by Jade Hart
Sucking a breath, making sure my towel was secure around me, I left the bathroom.
Callan was on the balcony, arms resting on the rail, ankles crossed, his gaze sad as he watched the sea. There were no waves, but the entire beach was bathed in orange. The sunset was perfect.
Swallowing, I ruffled my wet hair. “You can have the bathroom now.”
He spun around, freezing when he saw me. His eyes dropped to the bandage around my shoulder. His hands curled but he didn't say anything.
The room erupted with energy as he inched toward me. “You're wet.” My mind instantly went dirty and my mouth parted. Then I realized he meant from my shower. I didn't say anything as his fingertip caught my chin, tilting me to look up. “You're stunning.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks. I never blushed, and yet, this was the third or fourth time since we arrived. His effect on me was too violent. I stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
It was a match to a flame, a sizzle of gunpowder, and Callan's strong arms pulled me hard against him. His tongue darted into my mouth, while his hand fell to my lower back pushing me firm against his rapidly hardening erection.
He walked me backward to the bed. I tripped and fell onto the soft mattress. Callan pounced on me a moment later. My stitches tore a gasp from me, but I dragged his lips back to mine when he glanced at me with concern. It was sweet he was worried about me when he was injured himself. I noticed his wrist the moment he found me at the airport. Why was it bandaged?
His fingers fumbled on the knot in my towel, managing to spread it wide. The coldness in my blood caused me to shiver, even though the room was stinking hot. Callan hadn't put his t-shirt back on, and his skin was a bonfire against mine. I clawed him, wanting to leech his heat into me. To replace the chill inside.
Callan nuzzled my neck, taking my breast in his hand. His head dipped to suck my nipple. It resonated directly with my core.
“I'm so glad you're here, Ocean,” he murmured between kisses on my chest and throat.
I wanted to respond, to tell him how happy I was to be here too, despite my cold exterior protecting me, but my stomach decided to growl. Loudly.
Callan froze. His eyes dropped from my breast to my stomach. A smile quirked his lips, then broke into a full grin. “I take it you're hungry?”
My eyes snapped shut. How embarrassing. I was a garbage disposal when it came to food. Would he be repulsed by how much I could devour?
He laughed, dropping a kiss onto my lips. “How about we grab some dinner and then we,” he kissed me again, “finish what we started?”
I bit his neck. “That would be good. As you can see, I'm starving away.” I smiled.
He clambered off me, and wrapped my towel around me. “I can't look at you if you want to eat. You're way too much of a distraction.” His eyes were tight, lips pressed together. His restraint was admirable.
Twenty minutes later we walked through the hotel grounds. Callan's hair was wet from his shower, a darker blond with droplets. We were guided by lamps illuminating shadows of palm trees. The night air was abloom with sea salt, frangipani blossom, and the smokiness of barbecue.
The sounds of waves licking the sand, and murmur of guests around the hotel was pure intoxication. I wanted to revel in it. To bask in the tropical enjoyment and fully relax.
But I couldn't relax. I was a prisoner. First manipulated by Maurice, then shackled here by Callan. But I was the one who truly held my-self inmate. My heart wanted to spring free and run wild. To get drunk on the blond man who held my hand and looked at me with such sweetness, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to Callan.
The hotel hosted a seafood barbecue and the smell made my stomach behave terribly. You'd think I hadn't eaten in months. Callan chuckled but I didn't know if he found it endearing, or just plain disgusting. I hoped it was the former because if he couldn't handle my eating habits, I might not have to chase him away after all.
The hotel staff was all smiles and bows and gracious hospitality. A handsome busboy guided us to a table draped in shadows and fairy lights, sandwiched between the glowing teal pool and beach.
“I didn't tell you before, but your dress is stunning,” Callan said once we'd sat.
I looked down, smoothing the beautiful scarlet and sequined halter. “It's the first time I've seen it. Maurice paid some shop to pack for me. Everything in my suitcase is brand new and completely impracticable.” I grinned, thinking how happy Maurice was when he ferried me off to the airport with a new passport and pre-packed suitcase. Silly man.
