The Calum

by Xio Axelrod

  Lovie could still feel his lips there.

  Indecision was written all over his face.

  Yeah, me too.

  “Duffy where are ye, ye bawheed? Pizza’s ready.” Hamish yelled from the top of the steps. His voice bounced off the eaves, grating against her ears.

  Duff scrambled back. “I’m...sorry, I didna mean to...”

  “No worries.” Lovie cursed her breathy laugh. She pulled the blanket tight around her. “Heat of the moment.”

  “Right.” Duff frowned, but his eyes drank her in. “Yeah. Look, we should-”

  “Right.”

  She followed him back down the steps, torn between thanking Hamish for saving her from herself or killing Hamish for, well, cockblocking.

  Discoveries

  Lovie hated the smell of nail polish, but they’d somehow ended up in her room after dinner. It was the same back home. Jo blew on the nails of her right hand. She’d painted them candy apple red, the same color as Hamish’s convertible, apparently. It matched the red in the paisley quilt on the bed. “I think Duff’s into you.”

  Lovie looked away, the blood rising in her cheeks. “Nah, he’s just being nice, keeping me company while you work your magic on The Calum.”

  She flipped through a worn, leather-bound book containing the history of the estate. Judging by the portraits of his ancestors, Hamish was the product of some very strong genes. His family had a long history. In another time, he might actually have been a laird or something.

  “Nice? The way he looks at you, he’s being more than nice.” Jo’s freshly painted toes nudged her thigh. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

  “What?” A sharp edge slid along Lovie’s finger as she flipped the page. “Ouch! No! Why would you-? W-What about you and The Calum?”

  “It’s Hamish.” Jo said his name as if it were title. “And no. Not yet.”

  “Are you playing coy?”

  “Believe it or not, no.” She shrugged. “He is.”

  Lovie laughed. “You’re kidding.”

  “I know, right?” Jo gaped. “He flirts like crazy, but whenever I hint about taking it to the next level, he backs off.”

  “Well, huh.”

  Jo went over to an ornate, maybe even gilded, full-length mirror. It was one of two in the small room. “Maybe he’s not attracted to me.”

  Not attracted? Jo had to be suffering from some latent body dysmorphic disorder. She turned this way and that, assessing her near-perfect figure.

  Lovie sucked in her stomach.

  “Do you think he might be gay?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “I doubt it. He seems way too interested in your tits.”

  Jo turned to her, grinning. “Really? Not that there’d be anything wrong if he were gay, but it would explain a lot.” She checked out her ass in the mirror. “Oh! Maybe he and Duff are-”

  “No, Duff’s straight.” It came out more forcefully than Lovie meant it to.

  Jo glanced back at her, puzzled. “Are you sure? You said he hasn’t made a move.”

  Oh, he’d made a move. Or she had. Either way, Lovie didn’t trust herself not to blurt it out. She slammed the book shut and went over to the bookshelf that sat by the window. It was old. Everything there was.

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Well, I only have a few days. If I can’t get Hamish to make a play, this whole trip will have been a bust.”

  “We could always go down to Glasgow early. Find another Calum for you there.”

  “What? After all of the effort I’ve put into this one? Hell no. I will crack this nut tonight. Literally.” She bit her lip, grinning.

  “Um, ewww.”

  “Hey, I was going to say ‘suck him off’ but you’re such a lady.” Jo curtsied.

  Lovie laughed. “You’re disgusting sometimes.”

  “It’s why you love me.” With one last flounce of her hair, Jo went to the door. “Wish me luck!”

  Worried, Lovie grabbed her hand. “Just be careful, ‘kay?”

  “That’s my middle name.” Jo winked. The door closed softly behind her.

  Lovie flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. She needed to see Duff. What happened between them earlier, whether it was wrong or not, was amazing. Her lips still tingled from that kiss. She hoped that they would get another moment alone to explore whatever there was brewing between them. Not that she would ever see him again after the week was through, but they’d formed a kind of friendship. She hoped, at least, to stay in touch with him.

  Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted that boy, and bad.

  Lovie checked her hair in the less-ornate mirror. After trying to run a brush through it, she gave up. If ever there was a lost cause.

  Duff’s room was only two doors down from hers, but her palms were sweaty by the time she walked the fifteen feet of carpeted hallway. She took a breath, rubbed them on her thighs and knocked. Booty calls were so not her thing.

  Duff opened the door wearing nothing but his jeans. They were unbuttoned and, just like that, so was Lovie’s brain.

  Holy mother of pearl. His chest was a wall of muscle. His stomach a rippling, slalom course of manly goodness. An inky trail of hair led down from his navel and disappeared below his open waistband. When she lifted her eyes to his, one eyebrow was arched over his piercing blue gaze.

  He had the kind of eyes that smiled even when he wasn’t.

  He let out a heavy sigh. “Lovie. Whadya want? Come to ask me more questions?”

  “What? No, I...uh...I-” His reaction to her appearance at his door was markedly cold for someone who had his tongue down her throat a couple of hours ago. Had she imagined the intensity of their moment on the roof?

  Her mind went blank. What was the proper protocol for a botched booty call? She stood there, hoping for rescue. Throw a girl a bone…er.

  He sucked his teeth and backed away, swinging the door wider for her to enter. It was the only welcome he offered. Lovie stepped gingerly into the room.

  Duff’s space was larger than hers, furnished more like a lived-in room than a guest room. The bed was a king to her queen. An armoire filled one wall, and there was only one mirror which sat atop a dresser. Lovie walked over and ran her fingers over the armoire’s intricate carvings.

  “This is gorgeous.”

  The door closed with a thump. She looked back to find Duff leaning against it, his legs crossed at the ankles.

  “It’s an antique. Probably original to the house.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. Beside him, on a small table, sat the bottle of Scotch from the roof. It was much closer to being empty.

  Lovie was taken aback. “Are you drunk?”

  “No nearly enough.” Duff rubbed his eyes. He seemed so tired.

  “Did something happen?”

  His head popped up, eyes wide. “How can you ask me that?”

  Suddenly Duff was on his feet and moving toward her. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him, she wasn’t. It was the intensity of the look on his face that backed her up into the armoire.

  “What happened on the roof should never have happened.”

  Oh. Duff’s words would have been a cold splash of water on her simmering desire if the hunger in his face weren’t quite so apparent. He still wanted her.

  He dropped his eyes, and Lovie had to catch her breath. Her lungs burned as if she’d been underwater too long.

  “Why not? Am I that bad a kisser?” She tried to cover with humor, putting her hand on her hip to hide the shaking.

  “Because you and I have got nothin’ in common. And I know your type, you canna just be about the sex.” His voice, deeper than before, rumbled from his chest like thunder.

  Lovie straightened. “Are you saying that because I’m a woman?”

  Duff lifted his chin in response.

  “You don’t think women just want to get laid sometimes?”

  “O’course they do, but not you, hen.” His eyes swept her from head to toe,
something that - five minutes ago - would have dropped her panties to the floor. Now, it just pissed her off.

  “What makes me so different?”

  “Ye just are!”

  “Like you know me!”

  “You sure as bloody hell don’t know me, do ye?” He glared at her.

  What had changed since the roof, other than the conspicuous consumption of the twenty-year-old whiskey?

  “Asking all of yer questions, like we’re on a bloody quiz show. Diggin’ up me past.” He barked out a laugh. “Is that your idea of seduction, because I’d havta say yer sorely lacking.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “So what if I am? What’s it to you, Luuvie?”

  Lovie seethed. “You’re an asshole.”

  Duff smiled and that stopped her short.

  Okay… Maybe he’d been hoping to get a rise out of her, but to what end? She cocked her head, studying him.

  “Or at least you want me to think you are.”

  He frowned and stepped back. Something like fear flickered behind his eyes. “Come again?”

  Lovie knew she was on to something. “You’re hiding.”

  He laughed out loud then and crossed his arms, his biceps bulging. “From what, pray tell?”

