Текст книги "Easy Melody"

Автор книги: Kristen Proby

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“For you,” she says. “You can be the knight on the white horse tomorrow. She just wants to be left alone for today.”

I sigh and sit back down, scrubbing my hand over my face. Christ, I can’t sleep without her.

“This isn’t fair, Charly.”

“Neither was not speaking to her for days, then going out with another woman,” she says. “I love you, and you will always have my loyalty, but the woman meant for you wants one more night to think, and you’re going to give it to her.”

“Does she hate me?” I whisper.

“She’s so in love with you she’s stupid with it,” she says. “I think you’ll figure it all out, and one more night won’t kill you.”

“Thank you for being there for her.” I love that my sisters like Callie. It’s important to me that they do. Because they’re going to have her in their lives for a very long time.

“I like her,” she says simply. “We all do.”

“I do too.”

“All I’ll say is this: when you do talk to her tomorrow, really listen to her. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Chapter Eighteen

Two Days Earlier…

~Callie~

I can’t believe he walked away. I mean, he didn’t even say anything; he just walked away.

I’m lying in bed the next morning. Actually, I think it’s almost afternoon now, and I just keep replaying the last twenty-four hours in my head, over and over again.

It’s beginning to feel like it didn’t really happen to me, and instead it was a bad movie.

But it did happen. Declan blew me off, and then went out with someone else, and instead of talking to me about it, he walked away.

Un-fucking-believable.

“Cal?” Adam says from the other side of the door, knocking softly. “Are you awake?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll tell Declan’s sisters to leave on my way out,” he says and walks away.

Damn it.

I peel the covers back and wince when I see the outfit of leggings and an old, stained cami, and then decide, who cares? I’m sure they own the same outfit.

They’re women, after all.

I walk out to the kitchen, and there they are, looking way too much like their damn brother.

“Hi, guys.”

“Hey, Callie.” Charly raises a brow and looks me up and down, then grins. “I have the same outfit.”

“It’s the standard girl outfit,” Van says, nodding. “So, I talked to my brother this morning, and—”

“I don’t want to know,” I say immediately, holding up a hand, already on the verge of tears. “I can’t do this.”

And now the tears do come, and I hate it.

“Ah, honey,” Charly says as I pace away and wipe furiously at the tears on my cheeks.

“I just can’t.” I take a deep breath. “I love him, but damn it, it’s been a shitty week, and I don’t want to talk about him. Just thinking about him hurts.”

“He’s a moron,” Van says, shaking her head, and I just nod in agreement.

“You know what you need?” Charly asks.

“A lobotomy so I can forget how great we had it for a little while? Because it was so great.” I hate myself for falling apart like this. I sit on the couch and hang my head in my hands, just crying. “He was so sweet and I miss him, you guys. I miss his hands, and I miss the way he wouldn’t touch me when I was sleeping so I didn’t get too hot.”

“Wow, I love it when a guy does that,” Charly says.

“I just can’t get the image of him with that woman out of my head,” I continue. “I mean, he hadn’t even broken up with me yet before he moved on.”

“What if I told you that it’s not what you think?” Van asks. “And that he loves you, too.”

“I’d say I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “I just don’t know. I thought I knew him, and then he just… threw me. So frankly, I don’t know what I want. I have a lot on my plate right now, and I just feel overwhelmed. I definitely don’t want him to see me like this.”

“No,” Charly agrees. “I think I have a good idea. You should get away, even if it’s just for a couple of days. Take some time to think. Think about what you want, for you. Then come back and have it out with Declan.”

“I don’t think he’ll want to wait that long to talk to you,” Van says.

“Well, it’s not all up to him, is it?” I reply. “I wanted to see him all week, and he blew me off. So he can wait.”

“Atta girl,” Charly says.

“But I don’t really have anywhere to go,” I add.

“We do,” Van says. “I’ll call Gabby. You should go to the inn for a couple days. It’s quiet there, and it’s out of the city.”

“You guys do remember that it’s your brother that is no longer my boyfriend, and that the thinking I have to do involves whether or not I want to even see his face again?”

“I wonder whether I ever want to see his face again all the time,” Charly says, waving me off.

“We love Declan, Callie,” Van adds, “but I really think he’s messed up here. I like you. I want you two to work it out because I think you’re really good for him. But whether you end up together or not, you’re our friend, and we’d make the same offer to any other friend that we care about.”

“What she said,” Charly says.