Callan smirked. “I think he has fabulous taste.”
His expression reminded me that he and Maurice were chummy behind my back. It was as if a switch clicked in my brain. My vision oozed with a red haze; my happy thoughts were smothered in oily hatred. I froze, trying to fight against the terrible urge to scream and stab a fork through Callan’s hand on the tablecloth. Fear clawed my throat as harsh thoughts filled my mind. He’s a prick. Fraternizing with the one man who was supposed to be on my side and turning him against me. He’ll turn everyone against me. Kill him. Stop him.
I gasped, shaking my head, trying to dislodge the thick pulse of rage. It slowly diminished and I saw light again. What the hell was that?
Callan’s eyes were wide and his hand reached for mine. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head one last time. Was I okay? No. I shared my mind with a diseased evil that was close to subduing me. I needed help.
Instead of answering, I nodded. What were we talking about? Oh, yes, Maurice. I plastered an annoyed look on my face, trying to act normal. “I still haven't forgiven you.”
Callan cocked his head, eyes searching mine. After a moment, happy with what he saw, he stood. “Try to forgive me while I go and gather you some food.”
The barbecue was buffet style. It was a good test to see how much he’d give me.
I watched his every move. The grey shirt he wore with black shorts looked sharp but casual. His tanned skin and sun-kissed hair fit perfectly with the other sun obsessed guests. He moved flawlessly, powerfully, and turned my insides molten. As much as I looked forward to dinner, I was looking forward to dessert more.
My mind flitted back to the charge of emotion between us in the lobby. He looked at me with everything bared. It was as if he let me inside him, allowed me to inspect his soul. It both terrified and enthralled me. He was unique.
Callan put a plate in front of me. “Ta da. Cooked it myself.” He sat with a grin, picking up a crab pincer, ready to dig in.
I eyed my plate. Holy crap, could he be more perfect? There were two bread rolls, three types of fish, crustaceans, salad, and french-fries. There was so much food it almost overflowed the crockery.
“There's plenty more if that isn't enough,” Callan said between mouthfuls.
I looked him in the eye. “And if I told you I could eat three of these and still not be full, what would you say? Gross? Or thank goodness, a woman with an appetite?”
He laughed. “Do you need to eat extra because of,” he lowered his voice, “teleporting?”
I blinked.
“I sort of guessed by how emaciated you were when you popped into the station with Emily Snow.”
How much did he pay attention to? He seemed to know me better than I knew him.
“Will you tell me about it? How you do it?” he asked.
No one ever asked me that question before. Not even Maurice. How did I do it? I had no freakin’ idea. The power was just there. It stole the calories in my molecules to jettison me from place to place. I couldn't put it into words.
I shrugged. “I don't really know. But you're right about the food. I do need to eat to port.” Then added, “When I saved those girls I lost four kilos in one night.”
His eyebrows rose. “Surely that isn't good for your body?”
I stiffened. “It doesn't matter if it's good for my body or not. I'd do anything to help others avoid. . .” My voice drifted. I hadn't meant to lead the con
versation down this path.
A glint appeared in Callan's eyes. “Avoid what happened to you?”
I squared my shoulders. “So what? No one should have to go through that.”
Callan reached out and took my hand. “Don't get defensive. I agree. No one should have to live with that. But at the same time, people must live their own lives. Bad things happen, Ocean. You can't protect everyone.”
“You sound like Maurice.”
“Perhaps it’s because we both care for you, want to keep you safe.” His eyes darkened. “In fact, it's safe to say I'm furious with you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You almost got yourself killed by being reckless chasing Bazeer. You should’ve been satisfied he was about to be arrested. I wouldn't have let him get away with it. Bars would’ve been good enough to keep him away from girls. You didn't need to risk your own life by killing him. For every psychopath you kill, there are hundreds more. You’re fighting a losing battle, believe me. I know. I’ve worked in law longer than you.”
