Never Mine: A Base Branch Novella (Titan World)

by Megan Mitcham

  His hips drove the tempo higher than before. He drew her knees above his hips and pressed them toward the wall. She rewarded him with frantic pulls on his tongue. The pointed tips of her nipples pushed against the silk of her bra and the sheer fabric of her blouse, meeting the unrelenting push of his chest.

  “Callum.” Jillian mumbled his name against his lips. Breaths rushed in and out of her mouth at a delirious pace. Her hips rocked in time with his.

  She felt so good, so wild and on the verge of everything he wanted to give her, many times over.

  One step at a time.

  Her kisses grew fewer and farther between. Rasped heaves and tiny sighs poured from her lips. Jillian’s eyes clamped shut. She shook her head in a slow back and forth, fighting it.

  “I know what you need.” Callum pinned her face to the wall with his forehead. He deviously slowed his thrusts. “Come, Jillian. Come for me.”

  Her hands slipped up to his shoulders. She pulled him in and circled her hips. “Yes.”

  Good Lord, her willing surrender spiked his own need, but this wasn’t about him. The angles of his attack varied with each plunge.

  “Oh, yes. You know what I need. How? I don’t… Oh, yes. Yes.” She whispered her tumultuous orgasm to the world and no one at all. It was spectacular.

  Slowly, the vibrant red he’d coaxed into her cheeks eased. Her breaths slowed.

  Callum braced himself for a Jilly tirade. She could give the best he’d ever seen. He’d pushed her past her comfort zone into new, terrifying, and delicious territory. She didn’t like things she couldn’t easily categorize.

  Jillian buried her face against his neck. A cold trickle weaved its way down his neck, and then another.

  Man, he hadn’t prepared for tears, but they endeared her to him all the more. Callum wrapped her legs and arms around him and exchanged their places. The cold metal wall stung his back. He hugged Jillian to him. Her leather jacket squeaked under his hold.

  He rocked back and forth and smoothed her hair behind her ears. She started the headshake again.

  “Don’t do that. We’re doing nothing wrong.”

  The woman he knew well straightened with a spark in her eyes. Her swollen lips pressed together through another torrent of tears. “I am.”

  “How?”

  She opened her mouth, closed it, and then bit her lips. Her gaze hit the ceiling as Callum waited for her to find the words. He needed to know why she thought this was wrong so he could find a way to show her it wasn’t.

  Her head canted and eyes narrowed. “Look.”

  For a few seconds, he thought it was an intro into her gentle letdown. When she didn’t elaborate, he followed her line of sight to the fan grating twelve feet up at the top of the chiller. A small rectangle of paper, a wrapper maybe, lay flat against the wide mesh.

  “Okay?”

  “This is a clean space.” She wiped at her tears and scrambled from his arms.

  “So?” Shit, he’d never felt colder in his life. He liked her warm curves against him, a lot.

  “I made sure it was clean before we found the warhead, and I know that wasn’t in here when I locked it up two hours ago.” Jillian grabbed at the small seams of the large metal plates.

  “You planning to use your spider skills to scale the wall?”

  She faced him and planted both hands on her hips. A hint of a smile curved her red mouth. He wanted to kiss her again.

  “Get over here and give me a boost then.” Her smile dropped off, and pure Jilly attitude challenged him to try something and lose a tooth.

  Callum adjusted his pants. Jillian’s gaze trained on his junk. Proving again what he had minutes ago. She wanted him—liked him—even though she didn’t want to.

  “Keep staring at my crotch like that and I’ll give you more than a boost.”

  She averted her gaze to the paper. One step forward, two steps back.

  He walked right to her and bent forward, leveling his eyes with her full breasts that peeked out of the kick-ass jacket blouse combo, and cupped one hand into a stirrup. “Up you go.”

  After eyeing him for a long second, she placed her boot in his palm. Her fingers gripped the back of his neck, and she placed the other boot on his shoulder. It gave him a perfect view of her crotch. He licked his lips and replayed one of those what-ifs in his head.