God, I’m an emotional mess. What did I do to deserve these sweet women? I bite my lip, but can’t stop the tears from flowing as I simply nod and then say, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Go pack a bag.”

Charly’s already dialing the phone. “Hey Gab, we’re sending Callie to you. Declan’s being a man.”

***

Van was right; it’s very quiet at the inn. I’ve been here for two days. I’ll go home later today, and I’ve loved every minute that I’ve been here.

“Your cinnamon rolls are the best, Gabby,” I say as I watch her knead the dough for the delicious pastries for the next morning.

“Thanks,” she says with a smile. “It’s my mama’s recipe, and it’s usually a big hit.”

“I think I’ve gained ten pounds in the past two days, just from eating too many,” I reply, patting my belly.

“I don’t see any pounds on you, but it does look like a few might have been lifted off your shoulders,” Gabby says and sets the bowl of dough aside to rise, as my phone begins to ring incessantly, just like it did yesterday.

“I had to turn this damn phone off yesterday, and it looks like the same thing’s going to have to happen today.” I glare down at Declan’s name as another text comes in. Without saying a word, Gabby reaches over and takes it from me, then sets it in the fridge.

“Trust me,” she says. “It works.”

“It stops ringing when it’s cold?” I ask.

“No, you can’t hear it when it’s in the fridge,” she replies with a laugh. “Just don’t forget that it’s in there. I’ve done that. Not a good idea.”

I laugh and shrug. Hey, I could use a couple of quiet hours, without the ringing phone in my hand.

“Where’s the baby?” I ask, itching to get my hands on her again. She’s such a sweet little thing, and she smells so good.

“Mama took her last night,” Gabby says with a sigh. “Sam was off to school this morning, and I had two whole hours alone with my husband. It was bliss. But I miss the little stinker. Mama should be back with her soon. You’re sure good with babies.”

“I love babies,” I reply and grin. “I know, I don’t look like the type.”

“Why? Because you’re a strong woman who dresses like a badass? Seems to me you’d be a great mother and wonderful role model for any child.”

I blink at her and have to swallow hard. “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?” she asks kindly.

“I’m… better.”

“Come to any conclusions?” She grabs two oatmeal raisin cookies and passes one to me.

“I guess I can’t really make any decisions without talking to him,” I reply and bite into the cookie as she nods in agreement.

“Probably a good idea,” she replies. “I tried to figure out my situation with Rhys without Rhys, and boy, did he ever put me in my place when he got his hands on me." She smiles smugly. “I guess that if a decision is being made that involves another person, they should be in on that decision too.”

“I agree, but he’s the one who shut me out last week.”

“Daddy always said, two wrongs just means that you’re both stupid.” She laughs. “He was a blunt man.”

“Sounds like it.” I sigh and take another cookie when she offers it. Yep, I’m going to need some serious time in the gym when I leave here. “Maybe he’s right.”

“He usually was, much to my chagrin.” We both look out the window above the sink when we hear a car pull up. “There’s Mama now.”

“I’ll be sure to say hello to her before she leaves. But in the meantime I’m going to enjoy my last couple of hours here and take a walk.”

“Have you seen the old slave quarters out back?” Gabby asks. “Rhys and I also added a confederate army camp site out back too, where we think the original site was.”

“The confederates camped here?” I ask, amazed.

“They camped just about everywhere along the Mississippi,” she replies with a nod. “Best I could tell, from old diaries that the women kept, we got it right. And let me tell you, it wasn’t a hardship to watch Rhys work with his shirt off, digging some holes and setting up the tents.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t a horrible thing to watch.” I laugh. “I love that you’re still so much in love.”

“It’s only been a year. And honestly, I fall more in love with him every day. I know, it sounds corny, but I can’t help it.”

“It doesn’t sound corny. I think that’s how it’s supposed to be. Okay, I’m going to wander out there, then through the garden.”

“Perfect day for it. Fall’s settling in.”

I nod, wave, and while chewing on the last of my cookie, I wander out back, down a path that leads me through several huge old oaks, like the ones out in front of the house. There are several small cabins lined up that Gabby has preserved in their original conditions, with genuine artifacts that were found around the grounds where the cabins originally stood. Plexiglas covers the windows and doors, so guests can look in without disturbing anything.

Plaques stand near each cabin, describing what slave life was like here on the plantation two hundred years ago. She’s included photocopies of original sales receipts when her ancestor bought or sold each slave. The documentation is striking and amazing.

