When the story ended, Callie tucked the covers to just under Addison’s chin and gave her a small kiss on the forehead. “Goodnight, little princess.”
“Night, Callie,” she said, flinging her arms out from the blankets and plopping them along her side. Callie shifted off the bed and started to walk for the door, her hand reaching for the light switch. “Now kiss Daddy goodnight, too!”
The kid was trying to kill me.
I closed my eyes and hung my head down as something between a chuckle and frustrated groan rumbled up from my throat. I bet Addison pictured Callie tucking me in and reading me the same story; a quick peck on the forehead as the cherry on top.
I was about to lift my head and say something snarky when warm lips pressed softly against my cheek. The scent of strawberries and wildflowers fell over me, confusing all my senses. My eyes snapped opened, and there she was, a breath away from me, beautiful, healthy, full of life Callie.
She leaned toward me, balanced on her tiptoes, completely oblivious to my internal struggle. “Goodnight,” she whispered, her warm breath tickling along my throat. I steadied myself against the wall, desperately trying to restrain myself from offering her a real kiss goodnight.
God forgive me, I leaned closer and took a deep breath in.
A small gasp escaped through her lips, and I was instantly dizzy. My heart thundered and stuttered against my ribs, making me breathless. Everything in my body coiled tightly and throbbed hard—my head, my eyes, my fingers, my cock.
“Shit,” I murmured under my breath, thudding the back of my head against the wall.
Addison giggled from her bed, but I barely heard her. I was too enraptured with the way Callie’s eyes were fixed on mine, and how similarly heavy we were both breathing. Her chest matched mine in huffs, like something, some kind of dangerous, violent storm was happening in the air between us, depleting us both of oxygen.
“I need you,” I stammered, nodding my head.
“What?” she asked. God, I think she moved closer. The room was spinning.
“Tomorrow,” I quickly covered up. “You’re right. I do need you. Tomorrow. I need you.” Fuck, what was I doing? This was too much temptation. It wasn’t safe. I needed to fix my marriage, my wife. My wife who wanted a divorce.
“Sure, okay,” she said, taking a step back. “Tomorrow.”
I bit down on my tongue so I wouldn’t ask her to stay the night.
It bled for a good twenty minutes.
Chapter 11
Callie
“Please tell me you didn’t fuck him yet.”
“Well, hello to you, too, Detective Cage.” I should have looked at my Caller ID, but I was in the middle of a tickle fest with Addison and didn’t think about it.
“You put in for a vacation so you could help the neighbor across the street. How big is this guy’s dick?”
I covered the phone with my hand and smiled at Addison, “How about a little fruit snack? I have some cantaloupe cut up in the refrigerator. Be a big girl, and go get it for me.” I gave her a thumbs up for encouragement. “Oh, and hold it with two hands, okay?”
“You have to hold it with two hands?” Ryan said to me on the phone, laughing.
“Ryan, you’re an idiot. Why are you calling me? I’m on vacation.” I sat down on the couch in the living room and watched Addison open the refrigerator and carefully pull out the plate of fruit.
“I’m worried about you. That’s all.” His tone was serious now, which made me smile. Ryan Cage might be a pain in the ass, but he was a good guy.
“Trust me, I’m good.”
“I don’t want you sleeping with this guy, Callie.”
His words confused me. Ryan never cared about who I slept with. He knew because we have talked, in long, drunken conversations, about the kind of relationships I choose to have with people. Quick and painless. This way, I didn’t have to worry about a guy having to like me for more than one night. I wouldn’t have to have the talk with them when they started having aspirations for a family. I had no future in it. That just wasn’t in the cards for me.
“I haven’t. I swear.” I couldn’t believe I was letting the conversation go on.
"Okay, so what about the kids?" he asked because he's an asshole.
“What about them?” I huffed.
Addison slowly walked into the room, carrying a dish piled high with fresh fruit. She was trying not to laugh and spill everything. Ben was in the bouncy seat I bought him, bouncing happily, watching his sister.
