When Marisol had walked into the room, he’d pretended to be asleep. Through half-closed eyes, he watched her stare at him with shock and admiration. Her perusal, as if in admiration of something she’d never seen before, began to take effect on him. When he grabbed her waist and rolled her on the bed, his intention was to stop her from talking his ears off. But the moment he felt her softness, inhaled her sweet vanilla scent, he lost control of his body. He reacted like a teenage boy loaded with hormones. His dick hardened and his balls grew heavy. For a moment, he forgot where he was, forgot the pain deep inside his shoulder. All he could think about was spreading her thighs and burying his cock deep inside her. Damn, he wanted to feel her heat, kiss her plump wet lips, and suck her breasts until she screamed from pleasure and pain.
Without a doubt, Marisol was one hot human. On top of her soft, curvaceous body and her fascinating character…man, she had a generous mouth and sparkling green eyes, heavy with thick long lashes. He could just stare at her and never get tired of it. He bet it would be fantastic to have her ride him while her dark hair hung down like waterfalls. Callum’s cock throbbed. Shit, he couldn’t ever remember a woman asking him to get off her. Marisol was the first, and he was glad that she’d asked. Who knew what he could have done next? Damn him, he’d enjoyed those few minutes of being so close to her.
Thinking about mounting Marisol made his cock even harder. Fuck! Come on, Callum. Control your urges. This is not the right time to be fucking horny. He opened his eyes and looked in the mirror. A horrible face with dark rings around the eyes stared back at him. I look like shit. Well, what did he expect? Only hours ago, he was battling death. Anyone who went through that ordeal would definitely look like he’d gone to hell and back. Callum ran his fingers along his cheeks and jaw. He needed a long, cold shower, a shave, and damn, he needed food. He was fucking starving.
“Callum?”
“Yeah?” he barked.
“I just want to know if everything’s all right.”
“Yes. It’s cool.” He pushed off from the sink and suddenly felt light-headed. “Son of a bitch.” His physical and mental strength were sapped. Fuck. He couldn’t believe he’d faced death so close he could smell its fucking acrid smell. Well, he’d lived, and now he must face life and be happy about it. Marisol said there were clothes in the closet. He’d borrow a shirt and pants and hopefully he could return them in good condition.
Inside the closet, he found Mark’s plain white shirt and faded Levi jeans. The hems were torn. Too long for Mark, they must’ve dragged on the ground. Callum put on the clothes. They were snug on him, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Now if he could just find a pair of shoes, he’d be good to face the beautiful siren who taunted his dreams every freaking night. Callum grinned. What if he went out there as a wolf? He bet he’d blow Marisol’s mind. She’d probably talk to herself until she was breathless. What a beautiful chatterbox.
Mark wasn’t kidding when he said his daughter possessed a knockout beauty. He should have mentioned her deadly charms. Any man who looked into her dark green eyes would definitely feel instant attraction. As a wolf, he’d suffered from watching her straddle the pottery wheel with her long legs, her wet hands moving slowly and gently down the clay ball to form a cone. Man, it was so erotic he had to run for miles just to get the image out of his mind. Asleep, he dreamed about her almost every night—naked, on all fours...
Stop, brain. You’re not here, Callum, to drool over Marisol, but to protect her—and get a hold of Youven’s sword.
Chapter Six
Oh, Lord. Marisol sucked in her breath and held it until she thought her chest would explode. Naked, Callum looked perfectly sculpted and magnificent. Clothed, he looked like a yummy cinnamon bun fresh out of the oven, melting with glaze that she desperately wanted to lick. How could someone be that gorgeous and sexy and look dangerous at the same time? Dang, he had a body made only for the gods. She recognized the shirt and pants he wore. Sighing, she remembered they were a bit loose on her dad, but on Callum they were as tight as a tick on a dog’s ear. Tall, lithe, suntanned, and drool-worthy. What a package. Man, she wanted to take a bite of that... Marisol stopped her musing when Callum grinned, showing his perfect white teeth. God, he did it again. Grinning as if she’d just told him what she had in mind. Holding the baseball bat behind her as a precaution, she lifted her chin a fraction to see his eyes better. “Glad you found something that fits you.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Sweet caramel. Finally, a thong-dropping, rugged-looking hunk came to her barn. But why did he have to be a naked stranger and not the usual tourist asking for a direction or something? “You can use the phone to call a ride.” Wish you didn’t have to leave, but yummy or not, you’re still a stranger. And Dad told me not to talk to strangers.
