Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
PARKER
The long drive back from our hike lulled me almost to sleep, such that I didn’t realize we weren’t headed to my flat until Callum put the Range Rover into park. I started to sit up from where I’d slumped against the window and winced. My muscles had locked up, and the thought of moving again made me want to whimper. Biting back a hiss of pain, I peered through the growing dusk at the stone house set back among the trees.
“Where are we?”
“My place.” Callum killed the engine. “Thought we should get himself cleaned up before he destroyed your flat.”
My cheerful pup had managed to find what seemed like every speck of mud and every puddle on the trail. Falkor’s wet dog smell had thoroughly permeated the SUV’s interior, and even the hour-long drive back hadn’t been enough time for us to go nose blind. We both glanced back to see he’d left muddy paw prints all over the back seat. So much for the towels we’d tried to protect it with.
“Oh, Callum, your car.”
“It’ll clean up.”
As if in challenge to his assertion, Falkor chose that moment to shake, spraying more muddy water across the interior. “Gah!” I threw my arm up in an ineffectual shield that made my shoulders scream. A moment later, I peeled my eyes back open to find Callum watching me.
“It’ll clean up,” he repeated and got out.
Taking advantage of the fact that he couldn’t hear me for the moment, I hissed my way through straightening in my seat. I’d be better once I got moving again. He came around to my door, and I caught the slight hesitation before he opened it.
“It’s no’ much. And I haven’t…” Color rising in his stubbled cheeks, he gestured vaguely at the general state of things, encompassing the overgrown vegetation and the weeds sprouting between the stones of the path leading up to the front door.
I closed my hand around his. “You don’t bring people here.” In the weeks I’d been in Glenlaig, I’d gathered that Callum never had visitors. Ever. Not even his best friends. Yet he’d brought me to his sanctuary.
I squeezed his hand and slid out of my seat. “No judgment.”
The moment I was out, Falkor tried to come through the seats to follow, but Callum was quicker. He yanked open the back door, catching him around the middle. “Oh, no you don’t, you great muddy beast.” Despite the dog’s size, Callum hoisted him up like he weighed nothing. “Come on.”
I followed the pair of them, grinning as I spotted Falkor’s happily lolling tongue over Callum’s shoulder. At the front door, Callum paused, shifting his hold on the dog to dig keys out of his pocket. Then we were in the inner sanctum.
The last of the evening sun shone through the bare windows, dimly lighting the interior. There were no curtains, no photos on the walls. But the hardwood floors gleamed. Everything I could see was neat, organized with military precision. I trailed him down a hall and into what had to be his bedroom. The king-size bed was made with hospital corners that would’ve made a drill sergeant weep with joy.
Callum stepped through another doorway into the main bathroom. “Watch your step.” For what, I didn’t know. There wasn’t so much as a stray sock on the floor to trip over. “The tub’s deep enough we should be able to contain most of the mess.”
His bathroom was easily three times the size of mine—not a high bar—with both a glass-walled shower and a deep soaking tub that instantly gave me visions of relaxing baths. Then my brain took a sharply sexier turn into less relaxing fantasies. Blinking those away, I noted the bathroom was just like everything else I’d seen—pristine, if spartan. No decorative towels or fancy soaps. Just the essentials.
Falkor began to squirm, smearing more mud across Callum’s shirt.
“Into the tub wi’ you.” He bent to deposit his smelly bundle into the basin.
When Falkor might’ve leapt straight out, we both closed in. His eyes shone with manic glee. He wasn’t a service dog in this moment. He was a filthy pup, trying to escape the consequences of his actions.
“Don’t even think about it fluffball. Behave,” I ordered.
Falkor looked at Callum, who only pointed. “No.”
My dog gave a beleaguered huff and sat.
“Good boy.”
It took both of us to get him clean, though mostly I just held his collar while Callum did all the work scrubbing off the muck. Once the last of the dirty water spiraled down the drain, Callum lifted Falkor out and reached for a towel. Before he could grab it, the dog gave a mighty shake, instantly soaking us both.
Callum blinked, droplets of water clinging to his unfairly long lashes. Falkor wagged at him, unrepentant.
“You’re a menace.” Plucking at the wet T-shirt that now clung to his chest like a second skin, he shrugged and tugged it off over his head. “Right. So we’re next on the clean up list before dinner.”
My brain was too busy short circuiting over the sight of all that muscle, interrupted only by a dusting of dark hair across his pecs and down the center of his abs.
