He snorted in disgust and replied, "Arrogant bastard isn't loveable."
"Sexy is very loveable once you get past his public persona," she countered, and it felt like the top of his head was going to explode. "It should have been easy, and it would have been if I hadn't still been in love with you."
That pacified him. Somewhat. But Ford hated the thought of Callie with any other man, especially her fucking mentor. The arrogant bastard had rubbed him the wrong way and he'd done it intentionally. "He said you talk in your sleep."
"Only when I'm upset. Or have a nightmare," she admitted and just like that, the jealousy was gone. When he began to laugh, she asked, "That's funny?"
"It is," he confirmed smugly. "Sleeping with him gave you nightmares, but you slept in my arms with a smile on your face."
"How would you know that?" Callie asked in amusement.
"Because I watched you sleep," Ford admitted. "I wasn't being creepy. It was just a dream come true to hold you all night."
"You know, you can be pretty romantic for a heartless bastard," she teased.
"I am heartless," he admitted and lifted her hand to press a kiss to it before laying it against his chest. "I gave my heart to you."
"So the thing beating steadily under my palm is?"
"Your heart that you gave to me."
Tears filled her eyes before she leaned forward and kissed him tenderly. "You really are a hopeless romantic," Callie accused. "Please don't ever change."
"Not as long as it makes you happy."
Callie
Callie didn't know when she'd ever been this happy and content. Other than when they'd been together a decade before, that is. Making love with Ford had been even more magical than she remembered. He had lavished attention on her entire body until she couldn't take any more and then he'd done it again and again.
She'd never felt so well-loved.
Insisting that she relax and let him pamper her, Ford brought her breakfast in bed, and afterward, they read every article that he could find about her show. The critics were raving about her spring and summer collection, and the haute couture gown she'd worn was being touted as the most highly acclaimed design of Fashion Week.
There was even an article about The Callie Rose, as someone had dubbed the amethyst tipped bouquet that Ford had given her. "Now you have your own signature rose," he'd teased as his fingertips lightly traced the rosebud tattooed on her lower abdomen. "I deserve some kind of reward for that, don't you think?"
"What kind of reward do you think is appropriate?" She queried as gooseflesh trailed in the wake of his tender touch.
"Tell me about your tattoo," he suggested as his fingertips skimmed along the slightly raised flesh beneath the crooked stem running diagonally across her lower abdomen.
"My mom's favorite color was purple."
"Because of your eyes," Ford very astutely deduced.
"Yes," Callie admitted as her heart rate increased. "And purple is the awareness color for pancreatic cancer which she died from."
"So you got the tattoo to honor her memory."
It was scary how well the man could still read her. "I did," she confessed.
"What kind of scar is it hiding?"
He had touched, kissed, and licked her tattoo countless times during the night, but this was the first time he had mentioned the scar beneath it. "I collided with a piece of metal and the metal won," she managed to say evenly though her heart was hammering like mad. "It was ugly so I got the ink to cover it."
"Did it hurt?" Ford asked as he began to trace a leaf.
"The tattoo hurt like hell," she admitted as tingles of awareness resonated through her abdomen. "But don't tell Tig I said that."
Ford lifted his head from her stomach and asked, "Tig?"
"Tig's Tattoo and Piercing over on 8th Avenue," she explained. "His wife Delia does piercings. That's where I met Soraya."
"I should have known you'd met that crazy woman in a tattoo shop of all places," he said and the wicked smile warned her that he was up to no good. "Speaking of piercings, what happened to your lip rings?"
"The holes closed up and I didn't bother having them re-pierced," Callie admitted. "Getting them was a minor teenage rebellion."
"They were sexy as fuck. Like everything else about you," Ford said before he slid off the bed and went into her closet.
"What are you doing in there?" She asked in amusement since she could hear him rummaging around.
"Looking for these," he said as he came back out carrying the thigh-high boots she had worn on their first date. "I made myself a promise that I'd fuck you while you were wearing these."
"Oh my God. You really do have a clothes fetish," she accused in amusement.
"I have a Callie fetish," he corrected as he lifted her leg and slid a boot onto her foot. Once she was properly shod, he pulled her to her feet, placed her hands flat atop the mattress, and bent her over. One hand snaked around to turn her head to the left where a full-length mirror stood. "Look at us, baby. Watch me love you."
In the reflection she saw her hair tousled and wild from his hands, her lips red from his kisses, her eyes filled with desire. Her body was bare except for the purple suede boots, and Ford wrapped around her from behind. It was the hottest thing she'd ever seen, and the image was permanently burned into her mind.
Just like he was seared into her heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Callie
Callie always gave her executive staff a week off after a fashion show in appreciation for all the long hours they put in during preparation, and to give them some downtime to recuperate. She usually did the same, but this time Ford had talked her into taking two weeks and spending them with him.
Being whisked away to a luxurious bed and breakfast in the Adirondacks by helicopter had been unexpected. Discovering that Ford had rented the entire lodge so they could be completely alone hadn't. The man had a knack for making grand gestures and she had to admit, he did them with style.