I glanced at the other occupied tables. “Keep your voice down,” I hissed. I couldn't believe he went there. Did he really just hint I should stop? That whatever I did I was not good enough? That I should let people be raped, mutilated, and murdered? I couldn't find words, I was so angry. At least this time it was my own anger and not some other entity trying to control me.
His eyes glued themselves to my shoulder. “Ocean, I worry about you. Maurice worries about you. I want to get to know you—to care for you, to—”
I slammed my hand on the table. He couldn’t do this. It was time to crush his ideas that we could be together. Couldn’t he see I was doing him a favor? I was messed up. My head was screwed, my priorities all wrong. I refused to drag him into hell with me. “Stop it. Right now.”
He flinched.
“You have no rights over me. You have no reason to care what I do with my person, or who I hunt. You promised you wouldn’t interfere—well, newsflash, you're interfering. Zip it.”
It was fascinating to watch anger roll off him. Amazing to watch his control as he reined himself in and visibly relaxed. His hand unclenched around his beer bottle as he swallowed his temper. “You're right. I'm sorry.”
My eyes widened.
“We're here to have a good time. No more arguing.” He saluted me with the beverage.
I chinked his toast with my cocktail. “Well, okay then.” I smiled. The tension of the conversation disappeared. “Let’s talk about you for a change. You’re keeping secrets.”
His entire body froze, eyes shut down. “What do you mean?”
Hang on. Why the crazy body language? I narrowed my eyes. What was he hiding?
I took a bite of lobster. “I don’t think you’re a cop.”
Callan visibly relaxed. “No. I was fired.” He laughed. “Not something I should be proud of, I know. But I’m much happier in my new employment.”
Uh huh. So I was right about the secrets. “Who do you work for? Are they responsible for shutting down Bazeer’s operation so fast?”
He took his time answering. “The agency is called the Korean Central Intelligence, and yes, they took over tidying up Bazeer’s sex trafficking business. You don’t need to worry. They’re very thorough.”
I had a lot of questions about his new employer, but my eyes fell to the bandage around his wrist. “I noticed that earlier. What happened?” I reached out and caressed his palm, running fingertips over the gauze.
Callan took a deep breath, eyes darkened. He looked at me with a hooded gaze. “Shark attack.”
My mouth fell open. “Shark attack? Are you serious?”
He rolled his eyes, shuddering a little as I ran my finger up the splattering of hair on his forearm. “I was stupid. Went for a surf in the middle of the night. I was lucky it was a baby shark. I fought him off. I doubt I’d be sitting here if its parents fancied a bite.”
My heart squeezed at the thought of Callan injured. Hurt. Dead. I ran from the idea it hurt too much. I’m in too deep already. Ocean, you’re in huge trouble.
I let go off his arm. “Bobbing around in the ocean on a board sounds like a death wish to me, regardless of the time of day.”
He chuckled, eating a mouthful of salad. “Didn’t it occur to you, I was drawn to you because of your name and that I love the ocean so much?”
The air shimmered instantly with desire. His eyes shot heat and lust right into my belly. I pressed my thighs together. “And here I thought it was because you couldn’t resist me in my hooker outfit.”
My snide comment broke the spell between us. We both laughed.
“Tell me something completely random about yourself,” Callan said.
I cocked my head, thinking. “Um, my favorite sound in the world is cracking the top of the sugar on a crème brulee.”
He paused for a moment, then chuckled. “That is pretty random.”
“You?” The minute I asked, I wanted to take it back. This was dangerous: learning about each other’s quirks. Dangerous for my heart.
He fiddled with the bandage around his wrist. “Ahh…” Then his fingertips flew to his jaw, tilting his head. “Can you see this scar? I got that by asking one of my little sister’s friends out. I thought I was pretty cool, being nine years old and all. She didn’t. She hit me around the face with a massive stick from the garden. Earned me a few stitches.” He laughed, dropping his eyes to my own stitched shoulder.
“Seems like you make a habit of chasing women who are bad for you.” My lips twitched.