“I don’t have to leave.”
“Of course…you have to leave.” Lord, had she spoke out loud again? She must have. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay.” Would be nice to have you for company. You’re so freaking yummy!
Don’t know about the yummy part, but I can be a good company.
“What? Did you say something?”
Callum grinned.
“But…” Marisol didn’t know what to think. For some reason she thought Callum had replied to her thoughts. But that was crazy. “Okay, for a minute there, I just thought you heard my thoughts, which is impossible. Anyway, since it’s impossible for you to hear me and answer without… Oh, I get it! You’re a...” She snapped her fingers repeatedly, trying to remember the right word she wanted to say. “You’re a ventriloquist.”
Callum laughed. The sound was deep, warm, and rich. “I never thought of myself as one, but it’s never too late to learn. No, Marisol. I am not a ventriloquist.”
“Right. Of course you’re not. Ventriloquists can’t hear thoughts, and for a minute there I thought I heard you say something. Kind of weird. Nobody can do that. Thoughts wouldn’t be called thoughts if—”
“Said aloud.”
“Okay, you’re freaking me out. I think it’s time for you to leave before I go nuts.”
“But don’t you want me to stay?”
“Yes. No! Oh God, did I say that out loud? I did, didn’t I? Yes, of course. It explains how you know what I’m thinking. It’s a habit, you know. Talking to myself out loud.” Marisol took one big step back.
“No.” His mouth twitched with amusement.
“Yes, I tell you. It’s my habit.”
“I meant no to the saying out loud part.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re a mind reader. Or whatever.” Perhaps a handsome twat.
“A mind reader, but definitely not a twat. Twat. Man, it’s been a long time since I heard that word. Twat,” he repeated.
The shock hit her full force. The man could hear her thoughts and she could hear his. Marisol stared, tongue-tied. When she finally recovered, she gripped her bat tight.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Callum Dyrdek.”
“That’s what you said. What I want to know is, what are you? And what kind of shit are you pulling here, Dyrdek? You’re reading my thoughts! That’s freaking nasty.”
“You’ll be able to read mine, too, if you put your mind to it. And with practice, you can block private thoughts. It’s handy if you find yourself in a tight spot, and not at all nasty.”
“How do you know that I’ll be able to read your mind?”
“Because you’re able to hear me.”
“Are you implying that I’m a freak like you?”
“No. Hearing someone’s thoughts is a talent. Not very many can do that.”
Legs apart, a warrior stance her father had shown her to intimidate people, especially men, Marisol held the bat in front of her the way she would her sword— with both hands on the handle, the tip pointing at Callum’s heart. If this man were smart, he’d see that she was ready to fight.
“I don’t like what you’re telling me and I don’t li
ke the idea that people can hear my thoughts. Nobody can read thoughts. Only Stephen King can make that happen, and that’s only in his books. Reading minds?
“That’s…that’s...insane. You need to leave.”
“Not everybody can hear you, Marisol.”
“Leave.”
“We need to talk.”
“Ha! Tough luck, mister. I don’t talk to strangers.” The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. Did he find her amusing? “You’re beginning to irritate me with that slow smile of yours. Nothing’s funny about not talking to strangers.”
“I didn’t say it’s funny.”
“You’re laughing at me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what do you call that?” She pointed at his lips. “A smirk?”
Callum just shrugged his wide shoulders.
“Leave. Don’t think I don’t know how to swing this thing. I’m deadly when armed with a bat.”