“What if you get too attached? What if he moves away when the wife comes back from rehab? What if she doesn’t want you around or near her kids when she’s clean again?” He rambled off a dozen other scenarios that came straight out of my nightmares.
“Stop, please.” I could barely get the words out.
“Look, Pop-Tart, I’m sorry. I’m worried about you. You think the only thing you’re worth to a man is a fuck. You think you’ll never be anything because you can’t be a mother. And I don’t want you to lose yourself in this family and find yourself at the end with nothing.”
I swallowed down the rage that surged up my throat. "Thank you, Detective Cage. I will take all your advice into consideration. But it's tea time now, and I'm sure, as you say, I have a limited amount more to attend, so I don’t want to miss this one.” I ended the call and smiled at Addison. "You did a fantastic job of carrying the fruit. Why don't I put a kettle on, and we'll have an impromptu tea party?"
The squeals of utter delight warmed my heart. Fuck Ryan Cage. I knew what I was doing. I was helping a family who needed a mother for a few moments. And I was a mother without a family.
Sometime after dinner, my phone rang again, but this time it was Dylan, and for some strange reason my heart slammed and sputtered in my chest. I answered the call with my hand over my collarbone, trying to ease the sensation. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Dylan.” His voice was smooth and soft in my ear. “How are the kids?”
He never called me before. He always just texted. Something was up. “They’re fine. What’s wrong, are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just—” He breathed deeply into the phone. “I hate to ask you to do more, but would it be okay if I stopped by my mother-in-law’s on the way home from work tonight?” There was a small hesitation, then, “I wanted to see Sheri, without the kids being there.”
"Sure, of course." I didn't know what else to say. Of course he needed to see his wife. He needed to reconcile things, right? Forgive her for all her sins. Why did that bother me so much? Why did I want him to hate her? She needed to sign into a rehab as soon as possible, or she was going to get worse.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Callie. Thank you.”
"It's my pleasure, Dylan. Your children are precious," I murmured.
There was another pause before he spoke like he was trying to formulate the correct words to use. "What are you all doing now?" he asked.
“Well, now that we have a little bit more time, I think I’m going to bust out some of the finger paint I bought. Figured I’d leave the house a mess for when you came home.”
He laughed into the phone. The sound sent shivers down my spine.
“I’ll see you later, then,” he said softly.
“Okay,” I said. “Later, then.”
Finger painting with a four-year-old was chaos.
Whoever invented the slimy crap was an asshole.
Not one drop of it got on the walls or floor, but gallons of it somehow got up my nose, in my hair, just about everywhere there was skin on my body—I was covered in Addison style-squeal inducing neon paint. And the smell was horrible.
I somehow managed to get the kids washed and in bed by half past eight. It was me, head to toe covered in crusty dried up paint I was worried about. Thank God, the colorful crap on me washed right off with water. I just needed water—and I needed it fast—my skin itched like crazy.
Quickly, I ran down into the laundry room, und
ressed, wrapped a towel around myself and threw all of our dirty clothes into a wash. Then I ran back up the stairs, cleaned the toys and debris out of the bathtub, and jumped into the shower, leaving the door open to listen for the kids. It took a little too long for me to get all the damn paint out of my hair.
I turned off the water and stumbled out of the tub, wrapping myself in a clean towel. Shit. I didn’t have any clothes. I just put all my clothes in the wash.
Oh, well. At least it was out of my hair.
I pushed open the bathroom door a little wider to listen for anyone crying.
Something in the kitchen rattled, with a clang to the floor.
My eyes shot up, and my breath was sucked right out of my lungs. Across the hallway, Dylan leaned against the kitchen counter, dinner plate up to his chest, fork on the floor and a piece of roasted chicken sticking out of his mouth. His eyes were red, like he'd been crying for days, but they slowly changed as he stared at me.
