Chapter 23
23
C ALLAN
“You have guests?” Kaitlin asks as I enter the kitchen, following the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
She must know I have guests since the breakfast is already on the table.
I push back a smirk of cynical satisfaction.
She dismisses me with a small gesture.
“All right. I don’t need to know more,” she says while I tip my stare down.
She wears nice clothes––a green coat, a cream scarf, polished shoes and a cute hat.
Noticing the direction of my gaze, she explains herself.
“I’m going to my best friend’s house,” she says.
“Good for you.”
I drag my eyes over the table.
“Thank you for everything,” I murmur. “I don’t need anything else these days, so take some time off,” I add while she looks at me, ready to step out.
“Okay. I will,” she says, waving at me.
The noise of her car vanishes away when I turn around and pour myself a cup of coffee. The hot drink coats the ceiling of my mouth when I slide into a bar stool and prop my elbows on the kitchen counter.
My phone sits in front of me, but I have zero interest in checking my messages.
Indulging in my drink, I go back to last night, reliving some of the moments I had with Mackenzie.
Sometimes, life is not so much about what you want.
It’s about what you can get.
It’s been a while since I allowed myself to enjoy a woman without creating a hollow of indifference around me so she could never have a reason to stay.
There is something about Mackenzie, and it’s about more than liking how her hair moves across my chest when I take her from behind or how soft her lips feel against mine.
She interacts out of a place of honesty. And she’s willing to take a risk and simply enjoy me.
Perhaps a little voice inside her head told her it was for the better.
Being myself without having to tell her everything about my life is also a nice aspect of this story.
I can still feel the softness of her touch, the smoothness of her skin, and the warmth of her smile.
She lay next to me, unassuming and happy.
Maybe that’s what it is.Maybe that’s her power.
All my life, I’ve been told I needed to win, so my power has been forged in brutality and implacable decisiveness.
I can’t forget who I am, or I’ll be dead.
Yet it almost happened in my bedroom last night.
I slipped away from my life and simply enjoyed a woman for a few hours.
Her lean valleys, her tight curves, and her satisfied moans. Her lips pressed against mine, her arms looped around my torso.
Her asking for more.
Her strength was like a blooming flower.
A meteor shower.
It came with dying lights and moving shadows.
She was tired, sweaty, grinning.
She liked everything I did to her.
And seeing her happy made me forget who I was.
When she finally cuddled up to me, and her soft breaths moved through her parted lips as she fell asleep, I never felt more confident that we were right.
For the most part, life is a continued battle, as anyone can take you down at any moment, quite often for the dumbest reasons.
But once in a while, someone special comes along to make it all worth it, helping you forget about the dangers of living on this earth.
Not only do they not fight you, but they turn out to be your best life. That’s how she felt to me last night.
I take another sip of coffee and finally check my phone.
Beverly called me an hour ago.
She only called once, which makes me believe it was a relatively important matter––important enough to call me on Christmas Day, but not important enough to blow up my phone.
I tap her name, and her phone rings at the other end of the line.
She answers on the second ring.
“Merry Christmas,” I say in a gruff voice.
“Merry Christmas to you, too. Everything good at your end?”
“Couldn’t be better. What happened?”
She sighs, and I imagine her tense and crunched over her laptop.
“There’s some stuff you should know about.”
“I’m listening.”
“The cops have Carmen, her husband, and Alvarez under surveillance.”
My eyebrows flick up slightly.
“Come again?”
“Yeah… They have eyes on them. Apparently, the detectives got some intel that our friends had been involved in a heist.”
“You got to be kidding me,” I say, laughing. “He’s discarding these stupid fools.”
“He sure is. Although it can be a she.”
“I doubt it. Only a man can chase wicked pleasure like this. So, he uses them, messes with them, sets them up, and lets the police take out the trash. And all this time, I thought he was after me.”
“He is after you. The only reason you’ve figured him out is that he’s trying to do the same to you. No offense.”
“None taken. It’s not gonna work with me. That’s why he’s not showing his face. Plus, he must know how much I hate this stupid game.”
I suck in a long breath.
“Um… All right. Good to know. Anything else?”
“Well…”
The silence prolongs.
“You have that woman with you, I imagine.”
I stay quiet for a second.
“What does she have to do with this?”
“You might want to be extra careful if, in fact, you have her with you.”
“What do you mean?”
