He had to get her somewhere warm and safe. He had to get her to his house. “We need to get out of here.” Callum climbed to his feet, somewhat ungracefully, with Isobel hovering over him.
“You’re bleeding!” She lunged for him, pulling his shirt up to get at the wound.
A strange tenderness unfurled inside Callum. He covered her hands with his. “It’s nothing. We’ll deal with it at the house.” She searched his eyes, desperate for reassurance. For once, Callum didn’t hesitate in giving it. “It’s nothing. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Callum couldn’t resist pulling her into his arms. He held her tightly, aware of how right she felt against him. She buried her face in his chest and wrapped her arms around him. They clung to each other, and Callum wasn’t sure who was giving comfort to whom.
“It’s okay,” he said as he stroked her back. “It’s the adrenalin making you shiver. It’ll pass.”
He wanted to stand there forever, revelling in the comfort of her soft body, reassuring himself that she was still alive. Still with him. But he couldn’t. Already he could hear sirens and voices in the distance. He kissed her hair. “We have to go, sweetheart.”
She nodded, and he felt her take a deep breath, pulling herself together. Callum wondered how many times over the years she’d had to do exactly that. How many blows could one woman take before she stopped bouncing back? He really didn’t want to know. The thought of Isobel losing her courage, and drive, was too much to contemplate.
“I’m ready.” She stepped away from him, leaving him cold without her.
Callum took her hand. He told himself she needed the connection, but deep down, he knew he needed it almost as much she did. They headed for the path into the trees between Isobel’s property and his.
“I can’t believe what I saw,” Isobel said as they ran.
“There was a lot of gas in the house,” Callum said.
“Not the house. The way you took that guy apart. I’ve never seen anything like it. All that power and precision. It was amazing.” The last word came out on a sigh that made Callum stumble.
“Your body is amazing,” she continued. “The way your muscles move when you fight. All that strength.” Her teeth pressed into her bottom lip, and Callum stifled a groan. “I haven’t even seen you without a shirt yet.”
That was it. He’d had enough. “Stop talking and run.”
“You practice that martial arts stuff, don’t you? Do you do it shirtless? Can I watch?”
He did groan this time. “You’re having a reaction to the adrenalin. You needed it to help save your life. Now it’s looking for an outlet. Ignore it. It will pass.”
“Maybe it would pass faster if we both got naked and spent five minutes working it off? We can spare five minutes, right? I mean, the kids are safe. Right?”
“Woman, I’m beginning to think your default setting is recklessly horny.”
“It’s my curse,” Isobel agreed. “But it seems to be worse when I’m around you.”
“Stop.” Callum’s jeans were getting tight and it was becoming hard to run. “Don’t say another word.”
He glared at her to get the message home, and she smiled sweetly. At least she stopped talking.
Callum led her through his house to a door at the back of the kitchen that she’d assumed led to a pantry. It didn’t. It hid a set of stairs that led under the house.
“Oh, is this your granddad’s famous bunker?” There weren’t many houses in the area that had basements, and the McKay one was particularly well known, because old man McKay had spent years fighting with the council over it. He’d needed planning permission to turn it into a bomb shelter, or something like that. The place had become an urban myth around Arness, with everyone wondering what exactly lay under the old man’s house.
Isobel felt jittery. She was aware that she was fidgeting a lot, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Every inch of her skin felt hypersensitive. Her blood seemed to fizzle in her veins. There was too much energy in her body. She felt as if she’d explode if she didn’t get rid of it. And the only way she wanted to do that was with the man at her side. He was driving her crazy. The scent of him, so masculine and musky. The way his body moved. The ripple of his muscles. She wanted to feel the rough rasp of his stubble against her skin. She wanted to bite into those strong muscles. She wanted to feel him moving inside her until she couldn’t think from needing him.
“Will you stop it?” he growled as he stalked down the stairs in front of her. He hadn’t even looked around. He couldn’t possibly know what she was thinking. And she didn’t care if he did anyway. Her mind was on other things. Mainly the way his butter-soft jeans cupped his firm backside. Damn it, her mouth was actually watering.
