by Devyn Quinn
“Not by a long shot.” Dropping her purse, Callie plucked the small envelope from the roses. To my best girl, it read. There was no name. She rolled her eyes. Roger Reinke knew how to cover his tracks. The handwriting wasn’t even his, but that of some female florist fulfilling the order.
She crumpled the card. She shouldn’t let the gift disturb her, but it did. Now wasn’t the time for Roger to try and make nice. She’d just convinced herself ending their affair was the right thing to do. Her life—and work—was much less complicated without a jealous lover.
But emptier, an inner voice pointed out.
Her sigh sounded defeated. “They’re from an old boyfriend.” A hairline crack opened up in her heart when she said the words. Apparently the mending was easier said than done.
Iollan raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Someone you still care about?”
Her jaw tightened. “Someone who doesn’t realize it’s time to let go.” Knowing their breakup was necessary didn’t ease her longing one bit. It only served to make her a brooding, bitter woman.
He nodded. “I see.”
“No, you don’t,” she snapped. “You don’t know anything about me or my life, so don’t think what you have to say is going to help one bit.”
He held up his hands as if to ward off blows. “Hey, I’m just an innocent bystander.”
Callie’s desire for company vanished. She’d rather be alone. If he had any grace about him, he’d take note of her sour mood and leave. Investigation or not, she had half a mind to cuff the asshole and beat him senseless. One less criminal wouldn’t be missed in this world.
Come to think of it, one less man wouldn’t be missed, either.
Make that two men.
Needing to steady herself, Callie sat down on the futon and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. Digging a cheap plastic lighter out of her purse, she cocked her head toward the rear of the room. “There’s the door. Don’t let it hit you on the ass on the way out, okay?” Hand trembling, she lit her cigarette.
Goddamn men, she silently cursed. So much for remaining detached. Her composed, aloof control was crumbling with each passing second. She took a deep drag, welcoming the pacifying rush of smoke filling her lungs. The cigarette’s tip glowed red before dying into ashes.
“I think the door can wait a bit longer.” Instead of leaving, Iollan crossed the living room and sat down. “Something you need to talk about?”
Callie scowled her nastiest frown. Didn’t this man know how to take a hint and haul ass? “No.” Warning of her impatience, she flicked her cigarette toward the ashtray. She missed, and the ashes scattered to the floor. She brushed the ashes away with the tip of her shoe.
He snagged her cigarette with a deft hand. “You’re getting a little irresponsible with that thing.”
Callie protested. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
Snuffing it out, he shook his head. “You’re quitting. Remember?”
Annoyance gritted her teeth. “I’ve decided to start again. Since I haven’t got a bottle of whiskey, nicotine will have to do.”
Iollan Drake leaned close, so close she could kiss him if she wanted. “This asshole ex of yours—he really broke your heart, didn’t he?”
Hands clenching into fists, Callie dug her nails deeply into her palms. “It’s none of your concern.”
He took hold of her hand, working her fingers open until he had access to her inner palm. She tried to pull free, but he held her tighter. Not enough to hurt or threaten. Just enough to let her know he wasn’t letting go. “You’re wrong, love. Anything that hurts you concerns me.”
She speared him with a cold emotionless glare. “As if you’d care.” She twisted her wrist and he let her go. He could have restrained her, and for a moment Callie wished he would. She enjoyed that sort of thing.
“I can,” he said softly. “If you’ll give me a chance.”
“I’ll be just fine—” she started to say, but got no further. The cracks in her composure widened. Giving into the pressure building inside, she felt a tear spill down her cheek, and then a second.
Iollan’s hand rose, swiping away the moist trail. “Whoever your ex-boyfriend is, he’s a bloody bastard.”
Callie turned her head away, blinking to clear her vision. She wiped her damp eyes, smearing her mascara. She didn’t care. Right about now she was sure she looked as attractive as a puffy-eyed raccoon.