The owners made themselves as unobtrusive as possible, so they might as well have been completely alone in their mountain aerie. They took long walks in the woods, enjoying the peaceful tranquility and scenic mountain vistas blanketed in autumn leaves. The vibrant landscape of colors looked warm and inviting and it inspired their creative instincts.
Ford had adopted his former habit of carrying his camera everywhere, and he experimented with capturing the play of light dappling through the trees while she sketched designs for her fall and winter collection. Both of them had always been city dwellers, and this trip into nature was a magical experience.
The days were relaxed and carefree as they napped, made love, and played a variety of board games that Ford always managed to turn into an x-rated version by declaring a missed turn had to result in losing an article of clothing. Needless to say, they weren't able to play them in the great room where the owners might walk in unexpectedly.
At night the temperature dropped dramatically, so the hosts served them a romantic candlelight dinner next to the stone fireplace in the great room. Afterward, they moved outside to cuddle next to a crackling bonfire and stare up at the stars. But the nights spent talking while curled up together in their bed was her favorite time.
By the end of the first week, they were more in love than ever, and completely attuned to each other. Callie really hated leaving their love nest, and she knew that she'd never forget the time they had spent there together. It had been perfect and felt more like a honeymoon than a vacation.
On that note, she was not thinking about marriage or dreaming of a future together. She had insisted that they take it one day at a time, and let their relationship develop free of expectations and promises that could be broken. Because he understood how badly he had hurt her in the past, Ford had agreed without hesitation.
However, he had invited her to spend their second week at his home to become acquainted with his son, and even though she was looking forward to it, the prospect
scared her half to death. Her biggest fear was that the boy wouldn't like her, but if that were the case, she reasoned it was better to know before they got any deeper into a relationship.
The helicopter had returned and flown them to Massachusetts where Ford grew up. He'd sold the estate that had been in his family for generations when his mother moved to Europe and bought a place that didn't hold bad memories. Apparently, his parent's marriage had been contentious at best and hostile at worst, so she understood his reasoning.
When the taxi dropped them off, she realized that not only was Ford's Victorian brownstone located in Boston's affluent Back Bay, it was situated on none other than Commonwealth Avenue. Since his Manhattan apartment had a Central Park address, she should have suspected this one would be equally impressive.
After they collected their luggage from the trunk she opined in amusement, "You do like expensive residential areas, don't you?"
Ford's smile was a bit sheepish when he explained, "I bought the brownstone because it's within walking distance of the train station. After the accident, I couldn't ride in a car without having a panic attack, so I took the train. My Manhattan apartment is only a few blocks from my office for the same reason."
Her heart ached at what he must have suffered after the traumatic event. Callie laid a comforting hand on his arm and said, "I'm so sorry you went through all of that. It must have been a nightmare."
"It was, but my shrink was a huge help," he confessed as he slid his free arm around her to guide her up the steps. "I don't think I would have recovered without him."
Callie stopped on the top step and asked in surprise, "You saw a shrink?"
"Still do on occasion," Ford admitted and shot her a wicked wink. "He's the trusted confidant I discussed Feathers with."
"Maybe you should discuss your clothes fetish with him," she teased.
"Too late. He already thinks I have a feather fetish."
She rolled her eyes and said, "I don't even want to know how he came to that conclusion."
"You probably don't," he laughed and unlocked the front door. Swinging it wide, Ford placed their bags inside and said, "Welcome to my home."
Callie stepped into the foyer and immediately noticed that it had been recently renovated. Typical of the period and style of the house, all of the moldings were stained a rich, dark brown that paired beautifully with the soft cream-colored walls and Carerra marble floors to give the space a light, airy feel.
A set of pocket doors were open to reveal his home office and a very unusual piece of decor. "This is different," she barely managed to say without laughing. It was a life-size silhouette of a showgirl painted white with ostrich feathers sprouting from the hindquarters and headdress much like her peacock and flamingo costumes.
"I catch a lot of shit for that," he admitted sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "I saw it and had to have it. Now I'm pretty damn sure that on some subconscious level I knew it was significant because it reminded me of you."
She gave him a mock scowl and replied, "I sincerely hope my costume designs aren't that blasé. It could use some serious bling."
He took her hand in his and led her across the foyer while offering, "You can dress her up in one of your sexy as fuck costumes."
"Don't tempt me," Callie grinned as she looked around. Walls had been removed so that the kitchen, living, and dining areas were all one open-concept space much like her loft. Come to think of it, their choice of colors and furniture styles were similar as well. "I like your home. For such a large place, it feels cozy."
"I hired a decorator to make it feel like a home," he admitted as he led her into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "I wanted Scott to have a real home with a normal childhood. I just wish I could be here with him all of the time."
"The commute is a bitch," she agreed and accepted the bottle of water he offered. "The easy solution would be to move Scott to Manhattan."
"I waited too late for that," he sighed and twisted the lid off of his bottle. "All of his friends are here and I'd hate to uproot him."
Callie leaned up and placed a kiss on his chin. "You're a very good father, Ford. Scott is lucky to have you," she assured him.
"I'm the lucky one," he corrected. "If I hadn't had him I might have gone off the deep end after the accident. He's the reason I fought so hard to find a sense of normalcy."