Callum spun to face her, and Isobel walked right into him. Because she was on the step above him, she could almost look him straight in the eyes. She licked her lips. If she didn’t taste him soon, she was going to go insane.
“Woman. Your kids are through the door at the bottom of the stairs. They need comfort. Even I can figure that out. You need to focus and stop thinking about sex.”
Oh my goodness, that rumbling voice set off mini-orgasms. She closed her eyes and moaned.
“Hell,” Callum muttered. “You’re killing me.”
She couldn’t think. Her brain was hazy. She rocked towards him, breathing him deep. Callum clenched his jaw and let out a stream of curses.
“Just one little taste,” Isobel whispered.
She saw the hesitation and then the angry resolve. “One of us has to be sensible. I can’t believe it’s me.”
He spun on his heels and strode down the rest of the steps, leaving Isobel feeling somewhat desperate. She blinked several times and tried to clear her mind. He was right. She needed to focus. She could do this. She could.
Callum pressed a code into the keypad on a box beside the door. There was a click, and he tugged the door open. The very thick, reinforced door. Once through the doorway, Isobel was confronted with a long and narrow living area, with four doors equally spaced on the left-hand side of the room and another door on the far wall. The walls were painted white and the floors were wood. The lighting was soft and almost made her forget that she was in a basement.
They were standing in a compact kitchen, which flowed into a dining area. There was a seating area at the far end of the room, complete with large leather sofa and a massive TV. Jack had been sitting watching TV, and must have jumped up when the door opened. While Callum started rummaging through the kitchen cupboards, Isobel rushed to her son and wrapped him in a tight hug, whether he liked it or not.
“Are you okay? Where’s Sophie?” She ran her hands over his shoulders and arms, searching for injuries.
“I’m good. Sophie’s in bed.” He cocked his head towards one of the doors on the left-hand wall.
When Isobel opened it, she found a small bedroom. It had a freestanding closet, a dresser, a chair and a set of bunk beds. Sophie was out cold on the top bunk. Isobel stroked her daughter’s hair before closing the door quietly behind her. She turned to find Callum going through the largest medical kit she’d ever seen.
“Why do you need all that gear?” she said. “Is it in case you get stuck in here during a nuclear winter?”
Callum looked at her like she was nuts, before turning to Jack. “I need you to call your aunts. Tell them you’re all fine and that you’re here. But ask them not to rush over. I want them to spread the word that your mum took you two away for a few days and you weren’t in the house when it blew.”
“The house blew up?” Jack’s jaw fell.
“You didn’t hear it?” Callum said, attention still on the medical kit.
“I was down here, in the bunker, putting Sophie to bed.”
“It isn’t a bunker. It’s a…granny flat.” He seemed pleased at that description.
Jack shared a smile with his mum. It was definitely a bunker.
“Did Sophie go to sleep okay?” Callum p
ulled out some sterile wipes, tugged up his shirt and started dabbing at the wound on his side.
Isobel rushed over and took it out of his hand. “I’ll do it.” There was a deep gash along the line of his bottom rib. It was still bleeding a little, and there was dirt embedded in it. “You need a shower. This needs to be washed out properly.”
“There are clean cloths under the sink,” Callum said. “See if you can get the dirt out here.”
Isobel wasn’t happy with that plan, but she went searching for a cloth, listening to Callum and Jack as she ran it under the tap.
“Sophie,” Callum said. “She okay?”
“I told her Mum was with you.” Jack smirked. “She seemed to think that made Mum safe, so she went to sleep. What happened at the house? What do you mean it blew up?”
“The intruders filled the house with gas. There isn’t anything left of it.” Callum paused, as though unsure of how to say anything else. “I’m sorry,” he said at last.
“Yeah, me too.” Jack looked a little lost. “I’ll go upstairs and call the three witches.”