  “Now who’s staring at whose crotch?” She grabbed his extended hand and climbed, placing her other boot on his free shoulder so she stood fully on his shoulders.

  “I’m staring, but I don’t limit myself to your crotch.” From the bottom looking up, her ass popped like a Christmas cherry.

  “Men.” She snarled. “It’s all about the ass.” Jillian snagged the paper between her fingers and shimmied down his front.

  Callum locked his arms around her waist and stared into her eyes. “I’m not those guys, Jillian.”

  “I know.” Her throat bobbed.

  “I like this view more than all the others.”

  Her eyes closed.

  “Eyes on me and listen closely.” Callum waited until her lids parted. “This view gives me a clue into what you’re thinking about. You’re thinking about me. Crazy or unexpected as it is, I like it. I like it a lot.” He kissed her nose and set her on her feet. “What’d you find?”

  Jillian stared at him for several seconds before remembering she held one hell of an old-fashioned clue, considering the cameras and security system had been compromised. She turned the paper over in her hand, and her eyes bloated.

  “It’s the bypass code, written on an order form for the hotel restaurant.” She shook the paper. “Only restaurant management has access to it.”

  “Why would they leave it behind?”

  “I don’t think they meant to, but you saw the current created when opening that door, especially when the fans are running. Maybe it slipped out of their hand, and they didn't have time to retrieve it, or it fell out of their pocket. I don’t know, exactly.”

  “Well…” Callum smiled.

  “Well, what?” Jillian hurried him with quick flaps of her hands.

  “Looks like I’m taking you on a date tonight, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

  7

  If she didn’t touch Callum again, she could walk away and only feel like half a traitor. Right?

  Who was she kidding? Jillian had labeled herself a traitor by lunchtime the day of the first dream, when the images of Callum thrusting deep inside her refused to wash away with the passing hours of daylight.

  Jillian gazed out the wall of windows at the colors the setting sun painted on the blue waterfront. She should be surveilling the restaurant for an opening, so they could slip into the back without drawing attention to themselves. The problem was every time she turned her eyes into the room, they immediately sought the object of her many dreams.

  “You look stunning.” Callum drew her in with a perfectly fitting comment. Sitting across the dimly lit table from him—a warrior decked out in a suit and tie—was a turn of events she struggled to process.

  “I am stunned,” she quipped.

  Jared had wanted them to look inconspicuous in the five-star establishment. The guy hadn’t a clue the level of restraint he asked of her.

  “Why?”

  “Why do you have to ask such simple yet astonishingly complex questions?”

  “Part of my charm.” He shrugged, refilled her half-drunk glass of wine, and gulped his water.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk? It’s bad for business. Remember, that’s why we’re here,” she whispered.

  “Is it?” Callum’s smirk unbuttoned something inside her. It had come out to play so rarely in the last year.

  “Yes.” She took a too-heavy sip from her goblet.

  “I don’t buy it.” He lifted a hand before she could retort and continued. “I want to know why you ran halfway across the globe.”

  His dark suit matched his dark eyes and urged her to tell all. He had that e
ffect on her. Anything he wanted, she wanted to give him, and she wasn’t that kind of girl. Military life excluded, men didn’t order her around. Never had. Never would.

  Her palms dampened as she remembered his commands. ‘Eyes on me. Feel me. Come for me.’

  Jillian drew a stilted breath. “She was my friend, and I looked at her husband and saw something I wanted.”

  Goodness, but the truth—if only half of it—leaving her lungs made the next breath easier than the million before it. He reached across the table, but she couldn’t let him touch her. When he touched her, she forgot the reasons they couldn't be together, the reasons why they’d never work.

  “She was my wife, and I look at her friend, and I see something I want.”

  Her heart thundered in her ears. Callum’s gaze held steadily, his jaw taut. “We’re not doing anything wrong. I’ll continue to tell you that until you believe it. Amery was in our lives, and we were loyal to her. She’s not in our lives anymore.”

  And that was the crux of it.

  “What would have happened if she hadn’t died that day?” Jillian hated the question because she couldn't change what had happened. She’d tried every way she knew how—crying, begging, hoping, and praying.

