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He came.
Castle smiles a tight smile. “Happy Birthday, Callie,” he growls quietly.
It’s almost the first words we’ve exchanged in two months. And I know that silence isn’t because of what happened in Paris. Castle isn’t avoiding me because he killed someone for me. He’s killed plenty of times—not just in service to the Kildares, but also before, in the Army Rangers, even though according to Neve and Eilish, he never ever talks about that.
No, it’s not Luca’s death that has Castle avoiding me.
It’sme. And what I did.
It’s the fact that I kissed him when I had no business to. The silence and his absence is my punishment. Because even now, two months later, what I felt the night of my stolen kiss hasn’t changed one bit.
Actually, that’s a lie. It has changed.
It’s gotten evenworse.
And now, being this close to him, almost touching him, and smelling him, and hearing his voice for the first time in close to two months, it’s like the rush of a drug hitting my veins. Like the air has been sucked from my lungs and my skin is on fire.
Castle’s eyes pierce into mine, freezing the moment, before slowly, they drag up higher, and his brow arches in amusement.
God. Fucking. Dammit.
I cringe as my hand jerks up to yank the fucking hat off my head.
“It’s just a dumb tradition…” I mumble, my face reddening.
“Every family has ‘em.”
I swallow. His jaw ripples. The seconds tick by.
“We should get you back to your party.”
He starts to turn. But suddenly, my hand darts out to grab his forearm. I can feel him stiffen, and feel the way his arm muscles tense and ripple under my fingers.
“Castle—”
“It’s going to be fine, Callie,” he growls quietly.
He turns, and my pulse races as he pushes me back out of sight of the French doors, into a small alcove in the hallway. My breathing quickens. My skin tingles all over as my eyes lift to his.
He thinks me grabbing his arm is because of the Luca thing.That’show much he’s moved past my embarrassing kiss and throwing myself at him.
Oof.
“Look, it’s been two months, and we haven’t heard athingfrom the Carveli family. The rumor circulating about a heart attack is even more proof that they have no idea what really happened and they’re looking to bury the whole thing, too.”
I swallow. “But what if…I mean…what if someone at the hotel—”
“My guy’s cleaner wouldn’t have missed a single thing. Trust me on that.” His eyes lock with mine. “We’refine, Callie.”
I swallow. His jaw grinds again.
“Castle…”
“It never happened.”
The fire in his eyes tells me we’re no longer talking about Paris.
We’re talking about the rooftop.