I swallowed quickly. “I was full of paint.”
The plate tipped and trembled.
He plopped the wobbly dish down onto the counter, almost missing it, and nodded his head.
I cleared my throat and walked further out into the hallway. “Do you think I could maybe borrow a shirt or something that doesn’t have paint all over it? My clothes are in the wash with Addison’s.” I looked down and cringed. The towel hardly covered me; it ended too high on my thighs. Why were his towels so fucking short?
He stood frozen, not answering me. His eyes, I felt them sliding up my legs, like a soft caress. A deep ache twisted between my legs.
I took a deep breath, and the towel rode up even more. Dylan pushed off the counter instantly and stormed through the hallway.
Guilt was like sand in my throat, and I wanted it to go away. I wanted his hands on me. It would be just sex. It’s natural to want to have sex this bad, right? God, I bet it would be good.
He strode down the hallway like an animal. I bet he’d take his time on me and…what the hell was I thinking? I crossed my legs under the towel and filled my thought with images from the most violent homicides I’d seen. Get the fuck out of my head, Dylan Sanborn; I don't want to want you.
I scrunched my eyes closed and covered my face with one hand. If the stupid towel weren't so tiny, I'd have my entire head covered.
I felt the heat of him as he stood in front of me. “I thought you were going to be late. I’m sorry,” I said, opening my eyes.
Even though he was no more than a foot away from me, his eyes were cast upward, looking at the ceiling above us. He wouldn’t even look at me, just completely rejecting me. My face heated, and the corners of my eyes tingled with tiny needle pricks. He couldn’t even look at me.
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I…I thought I would be later…” His eyes finally dropped, then met mine. All I saw was hunger and pain.
“Are you okay?” My voice trembled. It sounded needy and distressing.
He nodded, slowly brushing past me in the hallway. His warm breath fanned out across my bare shoulders as his body slid closely across mine. There was plenty of room in the hallway. Yes, it was an oddly narrow space, but he didn't have to move so close, not unless he wanted to.
He licked his lips before answering me. “I’m just great,” he grunted. He ran a hand through the top of his hair and sighed. “Come on, I’ll give you a shirt and pants.”
I followed him into his bedroom. It was empty, mostly, only hosting one dresser, a lopsided nightstand, and a fully made bed. I stared at the bed, scolding myself silently, Stop looking at it.
He handed me an oversized T-shirt, and without removing the towel, I lifted the shirt over my head, pushed my arms through the sleeves and let it fall past my thighs. Then I let the towel drop around my ankles. “That’s better,” I said, taking a huge breath of air.
"Yeah? Well, I'm still thinking you're naked under that," he snapped.
I stepped back, shooting my eyebrows straight up to my hairline.
“Shit, Callie. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “I just…I’m not thinking. It’s been a long time since—”
Downstairs in the basement, the buzzer for the wash machine went off. “I’ll dump the clothes in the dryer. Look in the bottom drawer. There's probably a pair of shorts you could wear for now.” He was out the door before he finished the sentence.
Rummaging through the drawers, I found a pair of shorts and slid them up my legs as fast as I could. I wanted to run the hell out of his bedroom, but my legs wouldn’t move. I was imagining myself lying on his bed, with his face between my legs. It was a long time since he what? Seen a woman naked? Warmth flooded my body. My fingertips ached with the need to touch him. I felt lightheaded and sat down hard on his bed. The comforter smelled like him. Spicy and clean and carnal.
I needed to leave. I bolted back up immediately and forced myself to walk away.
He was sitting in the living room when I walked out, his head leaning in his hands. The lights were off, and only the soft glow of the kitchen light spilled in gently from the doorway. I padded inside and sat down on the small wooden coffee table in front of him. The area was so small, our knees touched.
“Talk to me,” I whispered, my heart hammering away at the base of my throat. “What happened tonight with Sheri? You’re home too early.”