“You can do it from here.” Callum nodded to the old-style phone on the wall. “Use the landline. I need to go up and get a change of clothes and deal with this wound.”
Jack nodded and headed for the phone. He stopped when he saw it. “Dial? It has a dial? When were you born? The Stone Age?”
Callum grunted and gathered up his medical supplies.
“I’ll come with you,” Isobel said. “Help clean you up.”
“What?” Jack dropped the phone receiver, and it dangled by its spiral cord.
Isobel felt her cheeks burn. “I don’t mean shower with him. I mean bandage his wound.”
Jack frowned and looked like he didn’t quite believe her. Whatever. She grabbed the rest of the medical kit and looked at Callum. “You coming?”
With a shake of his head, he followed her. They went straight to the master bedroom, with its en suite. Isobel put the kit on the dresser before walking over to Callum. Wet cloth in hand, she tugged up his shirt.
Callum’s hand covered hers, and she stilled.
“I don’t need help,” he said. “It’s stopped bleeding.”
“Let me take care of it.” Let me take care of you.
She hated to see him injured. She hated even more that she was the cause of it. If she hadn’t dragged him into her mess, he would have been safe at home instead of dealing with the intruders at her place. The thought of the intruders reminded Isobel of watching Callum fight, and her mind turned to darker, sultrier places.
Slowly, Callum released her hand. She reminded herself that she wasn’t there to gawk at his perfect abs, she was there to clean out his wound, but as soon as she saw the tattoo around his belly button, that thought flew out the window. Suddenly, the gash on his side wasn’t the most interesting part of him.
“You have a tattoo?”
“Several,” Callum said.
“Oh.” She was distracted, her attention firmly on the tribal design that curved over his stomach and framed his belly button. She traced it with her fingertips and watched his muscles ripple under her touch. “Does it mean something?”
He cleared his throat. “Not that one.”
Isobel tore her eyes away from the black ink. “Where are the other ones?”
He stared at her, and she felt herself falling into the depths of his eyes. Slowly, his eyes not leaving hers, Callum continued to lift his shirt. There was a Celtic knot emblazoned on his pec, done in the same black ink as the tattoo on his stomach.
“Take off your shirt, Callum.” Isobel was the one giving orders for a change.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Callum said, but he sounded needy, uncertain.
“What isn’t?” She dropped the wet cloth and leaned in to swirl her tongue around the curves of the Celtic knot.
He cursed and ripped off the shirt. Isobel’s hands were on him before the shirt hit the floor. All that hot, smooth skin covering firm muscle—he was a work of art. She traced the ridges and valleys of his stomach.
“I want to memorise this with my tongue,” she said.
Callum groaned as his fingers worked into her hair and tightened. “I need to tell you something.”
“Tell me later.” She twirled her tongue around a hard nipple and then bit down hard.
“It’s important.”
“Later.” Nothing was more important that tasting this gorgeous man.
He cursed, and the grip in her hair tightened, pulling her away from his chest and angling her face up to his. His lips met hers with a furious clash. All of his strength, all his ability was poured into the kiss. She felt him reach behind her and heard the click of the lock. After that, all that registered was Callum. His tongue plundered her mouth, spearing in and out, making her thighs press together. She pressed her fingernails into his shoulders, hard enough to leave marks. She needed him. She ached for him. She wanted to taste him, inhale him into her soul. She wanted to feel his weight over her and feel his hard length inside her. She wanted all of it.
His stubble rasped at her chin as he deepened the kiss. He was feeding on her, their gasps and moans melding into a symphony of unadulterated desire. She pressed her palm flat in the middle of his chest, feeling the soft hairs against her smooth skin. She wanted to feel them rub against her breasts. She wanted to feel his skin against every inch of her skin.
Desperate, she pressed her hand down his body and over the bulge in the front of his jeans. She moaned into his mouth as the heel of her hand rubbed at him, feeling the firmness press back. She’d imagined going slower this time. Learning his body. Luxuriating in all that muscle and hot, hot skin. But that would have to wait. She needed him now. Desperately needed him.