Squaring her shoulders, she tried for cool and unemotional. “I’m being stupid about it, too. He’s married, and he didn’t make any promises. I thought it wouldn’t hurt if we didn’t get involved too deeply—just enjoyed the pleasure of each other’s company.”
And they had, for three years, sneaking around for clandestine meetings. All to sate the hunger for the forbidden desires no other lover fulfilled. What hurt most was that Roger had dropped her without a word. No indication of trouble. No reason. Suddenly he was too busy, unavailable. Never answered his cell when her number popped up. Callie suspected the bureau had a hand in their breakup, such as it was. Roger never would say.
Iollan’s gently probing eyes met hers. “It doesn’t happen that way, lass. There’s more to sex than a collision of body parts. When you make love to a person, there’s always a connection that’ll never be broken. He’ll always be a part of you because his body joined with yours. That’s nothing you can easily forget.”
She shook her head. “I’m trying to.” Her words came out bitter, laced with poison. She’d been vulnerable and was punishing herself for her lapse in judgment. Not because she’d slept with a married man—but because she still wanted to.
He glanced at the roses. “He obviously hasn’t.”
As the mistress of sex without commitment, Callie forced a shrug. “He needs to. I did.” She glanced over at him, anger and frustration pulsing through her. “I made a mistake and fell in love, but I won’t let that happen again.”
“It still hurts,” he said softly. “I can see in your eyes something’s missing inside.”
He spoke as if he’d opened her up and peered inside the dark secret recesses of her mind. A tremor wound through her and her body visibly quivered in reaction. She hadn’t been prepared to face all the unpleasant memories of an affair she was struggling to forget.
She glanced at the roses, hating the sight of them. They were a mockery, a blatant slap in the face. What the fuck was Roger trying to do, messing with her head like this? Six months ago he’d kicked her to the curb without a word of explanation, not even a good-bye kiss-off fuck to ease the transition.
Burying her face in her hands, Callie closed her eyes and leaned back into the cushions. Emotions were more exhausting than the long night spent on her feet. Her head ached, her feet hurt, and she was just plain tired.
“Sorry.” As if that moment of weakness was all she allowed herself, she parted her fingers, peeking between them. “Sorry. You seem to have caught me in the middle of a nervous breakdown.”
Fingers curling around her wrists, he lowered her hands. “It’s okay. I know how it feels. Been there, done that.”
His unexpected touch reignited her inner fires. Sexual awareness hummed through her, tantalizing and seductive. “I’m being stupid, unloading my problems on a complete stranger.”
He was watching her watch him. “I’m glad to be here for you.” A pause. “I’m glad to be here with you.”
The lump in her throat lessened. A comfortable warmth settled in the pit of her churning stomach. “You’re too damn good to be true.”
And he was a puzzle, one Callie couldn’t quite piece together. Exactly how one of the bureau’s most wanted gave the impression of being a seriously nice guy was a mystery. Either the intelligence was seriously fucked, or he deserved an Oscar for a full-on performance of genuine sympathy. If he intended to take advantage of her with concern, well, he was giving a realistically convincing performance.
She looked at him, so up close and personal. She’d read
the man’s dossier, for God’s sake. His criminal history was chilling, describing him as almost sociopathic. Yet here he sat, calm, graceful, boyishly charming. That’s what makes most criminals so successful, she reminded herself.
The notion of equating Drake with a murdering fiend somehow didn’t sit right in her mind. True, physical attraction blinded a person to qualities they’d rather not see, but Callie seriously doubted that was the case. This man didn’t act dangerous. More important, he didn’t feel dangerous.
He did feel right, though, and that unsettled her. With little effort she easily pictured herself in his arms, tonight, tomorrow, and the next day after. She didn’t believe in soul mates or anything of the like, but she had a strange feeling Iollan Drake was inextricably bound to her future from this moment forward.
A self-deprecating grin tugged at his lips. “Does that earn me any points for being a sensitive guy?”
She gave a wry grimace. “Humor’s the last defense of a guilty man.”