  “I dunno, but you shroud yourself in sarcasm to hide your...your...cherophobic tendencies.”

  “My what? D’you just call me a cherub?”

  “No, a cherophobe! It’s someone who’s afraid to be happy. Someone who willingly sits under a thousand ton emotional tower, waiting for it to collapse. Almost hoping for it!”

  Duff’s eyes narrowed, his lip curling. “Don’t tell me. You took a Psychology course at university.”

  Actually, she had minored in it. Lovie huffed with indignation. She would have made a great therapist, dammit. “That’s not the point.”

  “It’s entirely the point!” Duff brushed by her, reaching for the scotch. “You think you have some rare insight into my psyche. Let me hand you a clue, darlin’, ye don’t.” He took a swig, slamming the bottle back down. “Ye don’t know me and, trust me, ye don’t want to.”

  “Because you’re, what, dangerous? A loner? Some kinda bad wolf?” Lovie crossed her arms. She was growing bored of his pity party. “You’re just a lost soul determined to stay lost.”

  “Jesus, d’ye ever listen to yerself?” Duff turned away from her and stalked toward the window. “Since ye want to know all about me family history, I’ll give ye the short version.” He faced her, bracing his arms inside the window frame. They were really…really nice arms. And his six-pack had come with two freebies. Wow.

  Stay focused, woman.

  “You want to know all about me ma and me da and me fucked up childhood, and all the reasons why I stay the fuck away from Inverness, aye?” Lovie gave him a short nod, uncertain if she really did want to know, now that he seemed inclined to tell her.

  Too late to back out now.

  “My father was a grifter. Ye ken what that is? He conned people of their pensions, tricked old ladies into givin’ up their savings for some petty scheme o’ his.” He exhaled, some of his fire fading. “For years, me ma had no idea the money that put food on the table, put clothes on our backs, had taken the food and clothing from someone else. She never knew. None o’ us did. Me da never worked an honest day in his miserable life.”

  Duff’s long arms dropped to his side, his fingers clenching and unclenching.

  “It was a clever little racket he had, him and two others. And when they were caught, it was all over the national news. Our family - me ma, me gran and me granda - we were...the talk o’ the Highlands. I was in my sixth year at school.” He glanced at her. “Like your senior year in high school.” She nodded, thinking back to his comments about moving around a lot. He sagged into the wide window seat.

  Despite her desire to go to him, Lovie stayed glued to the spot.

  “Ma refused to pull me out of school mid-year, so I had to see me classmates every day.” He picked at a spot of peeling paint on the frame. “The teasing didna bother me so much, Hamish had me back an’ all. It was more the look from some of the parents and teachers who knew his...his victims. Some of them were their family, ye ken. Ma lost her job. People shunned us. And me granda...his heart...”

  He swallowed hard, breathing like he couldn’t take enough oxygen into his lungs. Lovie didn’t want to hear any more. Didn’t want him to relive it for her.

  “We buried him that summer, before me ma and I left for Glasgow.”

  Lovie gasped.

  He looked up, a stricken expression on his face.

  Tears stung the back of her eyes. God! She was always doing this, needling people. Always trying to dig deeper, get them to show what they wanted to hide. Duff was so right about her. She did think of herself as some sorta amateur analyst, but she’d been arrogant. And way, way out of her depth. And yet, she still wanted to help him, somehow.

  When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. The pain and regret almost palpable.

  “Ye’d think I woulda learned from me father’s mistakes, but no.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I was a right bastard to her. Me ma did everythin’ she could to put me straight. Didna want me to get liftit, ye ken. Arrested. Every time I fucked up, we had to move. I didna care, tho’, I was angry. I blamed her.” He closed his eyes and took a hiccupping breath. “In the end, it’s my fault she’s dead.”

  She stepped toward him. “Duff, no.”

  “Aye,” he said, defeated. “It is.”

  Lovie didn’t know what to do, how to help, but the distance between them was unbearable. Watching him tear himself apart, it hurt.