  “You would have continued to be her friend and I her husband. You would have found a douchebag—less douchy than Trent was—and you’d have married him and made me an uncle.”

  That never would have happened, not after the dreams. Tears she’d banished for the rest of the day welled to the surface. Screw stealth and a romantic dinner. Jillian had to get away before she embarrassed herself to the point of no return. She slid from the chair, grabbed a handful of black lace, hiked it, and ran.

  Her strappy black stilettos beat a frantic staccato through the sea of linens and lights and a finery in which she didn’t belong. High-browed eyes followed her escape with irritated sneers and scoffs. She ignored them, rounded the last table, and aimed for the dark hallway past the white fountain with a rearing horse. A server in a dark suit turned from the bar, gasped, and wobbled his silver tray of martinis atop a white gloved hand. Jillian smirked at him. At more than ten feet away, he wasn’t in the slightest danger of being mowed over.

  Something wet and bony hit her bare shoulder. It spun her like a fun fair ride. Jillian’s arms shot out for balance, and her fingers sank into hot, damp fabric. Nearly one hundred eighty degrees later, she planted her feet on the slick marble floor and stared into the wide, brown eyes and a face obscured by a full, long beard.

  Heat gathered in her cheeks.

  “I’m so sorry.” Jillian righted the hunched man and released her death grip on his white coat. The double-breasted front of the sous chef’s top was tinted yellow with sweat and soaked through to his narrow shoulders. “I should have been watching where I was…”

  She was about to beg his forgiveness and keep running because nothing added salt to exposed emotions quite like a mid-escape collision. The amount of perspiration sliding down his mocha face jerked her attention by the shirt collar. Sure, kitchens were hot, but this kitchen was a modern masterpiece. Sure, the pressure to perform could be great, but the night was slow.

  “Titan.” The man’s wide eyes swelled larger still.

  Before her mind computed all the variables, his arm shot out. A thin flat palm connected with her shoulder. On any other floor and in any other shoes, Jillian would have rolled through the sissy shove and pounced on him. Since she wore a dress she rented and shoes she’d bought that afternoon to impress a man who didn’t belong to her, the hit pitched her backward. Her arms flailed once again in search of something on which to cling. She had nothing and no one in this world. The life she had known died with Amery.

  The sous chef sprinted toward the kitchen while Jillian’s ass and shoulder met marble with an unsophisticated smack. Air absconded her lungs. She fought through the panic that rode the coattails of every severe blow, and missile locked her gaze on the black double doors the man shoved through. Her hands found the cold, unforgiving surface. She pushed to her knees. Ornamentation on her ridiculous shoes tangled in the long lace and pulled her back to the ground.

  Gasps and tiny feminine shrieks erupted in the dining area. A server shouted after the man but made no effort to chase him nor help her up.

  Hot, measuring hands braced her ribs.

  “Let’s go.” Callum set her on her feet and took off.

  Jillian found traction on the balls of her shoes. She followed massive jacket-clad shoulders, a fine butt, and long legs across the room and through the double doors. Dishes and meals littered the floor in front of the delivery shelf. Flames rose from a searing pan on the stovetop where a chef flicked the contents with his wrist and bellowed over his shoulder at the chaos.

  Callum powered past the mess, the line of slack-jawed sous chefs, a pantry, the massive metal door to the refrigerator, and turned down the first hallway. Steam rose from the industrial dishwasher where a man washing pots barely spared them a glance. Past the washing station, crates of fresh produce, and gigantic plastic bins of linens lined the far wall. Beyond him, Jillian couldn’t see the man they chased, but she heard his frantic breaths and heavy footfalls in the distance.

  A metal-on-metal shriek of hinges filled the corridor and then silence ensued—save for the rumble of the dishwasher. Callum hooked left into a loading area. Bins and grates stacked atop pallets filled the room. A forklift sat vacant next to an empty stack of pallets. On the far wall, a garage door took up residence next to a smaller one, but the likely door where their man fled was the nearest and worst option. The office trapped him perfectly.

