Chapter 6
Alistair
When I saw the purple-tipped hair swaying at the base of her spine, I tapped the brake and let the car slow down.
Couldn’t help myself.
The girl was driving me crazy.
Three days.
That was how long it had been since I opened her parcel like a fucking creep—and now I couldn’t stop imagining what she did with it.
Where she kept it.
How often she used it.
If she was using it right.
Was she heading home to use it now?
Her denim jeans hugged her arse like a second skin—tight where it mattered, flaring out below. The fitted T-shirt pulled snug across her waist, catching against the curve of her hips and the dip of her spine. Some men were breast men.
Not me.
I liked wide hips. A soft, full arse. Something to grip when you’re buried deep and losing your mind.
My fingers twitched against the wheel.
I tore my eyes off her as another car pulled into my rear-view mirror.
With a low exhale, I pressed the accelerator.
Callie Shaw was off-limits.
?? ?? ??
I switched my laptop off, rubbing my eyes. The crisis was averted—but as I looked out of the window, I realised how late it was.
Bloody waste of a day.
Some junior twat in accounts clicked a fake invoice link, triggering a breach alert on the client’s internal system.
Cue full-blown panic—five sweaty execs on a video call begging me to “contain the damage.” There was no actual breach.
Just a phishing scare and a very real reminder that most corporate employees shouldn’t be trusted with keyboards.
I’d been pulled in to clean up the mess, trace the logs, confirm no data had been exfiltrated.
No leak. No threat.
But it still ate six hours of my life I wasn’t getting back.
Typical.
I leaned back in the chair, stretching out my spine, still buzzing from the tension. My mug was cold. Untouched. Outside, the sky was darkening.
I wondered what Callie was doing.
The chaos was over, but apparently, the torment wasn’t.
I stood and cracked my neck, arms overhead in a long stretch. My stomach growled—loud and feral.
Right. Food.
I jogged downstairs and was about to flick the kitchen light on when I caught a glimpse of her.
Callie. At the sink. Washing dishes.
I slinked up to the window like a pervert and watched.
Maybe I could be converted after all.
Her tits were practically spilling out of that flimsy vest—no bra, from the looks of it. I leaned closer, squinting through the glass. My hand slipped into my pocket, fingers brushing my phone.
One photo.
Just one.
No. What the hell was I thinking?
I shoved it back, jaw clenched—but I didn’t move away.
She was radiant and completely unaware.
All she’d been eating lately was toast. If she was on some bizarre diet and dropped a dress size, it would be a crime against humanity.
I grunted at the thought.
She dried her hands, then placed a box of eggs and a half-wrapped block of butter into a carrier bag. I stayed by the window, watching her move around the kitchen like it was just another evening. No urgency. No idea I was standing here, tracking every step.
She turned the light off as she left, and the window darkened again, swallowing her silhouette.
It had been a while since Melissa sent in a maintenance request.
I stepped away from the glass, already turning over excuses in my head. Something practical. Something they’d believe.
But really, I just wanted to see her up close and personal.
?? ?? ??
With my twenty-four-hour obligatory notice given, I rang the doorbell.
Smoke alarm inspection. Totally routine.
Totally legitimate.
The fact that I knew only Callie was home was irrelevant.
I heard light footsteps on the other side, followed by a pause—probably her checking the peephole.
Good girl.
I adjusted my stance and waited.
The door cracked open, and there she was, her glasses slightly askew, hair damp like she’d just showered.
Why was I here, tormenting myself?
“Hi,” she said, eyes flicking to the toolkit in my hand. “Smoke alarm stuff, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, my voice steady. “Quick check. Shouldn’t take long.”
I didn’t add that I already knew the alarms were fine. I just wanted to see her up close, to smell whatever shampoo she used that lingered in the hallway long after she passed.
And if I caught a glimpse of that infamous vibrator?
Well. That would be her fault for not hiding it better.
“You’re not at uni today?” I asked casually as she led me into the kitchen.
“No, the lecture got cancelled,” she said, just as a droplet of water slid from her long hair and landed on her grey shorts.
I tore my eyes away from her bare legs. “The sink hasn’t leaked again?”
“I didn’t know it was leaking to begin with,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.
Her eyes lingered on my chest before she looked away.
While I checked the smoke alarm, she pottered around the kitchen, opening drawers, wiping the counter, and fiddling with the kettle, but I felt her eyes on me. Every now and then, subtle and curious.
And I had to wonder if she was as attracted to me as I was to her?