Her companion moved closer, his thigh brushing hers. “Maybe I’m just a good listener who can help you sort out a few things.”
Callie recognized his words for the come-on they were. The door to her trust was open. Whether or not she let him inside was her choice. “What kind of things?”
A grin tugged at his lips. “You’ll never know until you let me try, love.” Unmistakable innuendo laced his accented words.
She cocked her head cynically, regarding him through narrow eyes. He’d segued neatly back around to sex without missing a step in the dance. No doubting the intention behind his calculated manner. Having been around that block so many times she could’ve paved the path, Callie had to admire his tenacity.
“Oh, you’re definitely a smooth talker,” she said, arching a mocking eyebrow. If he had an act, now was the time to drop it. “I suppose a man will say anything to get a woman to spread her legs.”
To her surprise, he didn’t seem to receive her words as an offense. Instead he leaned forward, focusing on her face. A sensual combination of musky spice and hot male skin tickled her nostrils. Up close he smelled of heat, a lure as tempting as it was troubling.
“I don’t play head games, Calista.” He cupped her cheek in one large hand. Warmth and tenderness suffused his intimate touch. Compelling eyes engulfed her, in an all-consuming wave. “The first time I saw you, I knew you were special.”
In danger of sensual overload, Callie drew a breath against the tremor of awareness suffusing her body. Any doubts she’d entertained about him fled, scattered like morning dew under the rising sun. “Meaning?”
Iollan glanced over his shoulder, toward the bedroom. “Meaning you invited me in, but I won’t take advantage.”
Her stomach curled into tight knots, and a strange buzzing filled her ears. His closeness prickled her skin as liquid heat pooled between her thighs. Desire surged, the urge of raw lust achingly transparent. Without doubt, she wanted him, naked and inside of her. A wait of more than one more minute would be torture.
“I wouldn’t have let you in if I weren’t considering it.”
Iollan looked her over, anticipation sharp, as if he were dissecting her piece by piece. “I’m not after just any woman I can talk into bed.” An edge of possessiveness deepening his voice, one of his hands covered hers. “There’s a reason I chose you.”
Silence followed, an uneasy lull in which no sound but that of their breathing came between them.
Callie stared back at the man sitting so uncomfortably close, wondering if he was truly sincere or if he took some perverse pleasure in playing games with emotionally needy women. If so, she was playing right into his hands. Judging by her rapid heartbeat and the curling heat in her groin, her body had certainly chosen him—even if her mind hadn’t quite settled on the decision.
Emotion waged war with sexual need. Not because she didn’t desire his touch. She did, more than anything. But the tenderness his presence ushered in went far beyond the physical.
This attraction was getting personal.
Callie sneaked a glance his way, then averted her eyes. He sat quietly, waiting. The move had to be hers.
She pursed her lips. Maybe every damn word he said was a fucking lie. But her heart had been wounded and needed a salve. Maybe Iollan Drake wasn’t the answer. She’d been without hope for so long, she wasn’t sure.
The silence stretched on, uncomfortably long.
Feeling more alone and lonely than she’d ever dreamed possible, she swallowed the lump building at the back of her throat. “What makes me so different?”
Mouth curving into a smile, he leaned close. The tension in the air was thick enough to slice when he traced a finger above one mound of flesh pushed taut against its prison of leather and form-shaping wire. “This mark you wear is very meaningful to my kind.” His voice was a low sultry rumble, sexy and oh so enticing.
Pleased he’d noticed it, Callie’s hand automatically settled on her left breast. Upon turning eighteen, she’d had a tattoo of the Tree of Life etched on the soft curve. The fit of her bustier only served to enhance its presence.
“It’s Celtic,” she explained of the unusual design.
“I know, lass. Do you know its meaning?”
Callie didn’t move, content to concentrate only on his nearness, on his body so seductively close. The glow in her belly grew hotter, more intense. “I’ve never been able to explain why it appealed to me.”