“Apparently.” Callan smiled.
The remaining dinner passed in nice company. The lobster was divine, the crab heaven on a plate.
“Care to take a walk?” Callan stood after we finished.
The night was balmy and begged for lovers to stroll beneath the silver sheen of the moon. How could I say no? As long as he behaved and kept his protective instincts locked away, I was more than happy to go with him.
I smiled as we left behind the twinkling lights and sprawling pool with three waterfalls.
The instant our feet sunk into soft sand Callan took my hand. I stiffened. For some reason holding hands hammered my heart. It was too comforting, too familiar. It affected me more than a kiss.
The beach was lined with pretty resorts, each sparkling with lights, and draped in scents of dinner. It was a magical place.
“I'm jealous you lived here for five years.” My voice was too loud for the cicada-laden air.
Callan grinned. “I wouldn't be jealous if I were you. I lived in a crap, cockroach infested apartment. I barely stopped working. It was grueling. I couldn't take a break for long. There were too many men to catch.”
I frowned. Callan suffered the same compulsion I did. How did he not see I needed to work? He spent five years never stopping—what a hypocrite to tell me to halt.
As if he could hear my thoughts, he muttered, “I stopped working when I realized I was killing myself in the process. Working sixteen hours a day wasn’t something I could keep doing. So, I quit.”
His look was pointed. I ignored it.
“Plus, my family is in Sydney so I wanted to be closer. Especially now that my little sister is pregnant.”
Was this part of the bargain? Talking about our families, getting to know each other intimately? “I think we should keep to topics that don't have a lot to do with us,” I blurted.
“What?”
Great. Now I had to explain. “I think it’s safer if we don’t get to know each other too well.” Safer for him, as he’d be repulsed to learn just how atrocious my thoughts were turning.
His hand wrenched out of mine. “That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard!” His voice was gruff. “You're being dense, Ocean. I want to see if we can make this work. How do we do that if you don't want to get to know me? I'm dying to know about you. I have so many questions about you, your gift, your passions. Stop being so difficult.”
Shit, we were going round in ci
rcles. He wanted to know the real me, but that could never happen, as the real me was drowning in inkiness. To shut him up, I pulled his t-shirt, and kissed him.
Callan sucked in a breath, his chest brushed my own. I pushed my tongue into his mouth. His arms came around me whip-fast.
This worked for us. We were safe when words weren't being said. We were compatible with lust flowing in our veins.
Callan's teeth touched mine as he deepened the kiss. He tasted of beer and his own unique spicy, salty smell.
I moaned, pulling him closer. Every inch of my body was on fire. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to make me relax and take away my worry, guilt, and urge to hunt.
Strong hands crept up my back, skimming over the fresh scars of my whiplashes. His tongue was potent in my mouth. The kiss held every nuance of feeling and trepidation of what we were doing.
Callan broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Come.” His voice was husky with need.
We ran down the sand toward the water and a small boat with a balancing ballast that rested on an angle, painted with greens, reds, and whites. It was purely ornamental for the tourists but it was shrouded in the night, away from prying eyes.
Callan picked me up and pushed me over the side. I went willingly. My stomach was full of dolphins doing tricks. My mind was blessedly blank apart from the hot lick of need.
He scrambled over the side to join me, and I latched onto his mouth, kissing him roughly, ripping his shirt. Not caring I was a little wild.
A sound was wrenched from him as my fingers skimmed his chest. I worked my way down. Most of my attention was focused on the slippery dance of Callan's tongue, but I had enough ability to brush his erection and tug his zipper.
“Ocean. Stop.”
I shook my head. “No. Here. I want you here.”
Callan growled and kissed me harder, his fingers fumbled with my dress, pushing it up over my thighs. He sat on a piece of wood meant to be a bench. I straddled him. My hands worked his zipper, desperate to spring him free.
He shifted to help me and groaned when he found I wasn't wearing underwear. “Shit, woman. What are you doing to me?” His fingers didn't hesitate, stroking me, branding me, slipping into my heat.