How incredible is it that all of this was preserved and saved all of this time? It’s a true treasure for the family. How would it feel to belong to a history as vast and as old as this one? To know that no matter where you end up in the world, this is where you belong?

And maybe that’s what I’ve needed to figure out all along: where I belong. Because I’m just not sure. I never have felt like I truly belonged anywhere. I left New Orleans as soon as I could, but Denver wasn’t home any more than Louisiana was. And now that I’ve been back for a while, I thought that I was starting to feel like this is home, but I’m not sure. I still feel restless.

I wander through it all, soaking in the history, picturing how it must have looked then. When I find myself near the rose garden, I hear footsteps behind me and turn to find Declan’s mama coming out to join me.

“Hello, Mrs. Boudreaux,” I say with a smile.

“Oh, you can call me Mama,” she says with a chuckle. “Just about everyone does.”

“Thank you,” I reply as she takes my hand and walks beside me. Mama is a petite woman, like Gabby, with salt and pepper hair that she keeps in a short cut. Her makeup is perfectly done, and despite being easily in her sixties, she’s in excellent shape.

I like her.

“It’s a nice day for a walk,” she says and takes a deep breath. “The air always was fresher out here.”

“It’s a beautiful place,” I agree with a nod. “I’ve enjoyed being here.”

“It’s a good thinking spot,” she says. “And I expect you’ve had some thinkin’ to do.”

“I have.”

“Sometimes you can do too much thinkin’,” she says as we make our way through the garden and over a beautiful stone bridge that carries us over a creek. “You’ll just think your way into circles.”

“I might have done some of that too,” I reply with a laugh. We fall into an easy silence. I can tell that she wants to ask me questions, but she doesn’t push. Instead she points out places in the trees where her boys built tree houses in the summer, and where her husband proposed to her.

“He proposed out here?” I ask.

“He did. He courted me for a few months, and talked me into taking a drive out here to his family’s summer home. Walked me through the gardens, like we are now, although Gabby’s really brought them back to life. And then we sat under that magnolia tree and had a picnic lunch, and he asked me to marry him.”

“That’s sweet,” I murmur, picturing a younger woman sitting under the tree with her handsome man, him slipping a ring on her finger.

We walk just a bit farther, and we’re at the entrance to a cemetery, and I can’t help but feel sudden guilt. I haven’t been to either of my parents' graves.

And right now, in this moment with Declan’s sweet mother, I miss my own mama, and I wonder what advice she would give me about Declan and this whole mess.

“You can talk to me, you know,” Mama says as she sits on a bench, under an oak tree, and pats the seat beside her.

“Oh, I don’t know where to start.”

“I always find that the beginning is as good a place as any,” she says with a kind smile, and I find myself suddenly spilling all of it to her, about how Declan and I first met, how he would walk me to my car after work, helping him with his house, all the way through until this week and how confused I am.

She sits patiently, listening, nodding, and when I’m finished and wiping tears from my cheeks, she simply reaches over and grabs my hand in hers and squeezes gently, three times.

And that only makes me cry more.

“What?”

“Declan squeezes my hand like that.”

She smiles. “How lovely. Ask him what it means sometime.”

“It means something?”

“Just ask him.” She sighs. “Oh, you poor sweet child. My Declan is a smart man. I think that out of all of our children, he’s the most like his father.” She points to a headstone, and I’m surprised to find that we’re sitting right in front of Declan’s father’s grave.

Beauregard Francois Boudreaux

1947 ~ 2012

Beloved Husband & Father

I’ve adjusted my sails.

“I’ve adjusted my sails,” I read softly. “Declan told me once that I’ve adjusted mine.”

“We’re always adjusting our sails,” Mama says with a smile. “My Beauregard was a very smart man. He had a cunning business sense, and our Beau and Eli both inherited that love of business, carrying on an empire that was once just a very profitable business. But my husband wanted more than that. He wanted to take the family business and make it more. You see, my husband was also a dreamer, and that’s what I see in my Declan. I see a very smart man who is also a dreamer. That’s the artist in him.

“That boy could pick up an instrument, spend ten minutes tinkering with it, and before you knew it, he was playing it like he’d been taking lessons for years.”

“Declan’s never had lessons?” I ask, surprised.

“No, ma’am. It’s a God-given gift, the way he can hear the music in his head. We knew early on that the family business wasn’t meant for Declan, and that was just fine with his father.”

“Your husband sounds wonderful,” I tell her, almost envious that she had such a solid, dependable man in her life.

“He was wonderful. And there were plenty of days that I wanted to hit him with the cast iron skillet I fry chicken in.”

