by Sofia Aves
“I was looking at it too.”
“Great minds and all. You like to paint?”
Nodding, I hid my pleasure that he had remembered. Recalling the red paint incident, I guessed it was a pretty memorable thing.
“I do portraits in oils and some landscapes. Bright colours, right now. I was on my way to an appointment when…”
“Ah, bugger. I’m so sorry for that.” He winced, realising. “I made you really late, right?”
“It’s okay,” I shrugged it off, not wanting to bring the tone of the evening down, “I got there in the end.”
Mrs. Nolan hadn’t been so accommodating, but I didn’t say anything. I’d taken an earful from the old bag but kept my peace, letting the woman rant righteously. Though I didn’t need the money, I hated confrontation of any sort, and actively avoided it.
Our order arrived, the tasting tray a lot larger than I’d had expected.
“Wow.”
We shunted the menu box to the side to fit everything onto the small table. A tiny chocolate fountain sat between us, resplendent in the centre of the table. Dark chocolate flowed over the tiers, pooling in the lowest level. My stomach rumbled just looking at it.
Tiny fondue forks skewered berries, and strips of fine toffee and honeycomb were coated with a golden, caramel sauce.
“Dig in.”
I held a strawberry under the flowing chocolate, mesmerised by the motion. Cal poked me gently with a raspberry.
“Penny.”
“Oh.” I realised I had been ignoring him and straightened, blushing for my lapse in manners. “I was just watching the way the chocolate moved. I’d like to try to replicate it, put that sort of movement into my paintings. It’s the little details that…anyway, you didn’t come out to hear me gab on about painting techniques.”
“I don’t mind.” Cal leaned towards me, eyes dark. “It’s a nice change from the worry you’ve fu– screwed up, that someone knows who you are. When you’re constantly on edge. Talking about something that doesn’t involve analysing a person’s behaviour, hoping you’re not going to have to witness some random act of violence because an idiot with a gun thinks it gives him the right to play God.” Cal took a deep breath. “Sorry. I haven’t talked about it with anyone for a long time. I want to hear about what you do.”
“You’re never away from it, your work?”
Cal shook his head, twiddling his fork between long, slender fingers.
“Not on undercover jobs. I lived there the entire time, as a flatmate. A friend.” He stabbed a strawberry right through with a skewer, so the end of the metal hit the plate with a dull clang.
“That’s tough.” I wanted to reach out, to touch him, but I wasn’t sure we were there, yet.
I opted for the non-contact route for a person in distress: distraction. Launching into a description of my day, I watched him while I spoke. Tense shoulders softened, slouched a little, as I recounted stories of past clients, of their idiosyncrasies. He leaned back, laughing, no trace of the stress of his time undercover remaining on his face, and I smiled.
“Mrs….um, Portrait,” I hesitated, not wanting to divulge my clientele in the event it got back to me, “Gave me a solid talking to on punctuality. Next time, I am to arrive at least fifteen minutes early and remain well after my allotted time slot to make up for the disaster of this afternoon. Naturally,” I wiggled my eyebrows at Cal, “She was wearing a red shirt, and was completely horrified when I painted her in royal blue.”
Cal raised his hands in mock horror.
“Oh, the indignity.”
“Indeed. So, I will be returning with a range of reds which she shall choose from tomorrow.” I watched Cal settle back, tension visibly reduced from his lean frame. My gaze kept drifting back to his forearms. Those muscles...with effort, I dragged my attention back to his face. His gaze was already on me, and I knew I was sprung. Heat crept up my neck, but he was just wonderful to observe.
His white shirt, unbuttoned just at the top that said casual, was set so well against his wonderfully tanned skin. Ink peeked from beneath his rolled sleeves. I admired the lean muscle of his forearms, imagined painting them — smooth strokes where long hours of labour had defined their shape, leading to the metal band of his watch, just loose enough to be comfortable. Tanned skin beneath it told me he hadn’t worn it out in the sun for some time.