Something swishes at her end as if she unwraps a candy and pops it into her mouth.
“You’re not gonna like this…” she says around her sweet treat.“You can’t show up anywhere near her building as long as the place is under surveillance.”
“I’m not planning to do that.”
“Fine. Are you ready to tell her why?”
I shift in my seat, press my back into the counter, and look outside, pondering.
“I won’t tell her. And I won’t go to her place again. She’ll have my protection, but I won’t drag her into their stupid investigation. Just because Carmen visited her once doesn’t mean she won’t come back. She and her men have no idea what is going on.”
A few moments pass.
“I’ll have two men at Mackenzie’s building and stay away from it. That’s it,” I comment curtly. “Do me a favor,” I go on. “Pack up your stuff and move. I don’t want them to track you down.”
“Considered it done,” she says, a smile in her voice.
“Don’t tell me,” I say, grinning.
“Forest Hills has never looked better. I moved out last night. Use my old phone number from now on. I’ll destroy my burner.”
A second later, we end the call, and I sit in silence and look out the window, snippets of the past flashing in front of my eyes.
Us, the boys, playing outside.
The grown-ups wheeling and dealing in my father’s office. The long table in the dining room set for a dozen people.
Those were the good times.
The stairs creak before Mackenzie’s voice wafts down from the upper level, pushing away the nostalgic memories.
“Callan?”
I swivel and slide off my seat before moving to the kitchen counter. I pull a drawer open, mute my phone, and slide it in.
The drawer slides closed before I walk to the door and look up the stairs.
“Hi,” she says, wearing an oversized robe. “I’m hungry. Do you have any food in this big house of yours?”
I tip my chin down.
“Breakfast is ready. We’ll eat downstairs,” I say, tilting my head and motioning to the kitchen.
MACKENZIE
I’ve rarely thought about my dream home.
And when I have, it’s never looked like this.
I’ve never had the chance to sleep in a house with so many rooms, a large dining room, and a kitchen.
The kitchen looks like my dream home in itself, with its ceiling-high windows and serene view of snow-capped shrubbery and impressive trees.
His eyes stay on me while I climb the stairs like a bride after the wedding night.
It might not have been our wedding night, but boy, was it eventful or what?
My body still revels in the memories of his touch.
It was interesting.
At first, I thought I’d be forever intimidated by his presence, and then I curled up next to him like someone who’d never met the warmth and kindness of a man.
The last thing I remembered was the fuzzy view in front of me, and his arm looped around my midriff, his breaths rolling softly into my hair.
I drifted off to sleep, locked against his chest.
Me.
Me??
The woman who couldn’t have a plush toy next to her in bed or an extra pillow.
And there I was, resting next to a real man. To me, that’s what he is. A tender, beautiful man.
His smiling eyes don’t peel away from mine.
“How did you sleep?” he asks, leaning back into the door to push it open.
He holds it for me, with a large gesture inviting me in.
“Katlin cooked for us,” he says the moment I walk in, and an enticing smell of freshly cooked food tickles my nostrils.
“Kaitlin?” I murmur, my eyes traveling to the round table in the corner.
The space looks like a vintage postcard, cozy and nostalgic, with wooden beams, cushioned chairs, oak cabinetry and shelves, window treatments, and live plants.
“The housekeeper,” he says.
“Oh. Yeah…” I mumble absently, taking inventory of the festive red linen tablecloth and matching napkins.
Silverware and plates sit on the table, which is beautifully adorned with a centerpiece of pine cones and berries.
Nearby sits a small buffet table, the source of the delicious smell.
“She shouldn’t have done all this for us,” I say, nearing the table.
He pulls the chair out for me and invites me to sit.
“I didn’t ask her to do it for us. She loves to do it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He takes a seat across from me and lifts the covers on the buffet table before pointing to the tray of food.
“She’s done it all her life. Nobody does something for so long without liking it just a little. Let’s eat. I’m hungry, too.”
He points to the food, and I don’t need another nudge to pile up food on my plate.
The food is amazing, and I sample everything. Frittata, mushrooms and gruyere casserole, layered cheese biscuits, French toast, cranberry walnut bread, and cinnamon rolls.
I drink coffee from a mug while he sips his from an expresso cup.
“You didn’t tell me how you slept,” he says quietly, his voice vibrating low inside his chest.
He wears a bathrobe like me.
The only difference is that his robe fits his frame.
