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“Roasted,” James answered for me. “Catie, Cal updated the outdoor kitchen last year, so we have a grill big-assed enough to cook for twenty. I’ll get it going.” He dug in the drawer next to the sliding door to my fancy ass patio and pulled out a stick lighter. He left the slider open as he hurried toward the built-in grilling area.
“That is a pretty nice set-up,” Catie commented as she slid the screen door closed, right before Frank tried to escape through it.
Elvis followed Frank around the kitchen like a shadow.
Catie moved back to the counter and started opening cupboards. “Do you have serving dishes?”
I stepped up right behind her, caging her body with my arms around her, and reached above her head to grab a platter. Her head hit me mid-chest, her sweet butt nestled against my groin. She leaned into me, and I wrapped my arms around her waist, right under her perky, apple-shaped breasts. Lowering my head, I nuzzled her ear, kissing the spot where her jaw and ear met. She smelled spicy, like pickled peaches.
“Red,” I mumbled against her skin.
She turned in my arms, lifted her hands to my shoulders and trained her whiskey-colored gaze on me. “I like it when you call me that.”
I lowered my head again and caught her lips. I swirled my tongue over them, happy to feel them curl up into a smile under my touch. I dropped my hands to her hips and lifted her onto the granite countertop, easing her knees open and stepping between them. My hips fit perfectly there, as I knew they would. As much as I wanted to cup her breasts and knead them, I settled for just grasping her face between my palms and deepening the kiss. One hand slid into her hair and I stroked my thumb along her jawline. Our tongues touched, parried, and dueled. She inched closer to the edge of the counter, as though she didn’t want any distance between her pelvis and mine.
The noise of nails scratching on the hardwood, a sharp yap and crazy yowl interrupted the steamy interlude. Elvis skittered around the island and smacked into my calves. I stumbled forward a bit, bonking my forehead to Catie’s.
“Ow!” She lifted a hand to a rapidly reddening spot.
I pressed a kiss there, then lowered my forehead to her shoulder, fighting laughter, and breathing through my nose to cool my suddenly raging libido. “Sorry.”
She tangled a hand into my hair and gave a short tug, as though trying to lift my head to look at her.
I complied, and damn if her eyes hadn’t deepened to the color of fine brandy. I leaped. “Stay with me.”
“I’m right here,” she replied then swept her hand to my cheek, stroking the trim whiskers there. She looked over my shoulder. “Geez, would you look at those two.”
The only thing I really wanted to see was her beautiful face, but I pivoted my gaze over my shoulder to see Elvis and Frank playing dog pile, with Frank stretched along Elvis’s spine. Catie started chuckling behind me, and I joined.
“Let me go. I need to get stuff together for this picnic. James is probably wondering what happened to us.”
That made me laugh. “Oh, judging by the time it’s taking the man to light the gas grill, I’m pretty sure he knows exactly what’s happening with us.”
She pushed on my chest, and I did take a step back, then helped her off the counter. But I didn’t move far away from her as she set out fixing a salad. She handed me a loaf of bread and told me to wrap it in foil and stick it in the oven.
We worked side-by-side in silence, the only sounds Frank’s purring, Elvis snoring, and Catie humming as she worked.
These were the sounds I’d missed since my dad had died. The noise of a happy life.
In that moment, I knew exactly what I wanted. I needed this domesticity in my life. A happy family. This attractive woman at my side.
And I was going to give my best effort to winning her. For the rest of my life.
18
CATIE
The day couldn’t have been more perfect. The lighthearted trip to Barks and Recreation. Helping Callan choose the perfect pet. Signing up with Elizabeth to volunteer, which ticked off one of the boxes on my business plan, the one that readGive Back. Holding Callan’s hand while driving to his place. Elvis and Frank getting along. Growing closer to Callan and recognizing the promise of a deepening relationship with him. The supper we ate with James at the wrought iron table on the elegant patio. The fun, inspiring conversation between the three of us.
Callan.
Once we’d finished dinner and cleaned up the mess, James excused himself. I knew he lived on the property, an accommodation made by Callan so that someone would always be around in case crazy fans tried to enter the estate. James had me in stitches as he talked about the few chucklefucks—his word, but it was awesome—who’d attempted to get close to their favorite country music artist.
When he mimed Callan trying to run away from one particularly aggressive woman, he’d actually risen from the table and raced around the yard, like his tail was on fire. I snort-laughed again, and Callan just smiled indulgently at James.
Every reason for my happiness right now, as the sun set over the small lake, led back to Callan Wilder. And no one would be more surprised than me. Since my divorce, I’d guarded my heart. The walls I’d built were high and formed with cast iron. But my attraction to Callan had weakened those walls, and he’d somehow scaled the barrier and settled deep in my heart. I’d never experienced this type of instant connection with anyone. Not even with my ex. But it felt so natural right now, as we slouched in the Adirondack chairs on the dock.
Across the lake, a few lights glimmered in the approaching gloom, and a rowboat bobbed on the surface. Fishing was bad enough, but it looked like someone had opted to do it at night. Oh, the craziness.