She laughs when I stare at her with surprised eyes.

“Oh, honey, no marriage is easy. We had more than forty wonderful years together. But any relationship is work. And one important thing that I finally learned, after a few very frustrating years, is no one can read minds.”

I frown and stare ahead, reading over and over again, I’ve adjusted my sails.

“I had to learn to talk to my husband, to tell him what I needed. And with time, he learned the same. He was a smart man, but he was still a man, and men have that pride gene that seems to make us women madder than a honey badger.”

“Yes, they do have that gene.”

“But we have the he should know what I’m thinking gene that just confuses the dickens out of them.”

Is that what I’ve done?

“I don’t know what’s happening between you and my boy, but I want to tell you that the first time he brought you out here to dinner, and I saw the two of you together, I saw a connection there that just doesn’t happen every day. I’ve known about Declan’s reputation, and as his mother, it didn’t necessarily make me proud. But when he looked at you, it reminded me of the way his father looked at me. And I can tell you, the Boudreaux men, when they love, they love. It’s black and white for them. There is no grey area.

“And it’s the best thing that will ever happen to you.”

“I’m not so sure he loves me,” I murmur, remembering that morning that we made love. “And I also don’t know if we have anything in common.”

“You have one very big thing in common,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “You’re crazy about each other. And if you doubt what he feels for you, well, you’re not nearly as smart as I thought you were.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“The walk. Listening to me.”

“Oh, dawlin’, it was my pleasure. I like you, Callie.”

We stand to walk back to the house, and come face to face with Declan, as he walks toward the fence bordering the cemetery.

“Well, seems you’re not done talking for today,” Mama says and pats my arm. She walks to Declan, kisses his cheek, and walks away, leaving us staring at each other, just like we did the other night.

Chapter Nineteen

~Callie~

He’s standing, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking back at me with those hazel eyes. But instead of impassive, they look… sad.

I cross my arms over my chest. I want to run right to him, wrap myself around him and hold on.

But I don’t. Maybe I inherited that damn pride gene too.

Thanks a lot, Dad.

Declan pulls his hands out of his pockets and flexes them in and out of fists at his sides, as if he’s itching to touch me, and after a long moment, he curses, and begins to pace in front of his dad’s grave.

“I fucked up,” he begins and pushes his hands through his hair, then stops and looks back at me.

“I’m listening,” I reply and cock a brow.

“Look, I’m not perfect.”

“I don’t want perfect,” I reply and drop my arms to my sides. “I want honest.”

“I’ve always been honest with you. The thing is, Callie, I don’t know how I fucked up. I don’t know what happened.” He looks truly haunted as he stares at me, unconsciously rubbing his fingers against his thumbs.

God, I want to feel those hands on me again.

He can’t read your mind, Callie.

“Okay.” I nod and lick my lips, gathering my thoughts.

“God, you look so fucking good,” he growls. His eyes have darkened and they’re pinned on my mouth. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in months.”

“You saw me the other night.”

“What, exactly, happened the other night?” he asks.

“That’s my question,” I reply, already getting frustrated. “Wait. It started before that.”

He rubs his hand over his mouth and waits for me to keep talking.

“You pulled away from me,” I say, my voice suddenly quiet. “You blew me off several times last week, and that’s not like you. At all.”

“I didn’t mean for it to feel like I was blowing you off,” he says, his voice also calmer, and he’s starting to look like my Declan again, which gives me the strength to keep talking.

“It did. And I realize now that I should have just spoken up, but it threw me. And then on Wednesday, you did it again, and when I went to dinner with Kate—” I have to pause and shake my head, the horror of it making me sick all over again.

“Keep going,” he says and takes another step toward me.

“I saw you with another woman,” I say and bite my lip so I don’t cry. “It just… it killed me, Declan. I assumed you were done with me, and had already moved on.”

“No.”

“And then later, back at the bar, after Keith apologized to me and left, you were there, and for a moment I thought, Oh good. He’s here to explain things. But you didn’t. You left.” I shake my head and pace away.

“Don’t walk away,” he says, his voice firm. “Look at me, Callie.”

“You walked away,” I reply and turn back to him, my anger back in place. “You didn’t fight. I needed to believe that you want this as much as I do. I needed you to fight for me, and you didn’t. You left.”

“Callie, you were upset, and I didn’t know what in the hell was going on. I thought you needed time to calm down. I went looking for you the next morning to figure it out.”

“I didn’t want to figure it out the next morning.”

