has been here before. Maybe he chose this villa personally—visited prior to my abduction—I don't care. He is removing my clothes in a rush, and his once-absent mouth is everywhere. “Take this wig off. I feel like I’m fucking cheating on you,” he says, and I laugh. He groans as his teeth clamp around my nipple.My head rolls back.“I want you,” he mutters, tugging on my hair.
“Ouch. Callan! It’s not a wig.” I laugh, biting at his lower lip when he lifts his head in shock. “I dyed it blonde.”
“But I like the black,” he grumbles, and I shrug. “Fine, your eyes,” he says, “I wantyoureyes” He moans, then lowers, rolling his tongue around my nipple and squeezing my breast into a tight mound. “Goddamn sexy woman.”
“Callan, stop. I can’t take the lenses out when you’re doing this.” I giggle.