He traced the design with the tip of his index finger. “It symbolizes the connection to spiritual entities and doorways into other worlds. When I saw it, I knew we belonged together.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding. The heat of pure animalistic desire pulsed through her, sending a delicious twinge straight to her clit. “That’s a come-on, if I’ve ever heard one.”
Finger still moving across the swell of her breast, he grinned. “I’m doing my best.”
She stared back at him. “At least you’re honest.”
His laughter was warm and unexpected. “If I tell a lie, I have to remember it. It’s easier just to tell the truth.”
She grabbed the chance to turn the conversation back on him. “So, any tattoos of your own?”
“A couple.”
“Going to show me?”
A sly look. “Maybe.” A pause. “Maybe not.”
She snorted in pretend disdain. “Going to be a tease, huh? In that case”—she lightly swatted his hands away from her breast—“hands off.”
A look of mock horror crossed his face. “You wound me.”
“I’m just being fair.”
A sly smile. “So it’s a matter of if I show you mine, you’ll show me yours?”
She pretended innocence. “Depends on what you’ve got to show.”
He eyed her, making a point to go from head to toe and back again. “It’s nothing like you’ve got, love. But I’ll do my damnedest to make up for any shortcomings you might find.”
The compliment pleased her, more than she should have expected. She realized then how much she missed having a man in her life, the comfort of spending a lazy weekend in bed, eating takeout, and watching stupid movies.
She really missed sex.
She eyed him back. If he had any shortcomings, they weren’t apparent. In fact, she couldn’t think of a thing he might be lacking. If the theory had to be tested…That damn prickle down her spine came again. Shivering, her fingers knotted in her lap. Might be better to keep her hands to herself.
Catching her, he moved a little closer. Any closer and he’d be sitting in her lap. Or vice versa. “Nervous?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “I’m a little cold,” she said, uncertain whether or not she was warning him or encouraging him.
His fingers brushed along her jaw. “Maybe I can do something about that.” He lowered his head, brushing his mouth across her bare shoulder. “Think that might help warm you up?”
She smelled the scent of his hair, perfumed with the scent of so
me exotic pomade used to arrange the tousle just so. She smelled the soap he’d bathed in, the silk of his shirt, warm from his body. She smelled her own arousal, the heady and intoxicating odor of a female in heat.
She didn’t pull away as he reached for her, didn’t stifle her moan when he buried his face in the valley between her neck and shoulder. Her moan grew louder as his tongue traced the sensitive pulse at the base of her neck.
“Calista…I’ve looked for you so long.” Suddenly his mouth was on hers, giving her no chance to question. A low grown escaped his throat as his tongue slipped inside to conquer and claim. His unique taste filled her. His mouth was like steel, immovable and overpowering. His hands pulled her tight, giving no escape.
Callie surrendered helplessly, caught up in the feverish passion she’d too long denied. Her resistance dissolved like a sand castle under an ocean wave. Want ignited with need. She was on fire. No matter how wrong or right sex between them might be, she needed him to the very core of her soul.
A moment later their lips parted, breathless. Their gazes locked, ravenous. A yearning needy sound escaped her as Iollan’s hand slid up her side, under her arm, then over her breast. His touch was light, sensual. Limbs turning liquid, she felt a fresh rush of sexual warmth fill her. Her nipples tightened anew, the tips peaking.
Close to losing her breath from delight, Callie gasped. “I can’t do this.” She put her hands on his chest, trying to push him away. All at once she was scared witless. “It won’t work.”
He didn’t budge. “Why not?”
“I don’t usually do this,” she stammered.
He flashed a lazy grin. “What?”
A blush reddened her skin. “Make love to strange men.”
His smile was boyishly charming. “Me either. So maybe we should quit being strangers.” Adept at manipulating women’s clothing, he briefly fingered the leather before inserting a finger into one cup and peeling it down. He teased the erect nub, thumb circling her pink areola.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she moaned in protest. Not very convincing at all. “I invited you for coffee…not Callie.”