“And a sword.” Callum said the words matter-of-factly; her hand trembled.
“What sword?”
“The sword. The one that you’ve been practicing with.”
“How’d you know about my sword? Have you been watching me?” Oh God, please don’t tell me he’s a stalker. Only celebrities get stalked, not potters. Marisol realized Callum heard her thoughts again when his eyebrows shot up. “Stop reading my mind! That’s wrong. Like watching somebody use the toilet or getting dressed or—just stop it.”
“Put the bat down. We really need to talk, Marisol.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t talk to strangers. Especially weird freaky ones.”
“Just give me a minute.”
“Why? Give me one reason why I should.”
“I knew Doctor Mark Saint James.”
“So? A lot of people knew my father. Including animals. That’s not a good enough reason, Callum.”
“What if I tell you I know who killed him? Would that be enough for you? Or maybe I should tell you how he died.”
“Why? Because you killed him!” Marisol attacked. She pivoted and swung the bat with the purpose of hitting him on the side.
Callum took a step back, avoiding the blow. “Listen to me. I know things. Do things you would call magical. “
“Magical, my ass!” Marisol feigned another attack. She twisted at the last minute and stabbed him in the gut. But Callum was faster. He quickly moved to the side. The bat just nipped his waist.
Stepping back, she repositioned herself. She circled Callum, a strategy she knew well. To buy some time, to think. She twirled the bat like a baton. It was a scare tactic. While holding its grip as tight as she could, she pointed the tip again at Callum’s heart. This time with hopes of intimidating him. “You know things. Can do magic. What are you? A Harry Potter fan?”
“Better, actually.”
“You’re insane.” Insane! It dawned on her that he must be an escapee from an asylum.
“I am not insane, Marisol. I knew your father.”
“This is your last chance. Leave or I’ll call Sheriff Davis back here.”
“Come on. Just give me a chance to talk. All I ask is a few minutes of your time and—”
“How did you know my father?”
“Dinner. Can we talk about this while having dinner? I haven’t eaten—”
“Dinner?” Marisol surged forward, intent on to incapacitating him. She missed her mark, which was his groin. Damn, he’s fast. “Would you like a case of beer with your dinner while you talk about my dead parent? You asshole!”
“Beer sounds good.”
“Cabbage head. You just blew your chance of leaving here in one piece. You’re dead meat. Say your God damn prayers.”
“Cabbage—”
She faked a stabbing motion. When Callum turned to avoid the tip, she changed her move and tried to slice him as if the bat was her sword. This time she connected with his ribs.
“Oww! Damn it, woman! That hurts.”
“Oh, you think so? Take this!” She swung upward. A sickening sound of wood hitting bone echoed in the spacious barn.
“Fuck!” Callum grabbed his right elbow as he backed off.
Marisol smiled and raised a brow. She took advantage of the situation and thrust the bat to hit him below the beltline, but Callum grabbed the tip and pulled it hard. Unprepared for his move, Marisol jerked forward and landed on his chest.
“Baby, you don’t want to piss me off.”
Callum’s mouth was inches away from hers. She could smell his breath. Mint. He must have had something with mint in it. Concentrate, Marisol. You’re in the middle of a fight. Smiling, she roamed her gaze over his face before staring at his firm and sensual lips. She cupped the back of his neck, pulling his head down closer until her lips grazed his then whispered, “I’ll do more than piss you off, jerk.” She kneed him in the groin.
Callum collapsed on the floor. His hands between his legs.
“Not so tough now, are you? Stay where you are if you don’t want your brains—if you have any—all over my floor. I’m calling the cops.”
“You don’t want them involved in this, Marisol.” Callum sat back on his heels, breathing hard. “Mark was my friend. I’ve known him for years. He was a good man, a good friend of my clan, and I know he was a good father, too.”
“Friend? Not once did he mention you. If you’re looking for him, you’re looking in the wrong place. He’s resting at Evergreen Cemetery.”