He shrugged. "Sheri didn't want to see me."
“That’s heartbreaking,” I whispered, placing my hand over his to try to comfort him.
Half of me wanted to make a witty remark, something to cut the tension, make it less personal—but as soon as my hand touched his, he entwined his fingers with mine. The gesture was slow and intimate, both of us looking down at what was happening.
He slid forward, no more than an inch—close enough, though, that I could lean a little more toward him and bury my face in the crook of his neck.
“Heartbreaking,” he repeated the word as if it were foreign.
His gaze flickered up to mine, and I could barely catch my breath. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to kiss this broken, married man. What was wrong with me? I needed to be a friend here. I needed to put my desires aside and just be a normal human being for once, just do the right thing.
“You know what surprised me so much about having a broken heart?” I asked, gradually pulling my fingers out of his grasp.
He shook his head slowly.
“That I could live through it. I never thought I’d be able to." I leaned back and smiled softly, putting a little more space between our bodies. "When I first met Craig, I seriously thought I'd never be able to continue breathing without him. But I did. It was horrible and gut-wrenching, but I lived through it. Even when I didn't want to."
He stared at me, blinking once. Awkwardly. “I’ll be fine,” he said, scooting back into the cushions of the couch. “What about you?”
What fresh hell was this? “What about me?” I stammered.
“Are you fine, Callie?” He straightened his back and shifted his body all the way forward this time and pulled the table I sat on closer to him. The table hit into his knees, trapping me in the tight space between them. "You went on to find some other great relationship? Your heart is all put back together again?" His questions were curt and dry. What point was he trying to make to me?
"No." My voice cracked. I let myself get too vulnerable here. Was he playing some game? Fine. There was no way he'd be winning, though. "No relationships." I leaned closer to him. Was he trying to get under my skin? He thought his life was so much worse, right? I put my lips close to his ear. “Just raw, dirty sex. No heartbreak, because there’s no love.”
His lips were against my ear next, shooting goosebumps across my skin. "Yeah, really? How do you stop someone from falling in love with you?"
I wanted to laugh at him. Fall in love with me? Who in their right mind would do that? “Nobody falls in love with me. It’s not that easy.”
His lips brushed past the shell of my ear, and
every nerve ending in my body screamed out for him. "I think it would be the easiest thing in the world to fall in love with you, Detective Ward."
He stood up slowly and walked out of the room and through the hallway, "Night, Callie. Lock the door on your way out."
Chapter 12
Dylan
Callie’s face blushed deep red as she grabbed her belongings and stood to leave. She stumbled as she walked, pausing at the door with her hand on the knob and quickly glanced behind her shoulder. I couldn’t begin to wonder what her thoughts were filled with. They probably matched mine. I knew what she was silently offering me. I was a man, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to take her up on her offer on every surface of this house. Did I want her to turn around and stay? Yes, yes, I did. Did I want her to leave without hearing another erotic, beautiful word out of her perfect mouth? Yes, hell yes, I wanted that, too. She was oblivious to the internal struggle she was causing me. This woman was making me question everything I thought I wanted and needed. She made me think about nothing but her.
And still her hand held onto that knob, frozen.
What would I do if she walked back this way? She was wearing one of my old T-shirts and a pair of tiny shorts—I wanted to rip them off her body. Every part of my body was coiled tightly. I pictured it. Her walking back, sauntering. Unwrapping her like a present. Listening to her moan. Imagining the way she would taste. Her mouth around my cock. My hands were balled into fists, and I blinked my eyes hard, trying to purge the thoughts. Still she stood there, contemplating what she should do.
She was killing me. My heart hammered against my chest. My breaths quickened. Please go. Please go. I’m not going to want to say no to you.
The front door swung open, and a gust of crisp cold air blew in. She was leaving. My breath came out in one big whoosh, and I felt horribly empty, yet desperately relieved.
Finding Love (Behind Blue Lines Book 3) Page 8