  “We don’t want to hurt you. We’re here to talk.” Callum retrieved a pistol from the small of his back and motioned for her to stand down.

  Of course, he would. Jillian glared, hiked her dress, and slipped the tiny revolver from her thigh holster. Callum’s gaze burned her exposed legs. She dropped the curtain of fabric, smirked, and hurried him toward the door with a walk of her fingers.

  When the man didn’t respond, Callum stepped to the side, twisted the knob, and shoved the door wide. Pistol up, he eased through the doorway. Jillian’s heartbeat raged in her ears. Callum Bradfield was the most competent man she knew, but even the best warriors died. He’d given up a job like this to ensure he’d be there for his girls. She shook it off. Sous chefs didn’t carry guns. Knives maybe, but…

  The guy hadn’t bothered to lock the door?

  Gooseflesh rolled a violent wave down Jillian’s neck. She turned to see the edge of a metal pipe swinging hard and fast at her head. The impact knocked her out of her own body. The gong reverberated from far away. Instinct also caught the flight out of town. Her limbs refused to fight back. Hell, they refused to catch her as she tipped forward into the office. The floor met her fast, but she didn’t feel the fall.

  The sous chef kicked her legs inside the frame. She couldn’t hear the door slam but saw it cut the light from the room. Maybe she lost consciousness. Maybe not. Callum hunched over her in an instant as he had so many times before…in her dreams. His rough hands roved her face and neck. His lips moved. Nothing translated, except his touch.

  He yanked a landline off a desk and yelled into it. She still couldn’t hear but could tell by the way the veins and muscles in his neck popped and flexed. Callum held the receiver away from his mouth, leaned over, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  Sound screamed back to existence in a high-pitched whine that threatened to shatter her skull. Both hands flew to her head to keep it from splitting apart. Groans and inhuman noises interrupted the wail of her brain.

  “I’m here, Jillian,” he whispered.

  “Get him,” she growled.

  “Something is blocking the door.”

  “He can’t get away.”

  “I can’t fit through the air vent, and even if I could, I wouldn’t leave you.” Callum brushed a strand of hair from her face.

  “I’m fine.” Her words sounded
more like a moan than anything.

  Callum yanked the mouthpiece in place. “Check the cameras in the fine dining kitchen, restaurant, lobby, and the back of the hotel. We chased a guy in a sous chef’s uniform but lost him.” He waited for a beat. “What do you mean the cameras aren't working? Never mind, the fucking hack.” Callum’s upper lip curled. “Tell them to hurry. If they catch him, I want the first crack at that asshole.”

  His gaze dropped to hers. Jillian willed the headache away, so she could better commit it to memory.

  “I need a doctor to Jillian’s room as fast as he can get there.” Callum grimaced. “He clobbered her over the head and locked us in the restaurant’s loading dock office. Thanks. We’ll be waiting.”

  He replaced the receiver and pulled her more tightly to his chest. Jillian eased her forehead onto his shoulder and exhaled the first full breath she’d dared inhale.

  “Jared’s coming to bail us out.”

  “I don’t need a doctor. I’ll be fine.”

  “Stubbornness still intact, I see.” Callum smoothed his thumb over her brow.

  “It’s the only thing that’s kept me sane for the last year and a half.” She offered him a weak smile, but his narrowed gaze whipped it off her face.

  “Year and a half?”

  Jillian opened her mouth to correct the number she’d given him, but maybe the slip was a good one. If he knew everything…

  Her stomach joined her head in the toss and turn of misery. She didn’t know how he’d react. She knew how she should want him to—with revulsion and pity to make her never look at him the same way again—but she also knew it would hurt worse than her head, worse than the dreams, worse than Amery’s death. And that was saying something.

  “Before Amery died, you’d been gone three months or so. Everything was perfect then, except the girls—and even me—we missed you. Life was normal. You came and went, I came and went, but things were great. We were a non-traditional family that did life. And then one night, I went to bed like every other night. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and crawled into bed. I’ve been over that night a hundred thousand times in my mind, nit-picking everything, wondering if I’d done something different would the outcome have been the same.”