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He makes a sound of acknowledgement, his gaze drifting over me deliberately.
While the scenic drive up the mountainside comes with breathtaking views, I was hoping for the stunning oranges and reds that blanket the peaks and valleys during the fall. Instead, it’s the bleak winter sky with tufts of white and barren, leafless trees that remind me too much of the marsh.
Nestled high in the Berkshire Mountain range amid rocky outcroppings and tall trees, the renovated chalet comes into view. Both rustic and elegant, Kallum’s home is like a modern work of art banked on the side of the mountain incline.
Once inside, the interior is awe-inspiring. Stained black cedar contrasts with natural wood tones. An open floorplan with window walls wrap the home, surrounding us with frozen nature and views of the ridge.
“God, this is impressive, and intimidating.” I shed my coat as I spin in a circle, taking in the leather mixed with delicate textiles. A double-sided stone and metal fireplace anchors the space of the first floor. Alongside it, a vertical firewood rack stacked with logs ascends the wall.
“I thought about stealing you away here more than once,” he says, capturing me with a devious smile. Then he has me in his arms. The perfectly right feel of his body enveloping mine triggers an ache deep in my chest. “Take a shower with me.”
I lick my lips, and his gaze drops heavy on my mouth. “I want this part over, done,” I say, my eyes flitting to the fireplace.
We had agreed to do this together. The issue of trust wasn’t raised, but since discovering Kallum kept an article of my clothing from that night—which he had his lawyer relocate here after the search of his residences was concluded—I decided it’s important for both of us to be present.
He releases a lengthy sigh before he places a kiss to my forehead. “You’re right. Give me five minutes.” He disappears down a side hallway, leaving me with the silent fall of snow from all around.
I expel the trapped breath from my lungs before I get to work. After I’ve lugged the boxes from the vehicle and stacked them near the raised stone hearth, I open the screen and use a remote to light the fire. To ensure the flames burn hot enough, I wedge additional tinder between the artificial firelogs.
This feels strangely ironic, as the last time Kallum and I were preparing to destroy evidence, I was the one in the shower while he built a fire. Kallum would say history repeats itself. At the thought, a chill prickles my skin despite the warmth.
While I wait, I walk to the backlit wet bar and debate between water and liquor. “Fuck it,” I mutter and grab an expensive-looking bottle of bourbon and pour a shot into a rocks glass. Then I kneel before the fireplace and set the glass on the hearth.
As I drag the first file box toward me, the second box vies for my attention, the contents within where I need Kallum’s input. But first…
I tow the lid off and remove the evidence of Alister’s assault on me. I withdraw the torn shirt I was wearing at the time and toss it on top of the logs. The skin cells I scraped from beneath my nails I sprinkle in next.
I watch the flames lick higher, the smell of smoke mentally luring me back to the marshland. Filling my lungs, I look through the window at the veil of snow glittering beneath the moonlight. Then I drag over the second box and lift the unlocked lid.
The sweatshirt Kallum gave me rests on top. I touch the sleeve, my thumb rubbing the soot stain absently as the firelight dances in my periphery to transport me back to that night.
My spine straightens at the sound of Kallum entering the room. Resigned, I push the box aside and toss back the whiskey to steel my nerves. Then I stand and face him.
The beat of my heart scales to a frantic pulse in my veins as I absorb the sight of him in only a pair of black joggers. I track the shaded blackwork tattoos covering the sculpted contours of his chest and arms, the healed-over scar along his side, down to the defined V-shaped abdominal muscles that descend beneath his waistband.
In one hand, he holds the shirt I was wearing the night I killed Wellington. In his other, the obsidian knife he used to sever the head.
Alcohol burns through my bloodstream, bolstering my steps toward him as I sweep my thermal over my head and let it drop to the floor.
His gaze devours every exposed inch of skin, his nostrils flare as I come to a stop just before him. I place my hands to the solid plane of his chest, his skin still warm from the hot shower, his hair wet and dark, his scent of spicy sandalwood heady and so overwhelminglyKallumthat a broken sound escapes as my hands wander over the scarred sigils carved in his flesh.
A muscle jumps along his tense jaw. “What about the evidence disposal?”
“Later,” I say, my voice as raw as my hunger for him. “I want you to make love to me, Kallum.”
A rough groan sounds from deep in his throat. “Fuck.”
Letting the objects in his hands fall to the floor, he slips his fingers beneath the straps of my bra and tows the garment down until I’m bared to him. The caged beast unleashed, he lowers down to grasp the backs of my thighs and lifts me against him. His mouth covetously seals over mine as he carries me toward the fire and sinks to his knees, where he splays me out before him.
He prowls over my body like a starved animal prowling over its prey. The empty black eyes in the skull of the stag look right into me, and I stare back into those hollow sockets as I drag my hands across Kallum’s inked skin, nails raking in hunger’s wake.
Kallum makes love to me on the rug near the fire. And it’s violent and passionate and tender, every touch branded to own, to possess. He buries himself inside me, his hips heavy between my thighs, the weight of his body a familiar comfort. A fierce growl is torn from the cavern of his chest as he rolls his hips and slams inside me.
Yearning and heartache are so similar in nature, the fiery ache of one easily exchanged for the other. I cling to his shoulders, consumed by the inferno as our bodies reconnect.
We’re both at the brink too soon, his thrusts increasing with force. He allows me to roll on top of him and straddle his hips. I shove his hands over his head and bear down on his wrists.
“Goddamn…” His tone is coarse, his thrusts driving up against me in desperate need.