Tears misted her eyes as she said, "I'm so glad you did. And I'm thankful you didn't give up on me when I kept pushing you away."
"Sweet Callie, one look was all it took. I would have walked through the fires of hell to get to you," Ford confessed.
"Or climbed every fire escape in Manhattan," she teased and yelped out a laugh when he swatted her ass.
"It was worth it. Because you're mine and I love you."
"I love you, too."
"Dad!"
"Hey, bud," Ford said happily in response to the jubilant cry.
Callie turned toward the French doors that led to an enclosed back yard and saw a miniature version of the man she loved. He had the same mischievous smile and dark eyes, but whereas Ford had dark blonde hair, the child's was as black as a raven's wing. Scott was a beautiful little boy and her heart ached because he wasn't hers.
Her smile was bittersweet as she watched father and son embrace before the boy yowled that his dad was squeezing him to death, but his laughter belied the complaint. Placing the child back on his feet, Ford took her hand in his and said, "Callie, this little devil is my son, Scott."
"Hi, Scott," she said nervously and shook the hand he extended.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Callie," the boy replied in an equally nervous tone and his Boston accent was adorable.
The live-in housekeeper bustled through the French doors looking more than a little disheveled, with a baseball in her gloved hand and a merry twinkle in her eyes. After the introductions were made, she said, "Thank heaven you're here. This scamp is about to run me ragged chasing a ball around."
The boy rolled his eyes and complained, "Mrs. Beachum can't catch worth diddly."
"You're doggone right I can't," the older woman huffed in mock indignation. "They didn't teach girls how to play baseball when I was in school."
"May I?" Callie asked as she held out her hand for the glove. The housekeeper handed it over and she slid it on with practiced ease. She lifted onto the balls of her feet with her knees bent and extended the glove in front of her in the proper position. "As long as you keep your eye on the ball, this stance will make catching it easy."
"You know how to catch?" Scott asked wide-eyed.
"Sure do," she admitted. "I played first base all through high school."
"Want to toss the ball with me?" He queried and she could have sworn there was a challenging gleam in his dark eyes.
"Glove up," she confirmed with a nod. The boy whooped with glee and took off out the door like a shot. Callie realized she was grinning like a fool when Ford started laughing. "What's so funny?"
"I thought you were a girlie-girl," he admitted, humor evident in his tone.
"I am a girlie-girl," she confirmed. "I decorated our team's uniforms with sequins and rhinestones."
"I sincerely hope it was an all-girls team."
"I'll never tell," she denied with a wink and accepted the baseball from Mrs. Beachum before walking out the door. Scott had his glove on and was waiting for her as she crossed the grass. Callie assumed the proper stance, drew her arm back, and tossed the ball to him. She was rusty and it was a little high, but he still caught it. "Nice catch."
"Thanks," he said as he tossed her a fastball that she easily fielded.
"That had some heat on it. You've got a good arm too," she said in genuine approval and tossed it back.
"You're not too bad either," the boy grinned.
"It's been a minute since I played," she confessed and for the next few minutes, the only sound was the soft thwack of the ball hitting a glove.
"My dad likes you a lot," the boy imp
arted. "He talks about you all the time."
Thwack
"He talks about you a lot, too," she admitted.
Thwack
"He said you make clothes," Scott said and looked curious. "What made you want to do that?"
Thwack
"My mom taught me to sew when I was younger than you," she explained. "It's all I've ever wanted to do."
Thwack
"My mom didn't want me," he said blithely, but she heard the underlying pain of his words. "Grandmother said she was a trashy gold-digger who didn't want a bastard underfoot to remind her of her mistakes."
The boy's words broke her heart and it infuriated her that his grandmother would tell him something so callous. Having never known her father, she completely understood the feelings of abandonment and rejection that the boy was experiencing. The last thing he needed was to feel even more inadequate.
Thwack
Callie knew instinctively that her response mattered a great deal to the child so she chose her words carefully. "Sometimes people wind up in a bad situation, and they're forced to make really hard decisions that they don't want to make. Maybe your mom gave you up because she knew you'd have a better life with your dad."
Thwack
"That's what dad said," he confirmed with a nod and looked relieved. "What's it like to have a mom?"
Thwack
"Mine was pretty cool," she admitted with a laugh. "But I want to know what it's like to have a dad."
Thwack
"You don't have one?" He asked wide-eyed.
Thwack
"Nope. Never met him."
Thwack
Scott seemed to relax even more now that he knew they had something other than his father in common. "My dad is great. We do everything together. I'm his best friend and he's mine."
Thwack
"Sounds like me and my mom," she admitted with a watery smile and turned her head to wipe a tear away. She had known that meeting the child that Ford had with another woman would be difficult, but what she hadn't realized was that the boy would steal her heart as easily as his father had done.
Ford
Having Callie in his home and watching her interact with his son was like getting a glimpse into his future. This week had just confirmed what he'd already known. The three of them belonged together as a family, day in and day out for the rest of their lives. Scott had even commented that he wanted a mom just like her.
Heartless Bastard (Rich Ruthless Bastards, #1) Page 12