Frantically, she popped the button of his jeans and unzipped him. She tugged at the waistband of his underpants, freeing the smooth crown of his cock. Callum ripped his lips from hers and let out a stream of curses.
“Slow down,” he ordered as he tightened his grip in her hair.
That wasn’t going to happen. Isobel wrapped her hand around his length and stroked, luxuriating in the size of him. She wanted to touch him like this for hours. She wanted to wrap her lips around him and suck and lick until he begged for mercy. But most of all, she wanted him inside her. She was empty, desperately empty, and only Callum could fill her.
Her hand still holding him, she licked and kissed and bit at his chest, tasting the salt and musk of him on her tongue. She walked forward, making him back up towards the bed. She needed him now. She was past waiting. The need that had been building since she’d kissed him in her living room hours earlier had reached explosive proportions, and there was only one thing that could give her relief.
The back of Callum’s knees hit the bed and his balance teetered. Isobel gave him a hard shove and watched him fly back onto the bed. He was perfection. Broad shoulders, tattoos, washboard abs and a smattering of hair. And underneath it all, poking out of his jeans, was her prize.
Isobel didn’t wait a second. She ripped off her jeans and underwear and climbed on top of him. Her mouth slammed onto his as she felt the head of his cock slide through the swollen and wet lips of her sex. She clenched and groaned at the stark empty feeling inside her. She couldn’t wait a second more. Wrapping her fist around him, she positioned him where she needed him to be and sank onto him.
Callum ripped his mouth from hers. “Condom.”
“In a second.” He felt too good. Too, too good.
She felt Callum root around in his pocket.
“Up,” he ordered as he brought the square packet to his teeth and ripped.
“Just a little longer.” She ground down on him.
He wrapped his hand in her hair and tugged her down to look in his eyes. The look on his face was a mixture of amusement, need and something else. Something soft. Something she was scared to name.
“Woman, focus. You don’t want to get pregnant.”
For a secon
d, she was lost in his eyes, the feel of him inside her overwhelming. In that moment, nothing else mattered other than being with Callum. Than feeling Callum. Than knowing him.
“Crazy woman,” he muttered, then tugged her face down and slammed his mouth on hers. One taste. One touch. She was lost. She melted into him, boneless and at his mercy.
“No sense,” he mumbled against her lips, and then she felt his fingers grasp her hips and he lifted her off him and onto the bed beside him.
“No.” Isobel climbed right back on top of him. This time, he was sheathed. It felt different, less intimate, but definitely safer.
Isobel whined her complaint, aware deep inside of her that she was acting insane.
“Move, darlin’, move.” Callum’s dark order brought her right back into the moment.
This was what she needed. Perfection. Nothing felt like Callum. Nothing. Her hips moved as she ground herself down on him, keeping up a relentless pace. He clenched her hips, but didn’t try to take over. Isobel sat back, her fingers raking over his abs.
Luscious green eyes stared up at her, and she found she couldn’t look away. He was perfection. Brutal strength and raw masculinity. Her body was on fire. Sparks of electricity ran across her skin, from her fingers to her toes. She moved faster, circling her hips every time she pressed down on him.
“Yes, yes, yes.” Her head fell back and the chants became more desperate. She felt as though she was floating away, leaving her body and everything else behind. Wave after wave of sensation rippled through her. She felt him thicken inside her. His panting grew more desperate. She felt his muscles tense beneath her as she roared towards the precipice.
“Callum,” she wailed as she flew over the edge.
She collapsed on top of him as he arched up to meet her. His hips moved, once, twice, before he grunted his own release. Shocks rippled through Isobel as she floated back down to earth. She was limp. Sated. Replete.
Callum’s arms wrapped around her as she lay on top of him. Her face pressed into the curve of his neck. “If we ever manage to do this with foreplay, I’m going to die,” he said.
Rage Page 13