“Dinner?” Was that my voice, dim and distant?
“I figured you’d be hungry.”
My mouth was watering, but it had nothing to do with food. “Um.” A rumbling growl filled the room. Alarmed, I laid a hand over my belly, which apparently didn’t appreciate being forgotten. “Starving.”
“We’ll dry off the dog, get cleaned up, and I’ll fix us something to eat.”
There were so many possibilities in that statement, I didn’t even know where to start. But I didn’t want my runaway libido to be making assumptions, so I waited to follow his lead.
Callum did not drag me into the shower. More was the pity. Though, if he had, I wasn’t sure I’d have been able to fully enjoy it. Fatigue weighed down my limbs, as if I’d shrugged on a suit of chain mail since we came down off the mountain. Instead, he set me up with a clean towel and some dry clothes.
“They’ll probably swallow you, but at least they dinna smell like wet dog.”
“Thanks.”
I shut myself into his second bathroom and stripped out of my filthy gear. I had relatively clean outer layers and some spare socks in a bag in the Range Rover, but no extra pants or underwear. Looked like I’d be going commando in Callum’s sweatpants. That felt remarkably intimate in ways I wasn’t sure he’d thought through. But I was thinking through them as I pulled on his clothes after my shower, feeling the soft cotton stroke over my skin, catching the faint whiff of cedar and spice that I associated with him. Lord, it was hard not to imagine it was his hands whispering over me instead of his clothes.
Get a grip, Lawrence.
By the time I emerged from the bathroom, Callum was already in the kitchen, dressed in a similar pair of sweatpants and T-shirt. But where I’d had to do a lot of creative rolling and tying to keep them on, they hugged him like a second skin. His brown hair was still wet and spiky from his shower.
He turned, a skillet in his hand. “Better?”
I made an incoherent noise that was half between a whimper and a choke.
His focus narrowed. “Tired?”
“Uh-huh.” Far better for him to believe I was incoherent because I was exhausted rather than that my brain was short circuiting with lust. And it wasn’t a lie. I was tired.
“Give me ten, and I’ll have dinner thrown together.”
“’K.”
I found my dog sprawled out on a pile of towels beside the radiator. He still smelled of wet dog, but without the bog stench added to it.
“I gave him some of the food from his pack. He seems to be down for the count.”
As I sank down onto the big leather man sofa that dominated the lounge, I didn’t manage to hold back the little moan. “I don’t think I’m that far behind him.”
“Ten minutes,” he said again, and turned back to the stove.
In less than two, my eyes were already drooping shut.
“C’mon, Hobbit. Time to eat.”
“Mmm?” I cracked my eyes to find Callum crouched before me, a plate in his hands.
With some difficulty, I struggled to sit up. “Oh, this looks great.”
He’d gone with a classic breakfast for dinner. Scrambled eggs, sautéed potatoes, and sausages.
“Nothing fancy, but you’ll need the protein and carbs to refuel.” He retrieved his own plate and joined me on the sofa. “Feeling it?”
“Mmm.”
“Think you’ll flare?”
“Maybe. If I do, it was worth it.” It took way more effort than it should have to scoop the food into my mouth. The fork felt more like a shovel than a utensil.
We ate in companionable silence until I set the empty plate aside. “Not gonna lie… I’m not sure I can move again tonight.”
“I don’t have a guest room.”
Snuggling down into the sofa, I murmured, “That’s not a problem for me. I don’t have the energy to take advantage of you, anyway.”
“You want to take advantage of me?” The dark rumble of that voice did something to me. Or would, if I wasn’t so damned tired.
On a yawn, I mumbled, “I mean, have you seen you?”
Good God. My filter was positively gone.
But Callum only chuckled. “I think we can do better than the sofa.”
Gently, he scooped me up as if I weighed nothing. With a sigh, I curled against the magnificent warmth of his chest. “Mmm, this is definitely better.”
He carried me down the hall, into his room, and tucked me into his bed. His lips ghosted over my temple. “Sleep well, Hobbit.”
I used the last of my strength to grab his hand as he started to pull away. “Will you stay with me?”
“Aye. Just a minute.”
He disappeared from the room, probably going through the house to turn off lights and lock up. I was already drifting again when I felt the give of the mattress behind me. His big hand curved around my ribcage.
“Is this okay?” he whispered.
In answer, I wriggled back into the shelter of his body, tucking his arm more firmly around me. Then I slid straight into blissful, exhausted sleep.