by Zoe Dawson
Chapter Four
“It must have been amazing growing up here,” he said softly, his face much too close to hers. His eyes were heavy-lidded, the blue peeking out from ridiculously long lashes. This close, his eyes were still really blue, cobalt maybe, a color that seemed to intensify as he looked at her, his pupils dilating. His skin was incredibly smooth, despite the hint of five o’clock shadow, with such a gorgeous golden tone that she imagined it would always be naturally warm to the touch. And yet the angles of his jaw, the hard line of his nose, his chin, the arch of his brow, all combined to make him more rugged than pretty. Made her want to touch.
Where was that damn screwdriver? “It was. What about you? What amazing place did you grow up in?” Her voice came out soft and wispy. She felt her resolve slipping. She tried to imagine Brooke’s stern face, but her vision was full of Owen and his seductive, bad boy mojo, a face that could wreck any woman’s resolve, and a hard, muscled body that begged her hands to smooth over its hard planes.
He looked away, presumably to focus on the contents of the toolbox. His body tensed and his eyes shuttered. “I grew up on the streets until my great aunt found me and took me in. It was a hard-knock, learn or die type of existence, and didn’t include any expansive lawns, drowsing puppies, or pretty hanging baskets full of delicate flowers. It was gritty and dirty and terrifying.”
For a moment, the harshness of his statement shocked her. But when she recovered, her heart tilted, and his blunt confession gave her a glimmer of why he was a man who pursued many women but never settled on one. She didn’t want that insight, because it made it just that much more difficult to resist him.
She wasn’t sure he was telling her this to shock her, create distance, or gain sympathy. Little did he know that she was a sap for all things orphaned or in need. Not that he was either of those things, but still, she couldn’t imagine a life without the strength and wisdom of her parents. She had a haven to return to, and support every day, even when she wasn’t present. It was a comfortable safeness that permeated her life. Maybe that was why she sought out these kinds of men, the ones on the edge, to experience a bit of that thrill, some of that danger.
“I don’t know why I said all that. Maybe I feel too comfortable around you. You’re so open and caring.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. It’s not.”
“I’ve experienced the caring from my great aunt, but I’ve never trusted it.”
“Never?”
He shook his head, his eyes caressing her face as he stood close to her in the swath of sunlight from the window.
“I’m sorry for you, then.”
“Don’t be. I might be cynical when it comes to relationships, but I’ve done just fine. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Relationships. You believe in happily-ever-after and saying I do—”
“I never said that.”
“But you believe it.”
She looked at his mouth, tried to focus on the conversation. His mouth looked firm and soft at the same time. “My parents have had a long, happy marriage, so I’ve had wonderful role models.”
“No broken hearts?”
She shook her head. “I’ve had my share, but I was young and susceptible.”
“To men like me?”
“If I’m being honest, yes.”
“By all means, be honest. It makes it easier.”
“Easier for what.”
“To know the ground rules.”
“Oh, Owen. I know your ground rules.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. No commitment, a fun time while it lasts. Everything free of messy entanglements.”
“You do know the ground rules. And yet you still get hurt.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Can’t help how I feel. Controlling emotions is pretty much an illusion. Managing them is closer to the truth.”
“But ultimately you want what your parents have.”
“Yes, I want what my parents have. Who wouldn’t? The bond, the support and commitment they give to each other is priceless. They are each other’s best friends. And I guess I wouldn’t settle for less than that, either.”
“So you just trifle with men like me while waiting for Mr. Right?”
“I don’t trifle with anyone, Owen.”
His face grew serious. “I can see that you don’t. That was the wrong word choice. I apologize.”
“Apology accepted. I assume you can say the same thing.”
“I don’t trifle with women, Callie. I make sure they are all aware of my limits going in. There are no surprises.”
“Right. We wouldn’t want that. Well, I’m not that naïve young girl anymore.”
He took another step closer, and her breath suddenly felt trapped inside her chest. So much for being brazen.
“Still, you’re not my type.”
She didn’t back down, and his comment didn’t offend her. She might not be the most experienced person in the world when it came to relationships, but she knew his focused, intent gaze wasn’t of the innocent variety. “Who are you trying to convince? You or me?”
He stepped closer still, crowding her against the workbench, the search for the screwdriver as lost as she was in his eyes.
“Fuck if I know.”
His eyes were so dark, so deep, she swore she could fall right into them and never climb out.
“I think you’re the girl next door, sweetheart, and I should leave you alone.”
“And what, you’re the big bad boy I should avoid at all costs? I think that is a good idea. I’ve sworn off bad boys,” she whispered as his head descended and her breath backed up in her throat.
He lifted his hand, barely brushing the underside of her chin with his fingertips, and tipped her head back. “Have you?” he said, his voice nothing more than a rough whisper.
His mouth settled on hers like kindling to fire, and ignited. He backed her up so she was pressed against the workbench, but she barely felt the wood digging into her spine. She was too busy feeling Owen McKay’s mouth moving over hers with a sensual pressure that made her blood sing. Then she heard a deep groan and realized, distantly, that it was her own.
Her arms slipped around his neck, her forearms against hard shoulders, her fingers sliding along the back of his neck and burrowing into all those thick, dark waves. He pressed his hips into hers, growling just a little, as she ran her thumbs over his rough cheeks.
His heavy chest pressed tight against her tingling breasts as she welcomed the heat of his desire in the cradle of her hips, eliciting another growl deep in his throat.
His muscles flexed as if he was going to push away, his head lifting. When their lips broke apart, he looked dangerous and angry. Then his mouth covered hers again, taking her lips in a flurry of deepening, sensual kisses that made her head spin.
He trailed his fingertips from the pulse point in her throat all the way down to the tops of her breasts. Sharp awareness flared in her belly and spread through her bloodstream, triggering a slick, erotic warmth.
His mouth followed the path his fingers had taken, until they brushed the tops of her breasts.
“Callie?”
He reeled away from her as her gaze went to the door of the shed. Frantically, she snatched up her baseball cap and jammed it on her head. And that is when she saw the screwdriver sitting innocently on top of the toolbox. She snatched it up and called out just as the door opened.
“Found it.”
“Excellent,” her father said. “Now you can get back to what you were doing then wash up for dinner.”
Callie almost snorted. She knew her father hadn’t meant fusing their lips back together, and, as she looked over at Owen, she could see the same thought emblazoned across his face. But it was fraught with too much…just too much.
Oblivious to Owen’s attempt to get himself under control, Callie’s father strode out of the shed and let the door slam. Owen braced his hands against the workbench
, the muscles in his arms bunching beneath the sweater. With a quick pull he yanked the sweater off, his face flushed, his breathing slowing.
“You heard the man,” she said, trying to ignore the way Owen tracked her as she stepped out of the shed.