A hell of a life, never stopping. Maybe this was why the ex was an ex. A stab of sympathy shot through me as I twirled the fork between my fingers. It reminded me of the gamble I’d taken, moving into Gran’s house after the funeral. Not really a place of my own, but a home, none-the-less.
I paused, listening to the silence that had fallen over the table, and realised it was mine. Cal stared at me, a small smile decorating his face. One hand rested beneath his chin. I loved those fingers, slim and long, so similar to an artist’s. My gaze drifted back to liquid eyes that never left my face, so intense. And that face. It should be in a gallery. Lost in his gaze, I just looked, open-mouthed for longer than was socially acceptable. I closed it with a snap.
Cal regarded me with an amused grin.
“What?”
It came out aggressive, even for me.
“You’re…it’s wonderful to watch you, see what you do. I’d love to see your paintings.”
I was filled with a glow at his words; sure it wasn’t just a line. It had been years since anyone had said that, outside my professional life. Cal leaned back, stretching one arm over the long, quilted booth seat that ran the length of the café. I felt the weight of his gaze, assessing, but not intruding.
“You have a–a magic about you, when you talk like that, about your painting, I mean. You glow with it. Something incredible lives inside you.” His voice was low, sending shivers along my arms.
I looked down to the table, surprised to find my hand clasped in his. Long, work-roughened fingers wound around my finer ones. I ran my fingers over his knuckles, mesmerised that something so strong could also look so elegant.
I wanted to get a pad out and start drawing them right now, fill in the colours later. He squeezed back, and my eyes shot to meet Cal’s, locking onto them. His fingers brushed gently across mine, but I didn’t dare break his gaze, scared the moment would be over.
My breath came in soft puffs. I wondered if he would be able to hear my heart beating, drumming hard in my ears. A smile creased his tanned skin. He stood suddenly, drawing me from my seat, into him. His arm was around my waist before I realised I was standing, my hands pressed lightly against his chest.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
I nodded, taking a moment to breathe him in as he strode to the counter, paying quickly. Heads turned, following us as we passed, but I knew they weren’t looking at me. The waitress smiled at Cal, her eyes wandering over him as she processed his card. I realised belatedly that I should have offered to pay. Then I remembered he had wrecked my car — just a little — and this was meant to be compensation.
I’d enjoyed tonight far more than I had expected. I’d even spoken about myself, which was rare. No friends meant no disappointment when they left because I was still so broken inside. I’d have to get the next dinner, I thought, looking down at his fingers wrapped around mine, casual yet firm, like he’d never let go.
When had that happened? It wasn’t like me to go on one date, let alone plan a second. I groaned to myself — here I was getting all gooey over a man I’d known for less than a week and only spent an hour with– oh. I checked the wall clock over at the waitress’s station a second time. How had three hours gone so fast?
The waitress smiled at Cal again, handing back his card. Her gaze dropped to our joined hands, then to me. I smiled back, but her face hardened. She muttered a quick “good evening” and walked away, hips sashaying dramatically.
A tug on my hand had me looking up into Cal’s beautiful face.
“What?” I murmured, startled to be caught out. A small smile lit his face.
> “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere quiet.” He waved a hand at the people clustering around us. “Away from all this.”
“Please. The crowd isn't really my thing,” I sidestepped a mob of teens socialising in the middle of the street. “And it's not very private,” I added softly. Cal looked down at me and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. My heart pounded — I never shared this much with anyone.
“I think we can find somewhere like that,” he murmured, drawing me into his side.
Cal turned at the corner the chocolatier stood on, away from the crowds. He squeezed my fingers again, and my heart gave a little jolt. I couldn’t remember the last time I had reacted this way to anyone. Then a pair of ice-blue eyes slammed into my mind, dragging up memories I couldn’t — wouldn’t — deal with right now.
Not tonight.
“Are you okay?” Cal shifted, letting go of my hand.
I withdrew mine sadly, wondering if I had driven him away with bad memories. Instead, his arm slipped around my shoulders. At that moment, I felt safe, for the first time in many years. I wasn’t watching every car that sped past, wondering if they would pull over and I’d be faced with him again.
