“Hand him over!” Wynn says, and she sits him on her lap and kisses his cheek.
I steal a look at Callan for only a tiny moment, seeing the familiar twist of amusement dancing at the corner of his mouth.
Ask me to come tonight, I think as our gazes hold.
But really what for?
If you touch me tonight, it’ll only make it harder to leave.
Already seeing him with a baby in his arms makes me want it to be my baby that he’s holding—his and mine.
I wish it were that simple.
I had my whole life planned out, and maybe Callan won’t change his spots for a girl—there’s a reason he’s the last man standing.
Wynn offered to drive me back, and being at the Saints with Callan so close and yet so far away was eating up my nerves. I could sense Tahoe watching us when Callan and I stepped outside to smoke.
He brushed his fingers over mine every time we passed the cigarette, and I wanted to hold his hand, kiss his lips.
We didn’t talk. That’s so unlike us. Callan seemed frustrated by the attention we were getting, and he spent the evening nursing a whiskey and smoking more than usual. He noticed me leaving with Wynn, and he caught up with me at the elevators.
“Olivia?” His voice stopped me before boarding. “You’re coming home with me.”
I flushed when I noticed Wynn’s eyes widen. I glanced nervously at the group where my brother was, grateful he wasn’t looking in our direction. “I’ll stop by later,” I quickly said, to appease him.
Callan looked at Wynn then as he dug out his car keys from his jeans, as if planning to leave now himself. “Give her a ride to my place?” he asked her.
Wynn looked at him as if seeing him with new eyes. She had eyes only for him as she nodded. “She’ll be there.”
“Good.” Callan glanced meaningfully in my direction, then told Wynn, “Give me a head start,” and so Wynn and I lingered for a few minutes before we finally took off.
“You love him?” Wynn asked as she drove me to his place.
“Yes,” was all I said.
She smiled privately, as if she knew something I didn’t.
Now, I’m walking into Callan’s home.
I close my eyes and tell myself to breathe. I almost walk back and leave, but I swear to god something keeps me where I am. And yet I can’t move forward.
I marvel at the fierce tug of emotions that brought me here to him in the first place. I want so bad to reach out to him and let him hold me but I’m scared that if I do, everything will change.
I’m scared that if I take this step, and walk toward him, and let him hold me tonight, I won’t be the same in the morning.
I won’t be the same ever again.
I walk forward, my shoes soundless on the modern rug, and the hair on the back of my neck tingles with anticipation. I can hear my heart beating so fast and so strong I’m scared he’ll hear it, that he’ll know.
The door of his office is open. I part it wider and spot him at the far end. A bottle of whiskey and an empty glass sit on the desk before him. He looks incredibly warm, his huge body taking up most of the space.
He stands. “I knew you’d come.” Callan meets me halfway across the room and cups my neck, and the slow stroke of his thumb there sends shivers down my spine.
“You asked me to.”
“Sit here.”
He guides me to sit on the desk and as I climb on, he draws my hair clip off my hair, pushing the loose tendrils aside as he leans his head forward, and my breathing hitches with the feel of his lips touching mine.
“I’m desperate for you.” His fingers trail up my thigh, under the fall of my skirt.
I moan. “Callan.”
“God, I come unglued when you make that sound.”
“Callan . . . We really have to stop at some point.”
His hunger blazes in his eyes. “I haven’t slept since Texas. Not seeing you every day . . . I feel crazed over you. Unhinged. I’m insane for you.” He tugs me to the edge of the desk. “Come here. I can’t wait.” He spreads my hair aside and kisses the curve between my neck and shoulder. Tingles race down the line of my spine, down every vertebra and nerve ending.
I moan again.
“I’m a reasonable man. So why, when it comes to you, do I have no reason?” He rubs my lips with the pad of his thumb. “I have no control when it comes to you. God, look at you.” He tugs my shirt open with a flick of his fingers over my buttons. He pries it over my shoulders and swoops down to cradle my lace-cupped breasts and kiss the tips over my bra.
My body is wound up with desire and yearning. “Callan, this will only make leaving more difficult . . .”
I’m trembling, yet even as I watch Callan strip with fast jerks of his wrist on the drawstring pants and T-shirt he’s wearing, I can’t bring myself to stop him.
I know I can break. I know this can break me. But I could never feel as broken as I will when I’m alone, staring up at the ceiling, remembering his touch and wondering if I will ever feel it again.
I reach out as he reaches for me, and I kiss him.
I have the first good night’s sleep I’ve had for days.
God. Loving this man has been both the easiest and the most challenging thing I’ve ever done.
I want to be that girl who finds love and just takes it.
But what about my career?
I want to be his equal. I eventually want to know as much as him, do as much as him.
I can’t help thinking that if this were happening like I’d planned, at twenty-freaking-fucking-eight, I wouldn’t have to choose.