“Maybe I needed a little space too,” he replies softly.

“Why did you need space?” I ask, but he just shakes his head and shrugs, as if he can’t figure it out himself. “Do I look like an idiot to you, Declan?”

“No, you look like the rest of my life.”

I stop and simply stare at him, all of the mad leaving my body. It’s replaced with nothing but hope and so much love for this infuriating, frustrating man.

“I needed to hear that,” I whisper, my eyes glued to his gorgeous face.

“What else do you need?” he asks. I frown, not understanding where he’s going with this. “What do you need from me? What do you need in life?”

“I need you to talk to me,” I reply without even thinking. “I need affection, and I need you to support me when I’ve had a bad night at work.”

“That’s a good start,” he says, his voice tender. “Go on.”

I begin to pace as I think about the question. “I need my business to be a success, and I need to renovate houses because it makes me happy.”

“And you’re fucking good at it,” he adds, but I’m on a roll.

“I need you to communicate with me. If you’re having a bad day, or if you’re just busy, or whatever’s happening, just let me know so I don’t do the girl thing and over-think it, making it into more than it is.”

“I’ve learned that lesson, sugar,” he says with a smile. “What else?”

“I need to feel like I belong somewhere,” I say quietly. “I don’t think I ever have before you. I feel like I belong with you.”

“Because you do,” he murmurs.

“What do you need?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter; you’re the one who matters,” he replies.

“Fuck that,” I bark, suddenly frustrated. “I’m not the only one in this relationship, Declan. Don’t throw that macho bullshit at me. What do you need?”

He sighs and rubs his fingers over his mouth.

“I need you to talk to me too,” he replies softly. “I need your brutal honesty, always. I need your body against me every day, and I need to be inside you more than I need my next breath.”

“That sounds good to me,” I whisper.

“I need music, Callie. It’s my soul. It’s been my only constant, until you.”

“You’re damn good at it,” I reply, echoing his words. “What else?”

“I need your friendship. Your patience. I need my family, even if they are a pain in my ass most of the time.” He smiles. “I need to protect you, keep you safe. And I know this is going to piss you off a little, but I need to take care of you.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I mean, I like taking care of myself because that’s all I’ve ever known, but I’m adjusting my sails, and getting used to you taking care of me.”

“Good.” He sighs, the tension finally leaving his tall, lean body. “I just need you, baby.”

“Who was she?” I ask. I need to know before I run into his arms and never let go.

“My agent. Beth. She asked for a dinner meeting.” He’s looking me right in the eyes, unwavering. “I’ll never lie to you, Callie.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that, when you cancelled? If you’d said something, I wouldn’t have jumped to horrible conclusions!”

“Because when I’m stressed out, I pull in, I shut down, and Beth stresses me the fuck out.”

“And she’s why you had a shitty week.”

He nods.

“Okay, I need you to not shut me out, Declan. Even when you’re stressed out, just tell me so I know what’s going on.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m learning here. Can you forgive me?”

I nod, swallowing against the tears that want to flood my eyes. I’m relieved and happy, and I feel so stupid for jumping to conclusions when I know in my heart that he would never lie to me.

Declan isn’t a liar.

Finally, he steps to me, so close that I can feel the heat from his body, but he doesn’t touch me. Not yet, and it’s killing me.

“I need you to understand that I will never knowingly disrespect you, Callie. Lying to you, betraying you, is disrespectful, and that’s not the kind of man that I am.”

“I know,” I reply with a whisper. “I know that.”

“You know me. You know me in ways that no one else ever has, or will, and the last few days have been an utter hell.”

“I’m sorry.”

He drags his knuckles down my cheek, and for the first time in a week, I take in a long, deep breath and close my eyes, reveling in his touch.

“Let me start over with you,” he says.

“I don’t want to start over,” I reply. “Everything we’ve had has been so great. We had a bad week, and a communication breakdown, but I don’t want to start it all over again.” I take his hand in mine and kiss it. “I just want you.”

“You have me.”

He wraps his arms around me and holds on tight, hugging me so close, I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. I love being tangled up in him. I’m not ready for him to let go when he kisses my forehead and pulls back, just a few inches, so he can look down into my eyes.

“Come home with me. Lie down with me. I want to talk about nothing with someone who means something.”

I smile and nod. He takes my hand, squeezing three times, and leads me toward the inn.

I’ll ask him what it means later.

***

I’ve learned in the past two days that makeup sex is all it’s cracked up to be. I’m pretty sure he’s fucked me against every wall, on every surface in his house, more than once.