The chance to breathe Cal in again was welcomed. Warm and spiced, like an early autumn fire. He broke into my reverie.
“I thought we might do the beach? There’s a decent length walk there.”
Still wrapped in my reflections, I didn’t answer, enjoying being relaxed with another person. I only experienced peace when I was painting.
“But if that’s not a good plan, we could…” Cal trailed off, uncertainty glinting in his eyes. It took me a second to work out what had happened, and I hurried to fix my lapse.
“Oh, no, the beach is fine, beach is great! I love the beach.” I closed my mouth, cursing myself as an incoherent fool.
“Oh, good.” Cal eyed me warily, as though wondering when I might next become a rambling maniac. I laughed, possibly adding more fuel to the fire.
“No, I was just…” How did one explain to one’s date they were just enjoying the moment without spilling their life’s story? I tried to fix it but only seemed to make it worse. “I really do–”
“Like the beach. Yep, got it.” Cal grinned at me.
I leaned into him a little, and his arm tightened around me. Pressing my head back against his shoulder, I stared up at the night sky. More stars became visible as we started down the steps that led to the promenade. Waves crashed onto the shoreline, deafeningly loud but welcome, almost rhythmic in their relentless pounding, drenching us with their salty sweetness.
We were silent as we walked, content in each other’s company. I had no desire to fill our time with words that didn’t matter. If Cal was going to be around more, there would be plenty of time to talk.
The promenade curved out over the rocks, drawing us away from city lights. No cars rumbled by, disturbing the sense of serenity. The crashing waves matched my own heartbeat, thundering and rolling as Cal stopped, turning me to face him. Butterflies overpopulated my stomach when his fingers brushed my chin, tilting my head back.
His eyes took up my world, encompassing everything. His lips touched mine, pressing gently — slow, firm movements. I slipped my hands up his shoulders, around his collar, arching into him. His palm cupped the back of my head, fingers massaging the nape of my neck in tiny circles. A small noise escaped me.
Suddenly, his kisses weren’t so gentle. His mouth crashed against mine, tongue thrusting deep, exploring, tasting. Weightless, I clung to his shoulders, fingers curling into his shirt as though worried I would be swept away without him. My tongue danced with his when he deepened the kiss.
Everything in me tensed as he set a rhythm as hard as his frame, and suddenly I knew — I knew — what he would be like in bed. I gasped, his hands tightening on me, lifting me off my feet before he pulled away and set me down gently, pressing my head against his chest. I wrapped my arms around him, breathless, palms flat against the planes of hard muscle beneath his shirt. His heartbeat pounded in my ears, and I breathed in his rhythm, matching it.
After a time, he drew back a little. I looked up at him, dazed.
“God, you’re beautiful, Mila.”
My name was like caramel dripping from his lips. I shivered, sliding my fingers across the stubble framing his chin, brushing over the lines that made him so fine. Perfectly proportioned, the man still resembled a god, regardless of the shorn hair. Tanned, with a light shadow creeping over his jawline, he could have been from Hollywood, or a model — not someone you’d meet every day. Or any day. Certainly not someone you’d go on a date with. I swayed a little, barely able to keep my thoughts straight.
He captured my hand, kissing my fingers, his hand still tangled in my hair. Cal drew me in again, mouth sweeping gently over mine, stealing my air. His lips remained soft this time, releasing me after only a moment. That same small sound whispered its way up my throat in protest before I could stop it.
Cal’s chest rumbled in response. I squeezed his arm, breathing in salt as the waves crashed behind us.
“Don’t laugh at me,” I grumbled playfully.
He just drew me into his side, turning us back the way we had come.
CHAPTER THREE
CAL
It hadn’t taken us long to reach her car. Mila let me ramble on about the boys at work, my last case, and far too fast she was gone, waving a slender arm from the driver’s window as she pulled away from the curb.