  “I wore ‘er out, you see. I couldna see past me own pain. Couldn’t see what it all had done to her, losin’ her home, her husband, and her father. I was such a shit.”

  He fell silent, lost in his memories.

  Lovie wanted to ask what happened to his dad, but kept a quiet distance. The least she could do was let him wrestle with the demons she had dredged up. Despite the warm air, she shivered with shame. What had she done? He’d been so helpful. Kind, even. Sweet.

  She had no clue how to help. Maybe it was best to leave him alone. She turned toward the door. Before she could reach it, she was blocked by a six-foot-three, Duff-shaped barrier.

  Lovie nearly lost her footing, stumbling back from him.

  His eyes were dark and focused squarely in hers. Searching. Angry. Maybe even desperate. She should have been afraid, after all she didn’t really know the guy, but Lovie was drawn to him. Pulled in by his intensity. His pain. His need.

  His eyelids fluttered shut, the lashes smudges of thick soot against the red of his cheeks. His mop of espresso brown locks had been pulled into clumps by his restless fingers. Lovie wanted to smooth them back. Soothe him.

  Duff muttered something under his breath, as if arguing with himself, and then he dragged her into his arms. He wiped some wetness from her cheeks.

  She hadn’t even realized that she’d been crying.

  Lovie grabbed onto his shoulders just before he lowered his face to hers. He licked the salt from her lips, a move so unexpected she gasped.

  His arms closed around her, holding her fast against his hard body, while he whispered fevered words of longing against her neck.

  How he didn’t want to want her.

  How he was close to losing his mind.

  His tongue traced the shell of her ear and Lovie’s knees threatened to buckle. It was so intimate. So carnal.

  His large hands circled her arms tightly, possessive. Duff slid his hands down to hers.

  “Duff, I’m-.”

  “Don’t.” He shook his head slowly, the waves of his hair brushing her cheek like fingers. “I shouldna done that.”

  “I wanted you to,” Lovie confessed. Despite his rage and his pain, she ached for him. Perhaps more so now.

  Duff raised his head to look at her. He frowned, touching his forehead to hers. “Why?”


  “What?”

  “Why would you...with me, why?” There were still demons between them.

  She slid her fingers between his. “Duff, those things that you told me about your dad. You think you’re like him?”

  “Apples and trees.” He dropped her hands and shoved his back inside his pockets. “He wasna with us in Glasga or London or New York, but it didn’t stop me from...” He shrugged, deflating. “I’m not a good man, Lovie. I’ve done things. Got his blood in my veins, ye ken.”

  “Our genes don’t determine everything about us, Duff. You were just a heartbroken kid, acting out. But you’re not that kid anymore. Right?” She waited until he met her eyes. “We choose who we want to be.” Lovie touched his cheek because she couldn’t stop herself. There was a war raging behind his eyes.

  “I’ve tried my whole life to be different, but I’m just the same. I do the same stupid, selfish-” He stopped abruptly. “Look, I dinna know why I keep pouring this shit out to you. Sorry.” He squeezed her shoulders, his hands warm and strong.

  “It’s okay.” Lovie tried to keep the pity out of her voice. That was the last thing he needed to hear, but her heart was breaking for him.

  He released her.

  “You should go.” He was locking her out already. Shutting down.

  Lovie took his face between her hands, and Duff met her eyes, a question in his. She knew the answer.

  “No, I shouldn’t.”

  Revelations

  At first, it was too fast.

  Duff’s voice, rough with emotion, ghosted over her skin as he caressed her face, her neck. Murmurs of 'make me crazy' and 'want you so much' made Lovie’s nipples tighten almost to the point of pain.

  He kissed her as they stumbled toward the bed. The kiss evolved into a clash of lips and teeth and tongues. The hands on her ass were a little too rough. Her fingers in his hair pulled a little too hard.

  Then it wasn’t fast enough.

  Duff broke away from her mouth and released her. Lovie took a step back, struggling to catch her breath.

  His hand cupped her cheek.

  She placed hers over his heart.