I have muscles screaming in places that I didn’t know I had muscles.

But today, we’ve taken a break from the crazy sex, and actually put real clothes on to paint the sunroom downstairs.

The new windows are in, and I’m in love with them. They’re floor-to-ceiling, and each is split into nine panes, giving the house the original charm it would have been built with almost two hundred years ago. The hardwoods will go in after we paint, which is good because Declan is a messy painter.

“You’ve dropped more on the floor than you’ve managed to roll on the wall,” I comment lazily and continue to paint the trim around the window, my back to him.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” he says, just as lazily.

“You heard me.”

“You want to criticize my painting?” he asks. He’s closer to me now, but I resist the urge to look over my shoulder to see what he’s doing.

Bad move.

I suddenly feel two drops hit my head and I whirl around, my brush out, and paint a perfect stripe over the middle of his chest, also getting one arm marked as well.

He looks down, then up at me and cocks a brow.

I’m in trouble. Think fast.

“You dropped paint on my head.”

“You painted my chest.”

“And your arm,” I add, then bite my lip so I don’t laugh.

“This was my favorite T-shirt,” he says, stalking after me as I back away from him.

“You have a hundred black T-shirts,” I point out reasonably, but his eyes narrow, and I know that unless I think fast, I’m going to end up with paint rolled down the front of me.

So I stop backing away and stand my ground. I drop the brush on the floor and hold my hands up. “I’m not armed.”

“Have you ever looked at someone and thought, I just want to treat her like no one else ever has?” he says softly, completely throwing me for a loop.

He lowers the roller to his side, but continues to stare at me, as if he’s trying to decide what to do with me, but he doesn’t have a chance to follow through because I pull myself together and step forward, press my breasts to his chest and slide my hand under the waistband of his jeans, grinning when I cup his cock and find him already hard.

“Me painting you turns you on?” I whisper against his lips.

“You just breathing turns me on,” he replies softly, then closes his eyes as I pump him twice before unfastening his jeans and letting them drop to his ankles.

“How convenient,” I say as I squat and lick him from root to tip. “No underwear.”

“I do what I can,” he replies and drops the roller. Paint spatters on my pants and arm, but I don’t care. “I had you an hour ago, and I want you all over again.” His voice is hard. I glance up as he buries his hand in my hair and tightens his fist, holding it firmly.

“I haven’t done this in at least a day,” I reply and take him deeply into my mouth, sinking down until the tip reaches the back of my throat, and I swallow, massaging him and making me growl in pleasure.

I grip the shaft with my lips and pull up, drag my teeth, barely touching him, over the head.

“Fuck.”

“I am,” I reply with a nod and make the motion again. I cup his balls in my other hand, massing all of him now, balls, shaft and head, and suddenly, he reaches down, pulls me to my feet and spins me around, pinning me against the wall.

His face is intense now, my playful man replaced by someone I’ve only recently found. He’s possessive. Intense.

And makes me instantly wet.

In the blink of an eye, he has my jeans unfastened and peeled off my legs, and he’s pinned my hands above my head with one of his larger ones.

“I never stop wanting you,” he says, his lips grazing over my mouth. “I want you everywhere, in any way I can have you.”

“You can have me anytime you want,” I reply and take his lip in my teeth, tugging hard.

His free hand slides between my legs. “This is mine, Calliope.” His fingers push through my wet lips and into my pussy as his thumb presses on my clit. “Mine.”

“Yours.”

“No one has ever wanted anything more than I want you,” he says and drags his lips down my jawline to my neck. My back arches as he nibbles on my sweet spot. Jesus, the things this man can do with just his hands and lips should be illegal in Louisiana.

But thank the good Lord they’re not.

“I want you just as much,” I reply, panting now as he drives me mad with that magical hand. Before I know it, I’m shattering into a million pieces, and the only thing keeping me upright is his body and hand, playing puppet with my pussy.

“Incredible,” he murmurs, nibbling at my lips. “Now it’s time to stop being lazy and get back to work.”

“You’re not going to fuck me?” I ask, surprised.

He smiles widely. “Disappointed?”

“No,” I lie, but he catches my chin in his fingers and lifts my gaze to his.

“No lying. Ever.”

“Not disappointed,” I reply. “Surprised.”

“Trust me, I’m going to fuck you later.”

***

It’s almost closing time. Adam’s out overseeing the cleanup, giving the servers direction while I sit in the office, staring at my dad’s ledgers.