“I already know that.”
“Oh, I forgot. You know things,” she said, her words heavy with sarcasm.
“Marisol, I was at the cemetery when he was buried.”
“Yeah, right. You’re the tallest and biggest man I’ve seen in my whole life of living here. I’m not blind. You, Mister Dyrdek, were not there.”
“I was. You would’ve seen me if you were looking at the right spot.”
“And where would that right spot be? Beside the cherry tree where dogs like to stop, sniff, and pee?”
Callum just stared at her.
He looked as though he was debating whether to answer her question or not. She decided to make it easier for him. “Why are you here if you know that my father isn’t?”
“Because I made him a promise.”
Marisol kept her eyes on Callum. It must have been the lights, but she thought a shadow of sadness crossed his face. A twinge of guilt for hurting him stabbed at her heart. “What kind of promise?”
“To keep you safe.”
Chapter Seven
Over the rim of his half-full glass, he watched Marisol from across the dining table. Except for the barn and Mark’s clinic, he’d never been in this part of the house. It was cozy and homey, smelled of dish soap, bread, pie. Everywhere he looked, signs that a woman lived here were evident. He loved it. The woman sitting across from him, however, was not a typical homemaker. Man, she was one nasty fighter. His elbow still throbbed and his cock... Damn, her knee had taken the breath out of him.
His brain forgot that she was in attack mode and he’d forgotten to defend himself when he stared into her eyes and felt her warm lips barely touch his. Fuck, even as he avoided her hits, he had an erection. If this hunger continued, he might end up seducing her right here in the kitchen.
Marisol had been staring at him the way a kid looked at a bearded woman in a carnival. He wished he could read her right now, but he’d promised not to look into her mind in exchange for a microwavable chicken potpie as small as a saucer. He should have bargained for a dozen of those damn things. Right now, he could eat them all.
“You said you knew my dad. Why did he never mention your name then? Not even once.”
“Maybe there was no need for it.”
“Or maybe you’re lying.”
“What would I gain from doing that?”
“A free place to stay, food, clothes. You tell me.”
“He was a friend who saved me and more...animals. I would never abuse his friendship. Mark was the best
vet there was.”
“I know about the animals he saved. But nothing about you. Dad and I used to talk about our days, how many pets he cured and released in the woods, how many pots I broke. He never said anything about saving a man.”
“I wasn’t a man when he saved me.”
Marisol’s eyebrows shot up. Her eyes were rounder than the beer bottle caps. “Oh,” she said. “Ohh,” she repeated in a tone as if finally understanding something. “I see.” She tapped her fingers on the table, obviously thinking. “Were you a man when you attended Dad’s funeral?”
“No.”
“Ah, that explains why I didn’t notice you. Still, with your size...What, are you over six feet?”
“Six feet, three inches.”
“Right. With your height, I would’ve noticed you. But then I wasn’t really looking at everyone present. Dad saved you, you say?”
“Yes.” Damn, he wished he could read her thoughts right now. He didn’t like the way she was nodding to herself. He could tell she’d quickly come up with a conclusion that he bet was wrong, one that he’d never like.
“Have you been in my dad’s clinic before?”
“Twice.” Marisol had never seen him because Mark made sure she was busy in her Bisque It store. Mark wanted to protect his daughter. He said the less she knew about his work the better. It was why he only came here when Marisol was not in the barn.
Marisol chewed her lower lip. “That explains why you were in the clinic. You’ve been there before. You knew how to get in. He showed you where we hid the extra key. I get it.”
Oh fuck! He wasn’t hearing her thoughts but he had a pretty good idea now about what she was thinking. “Look, Mark was a good friend and a doctor. When I said I wasn’t a man—”
“You don’t have to explain. And don’t you worry, Callum, I’m an open-minded person. Believe it or not, I have friends in the pottery business who are like you. My father’s personal business with you and your sexuality is not of my— “
Beyond The Veil: A Paranormal & Magical Romance Boxed Set Page 296