I ran a hand through my hair, still surprised when I encountered fresh stubble. Glad the dreads were gone, though, as the bloody things had itched abominably. Mila’s car disappeared in a line of traffic, leaving me with a different sort of ache. My hand missed hers already, tiny and gentle, but strong beneath my fingers.
The night air was cool, and I appreciated it as I walked back to my apartment. It was only a block down, around the corner, which was how I’d known the chocolatier was such a good spot. I’d been taking Ashley there for years — our regular Sunday date. She ordered the same thing every week — a strawberry Sundae with no nuts and extra chocolate topping.
I smiled at the memory of her dark head bent over the dessert while she devoured it. She’d look up with a huge grin, joy filling eyes that didn’t resemble her father in the least.
I stuffed my hands deep in my pockets as I walked, sucking down cold air. The night edged into a chill that promised a late frost at some ungodly hour. My thoughts returned to Mila — the delicate features of a much stronger woman than her petite frame had initially shown, though I’d known as soon as she’d gotten out of the car the day I’d run into her that she was something special.
A grin crept over my face, recalling her rambling and uncomfortable speech, the tiny mewl she’d made when I stopped kissing her. The asshole that I was, I enjoyed replaying the moment. She’d been so cute trying to explain herself. I wondered if she would make similar noises in my bed. It had taken all of my control not to reach down to see if her gorgeous ass would fit in one hand.
Lost in my thoughts of her, I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. A screech of tyres brought me back to reality, high beams stinging my eyes even with my back turned. As the vehicle swung up, onto the gutter, I dove sideways into a hedge on instinct.
By the time I’d detangled myself from the shrub — who makes a bloody hedge of roses? — the car was nothing but a set of tail lights disappearing around a corner. I chased it, limping, but lost it in a second. I cursed loudly. A small dog yapped at me from behind a low fence. Suburbia. Looking down at the dog, I stared at the remains of my favourite shirt, its tatters barely covering the scratches on my arms.
Get it together, Dane.
I checked the area, yanking out my phone to take photos of the rubber left on the road. It was doubtful they would turn up as anything specific — the vehicle had been a lowered black sedan, likely chopped to bring the springs down, rather than get it d
one professionally. Just like a thousand other similar vehicles in the city.
I called it in, getting Steph at dispatch. I knew she covered day and night shift occasionally to bring in extra cash, but the thought of her pulling double her hours soured my thoughts. I needed her at her best at the desk during working hours. If a small raise would increase her productivity, I’d see it done.
She made all the right noises, promising to send a car by the area. The room must have been occupied because her voice lowered as she asked what was on her mind from the beginning of the call.
“Do you think it was him?”
I inhaled sharply through my nose, as I’d been wondering the same thing.
“Not sure, Steph. Not likely, though, huh. Just some drunk on his way home.”
Maybe, but not likely.
“Okay,” Steph sighed. “Night, Dane.”
I ended the call. If everyone got called away on duties, Steph could talk all day. Or night. Stowing my phone back in my pocket, I jogged the rest of the way to my apartment, keen to wash the blood out of my shirt. Picking out a few thorns still embedded in my skin, I admitted the tatters could never be saved.
Cold, sweaty, and frustrated, I went through the rigorous security procedures my very nondescript but highly secure apartment block demanded. For the few minutes of delay, it afforded me total privacy, which suited my paranoia — and my obsession. I doubted there was a more safeguarded residence in the city.
Finally unlocking my apartment door, I disarmed the electronic lock Steph’s boyfriend had installed a few months back. It was meant to be state-of-the-art, which had appealed to me at the time, though I supposed she wanted everyone at the station to know how great it was. But every decent cop knows if a perp wants in, nothing will stop them.
Stripping off the ruined shirt, I discarded it in the kitchen bin on my way to the shower. I turned the temp up to just below scalding, letting the heat soak into my muscles, washing away the stress of the evening. Mila’s image drifted into my mind — minus her clothing, and how she’d felt when she’d arched into me. Damn, but she’d tasted fine.