My sleeves are rolled up, so I don’t dip them in the sugar icing that glazes the cinnamon rolls.
Finally, I enjoy that nice sensation of fullness.
“I slept all right,” I say, blushing under his eyes, mine hovering over my last bite of frittata.
I sink my fork in it and bring it to my mouth. I just finished a cinnamon roll, and now I’m eating savory food again.
It’s all good.
I take another drink of coffee, still grappling with heat in my cheeks.
“How about you?” I ask.
I lift my gaze and meet his eyes. They hug me and hold me and kiss me at the same time.
“It was quite an experience,” he says, a kernel of humor in his voice.
I place my coffee down with concern in my gesture.
“Please don’t tell me I was snoring.”
He studies me, amused.
I hope it wasn’t something worse than that, like having spit at the corner of my mouth.
When was the last time I slept with someone like that?
Was it Quinn?
No. Not really.
We slept in separate rooms. And I loved it.
We couldn’t fall asleep together, and after trying it for a couple of nights, we gave up on the idea.
He blamed it on being tired at work the next day, and frankly, I felt the same.
I was struggling with it as well.
“Was I?”
He says nothing.
My shoulders collapse as I look at him, begging him to save me from the harsh grip of embarrassment.
“You did snore. Just a little,” he says. “But it was the cutest sound a human could make. You sounded like a kitten.”
“A kitten?”
My cheeks are about to melt off.
Was he studying me while I was snoring?
“Soft, quiet breaths with a sigh of relief at the end. Maybe you were dreaming. I don’t know.”
I stare at him, transfixed, and he holds my eyes.
“You’re making this up,” I say.
He chuckles.
“Why would I?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t want me to come to your place again,” I push out without pondering much, and silence falls around the table.
We’ve never talked about that, right?
Our common understanding was that we wouldn’t discuss an uncertain future. What for?
I think about it a little more.
“Would you like another cinnamon roll?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.
Shaking his head, he puts his espresso down.
“I want you…” he tosses at me when I expect it the least, and my skin catches on fire.
His gaze is still tilted down, and I’m trying to maintain my composure while waiting for his eyes to come back to mine.
A smile tilts his lips when he catches sight of my astonished expression.
“I want to fuck you again, baby…” he says, leaning close to me and brushing his lips over my earlobe.
I smell like him, and he must smell like me.
“Now?”
“Yeah. Now,” he says, pushing his chair back, stretching his hand out for me, and waiting for me to make up my mind.
I rise out of my seat and look at him in a trance.
“In the bedroom,” he says as I appear breathless.
“Yes, of course.”
I pivot to follow him.
“Are you always going to be scared shitless like that,” he tosses over his shoulder while taking my hand and walking me to the exit door.
“Always. You mean as in, um… Always?”
He gives me a knowing laugh.
“You’re playing with me,” I say, reproach in my voice.
“Never. I’d never do that.”
We take the stairs up.
“I’m not scared.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Okay. Maybe I am a little.”
“Do you want to know how great it feels to be scared and experience pleasure?”
“I already know how it feels.”
“Good answer,” he says as we reach the upper floor.
He pushes the door to his bedroom open, lets go of my hand, and goes straight to the windows, where he pulls the curtains closed.
Later, he turns off the lights.
The room is dim, with only a narrow ribbon of dark grayish light sneaking in through the curtains.
“Do you like dark rooms?” I ask. “I thought it would set the mood.”
He lights a couple of candles and places them on the mantel of the stone fireplace before turning on a floor lamp.
The room is perfect.
You can’t tell whether it’s five in the afternoon or seven in the morning.
He turns to me.
“I’ll go to the bathroom first,” he says, walking to the one across the corridor.
I stroll to the nearest one and brush my teeth.
Moments later, I stand in the middle of the bedroom, a little nervous, my bathrobe hugging my body.
His steps trail across the corridor before entering the bedroom.
He's ditched the bathrobe for a towel that barely sits around his hips.
“Can we do something that I want?” I say, driving my gaze down and watching a few drops of water glistening on his pecs.
“Sure,” he says, inching closer and sliding his hands inside my robe.
The belt falls as the robe opens under his touch.
“What is it that you want?” he asks.
“A repeat of last night?” I say, standing naked in front of him.
His eyes narrow with a flicker of light.
“Is there anything in particular that you’d like me to do?”
I answer with a smile.