Chapter 8
CALLIE
When I get back from work after my days off, I go to make a cup of tea and find Reid has renovated the kitchen. To say the least. That makes it sound like he replaced a few cabinets, but no. It’s… Stunning. I just gape.
“Do you like it?”
I spin and find Reid—my god he’s tall, I tend to forget since we so often interact with him sitting down, as I tend to his arm—behind me.
His bright-blue eyes are serious. As though the matter of whether this astonishing kitchen, with the green shaker cabinets and marble worktops and a huge sink that will make washing up after baking so much easier, is to my taste is of premier importance to him.
“It’s bigger,” I say stupidly. “How did you do that?”
“Knocked through into the other reception room,” he replies casually.
“It’s…” There really aren’t words for this kitchen.
It’s a dream. And the builders Reid hired have managed to do it in only twelve hours—while I was at work.
This house must be like one of those decoration challenge television programs while I’m out, with tons of people running around everywhere and making stuff.
“Here, look at these.” Reid opens a cupboard and pulls out new cake tins. Not the cheap ones I’ve been using and are threatening to be rusty at the edges. No, these are premium.
“And…” He flicks another door, and neatly labelled containers have all my baking ingredients in them.
My throat closes up. I nod, and smile, but emotion glues together my lips as I reach to run my fingers along the worktop of my dream kitchen.
This is for me, I realise. The kitchen is irrelevant for daily meals because of Reid’s chef—who I have never met, but would like to shake their hand because their food is exceptional—and what use does Reid have for a fancy retro-style mixer or cake tins? Nothing.
He could buy a thousand cakes, if he wanted to. He’s probably never made one in his life, but he’s made this beautiful kitchen, anyway. For me.
“Thank you,” I manage to croak out. I keep stroking the lines of the cupboards and worktops, because I think that’s the only thing stopping me from throwing myself at Reid and hugging him until he dies of asphyxiation.
I can’t help but glance at him though, and he has that unbearably smug expression that indicates he got what he wanted.
How a new kitchen is that, I don’t know.
So I suggest the only other thing I’m good at apart from baking, and that delineates our relationship. “Shall I look at your arm?”
And when he nods, it’s back to our familiar dynamic of nurse and patient. Billionaire, managing, grumpy, reverse-kidnapping, mafia boss, impatient patient.
Every day there are new improvements to the house.
I love baking in the new kitchen, but the hallway upgrade is nice too.
Then I think they deal with the floor where Reid is living, including a new shower, because one day the water splutters when I get a drink and Reid apologises. Then the bathroom on my floor.
Instead of moving me into the lap of luxury that he’s used to, he’s quietly renovating my shared house—well, his house now—to his standards.
And then I return home, and when I open the door to my bedroom, I stop, the surprise almost knocking me physically.
I have—had—a small room. Just big enough for my bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a small desk. Floor space to lay out one pair of jeans, but only if they were a size six. It was plain, and cute with a couple of posters on the walls.
But now it’s huge.
I glance behind me, because for a moment I wonder if I somehow came to the wrong floor and… Yeah. Extreme tiredness can cause hallucinations. Maybe extreme horniness can too?
Except, that is my bedding. Neatly on a new solid wood bedframe that looks like it would survive an apocalypse, it’s so heavy looking. Or out-last a Reid-renovation.
The walls have been knocked-through, and my bedroom expanded into the room next door, so it’s enormous.
There’s the most beautiful wallpaper that’s a light-blue with flowers and birds on it.
It’s stunning. Or at least, I am stunned.
The floor is some sort of hardwood, with rugs so fluffy you could sleep on them.
I know without looking that the huge wardrobe has all my belongings carefully transferred into it.
And where I had a few favourite paperbacks on a tiny shelf, there are now shelves all along one wall.
And tucked into a corner are my books. A bit pathetic amongst all this beauty, but mine nonetheless.
I grasp the handrail as I stumble back downstairs, and find Reid in the room he’s taken over as his office. He smiles as he looks up, and my stupid heart jumps, and I return it. Is he really pleased to see me?
I collapse into a chair and shake my head. “I should probably be annoyed that you broke into my room.”
“Technically, we didn’t open your door.” His smile slips to a smug expression. “So no contractual issues.”
“You just dismantled the whole wall.” It’s an accusatory statement, but joy is bubbling up.
“Unavoidable repairs. Apologies for any inconvenience.” He’s enjoying this. There’s a sparkle in his eyes.
“You’re unbelievable.” But it’s a compliment, and we both know it.
“Do you like it?”
I put my chin on my hands and my elbows on my knees. “I love it.”
There are no other words.
“Excellent. I aim to be a good landlord. And roommate.”
The multiple meanings of that second word sparks between us. As in, him, in my room. He hasn’t tried anything with me. But I think I’d like it if he did.
I’m the first one to break the moment. To remind us both what this is about. “Shall we clean your arm?”
“Of course.” He nods amicably, as though he’s doing me the favour. Which, it turns out, is kind of true?
I’m developing a taste for seeing Reid half-dressed. I wonder if he knows this is a transparent way for me to be able to see him with his top off, and touch him?
Despite his injury, he moves like a cat, all casual grace, as if it would take a hurricane to shake him. A bullet? Pah. Didn’t stand a chance.
On the sofa in the lounge, he goes through the whole slow process of stripping to the waist, and I pretend not to look.
I busy myself fiddling with the dressings and checking the distilled water.
Like it might have changed since I last looked.
I don’t want Reid to know that I’m gawking at his masculine beauty.
I fail.
As he flicks off the second cufflink, he catches me staring at his strong wrists, the dark hair and the fading out of the tattoos making him even more compelling.
The corner of his mouth quirks upwards.
And then he slides the shirt off. He doesn’t need to remove it completely, but he does, and… Oooff. That moment when he’s fully exposed should be vulnerable, but instead, he wields his beauty like a weapon. Flushing, and trying to control my breath, I sit next to him.
“Does it hurt?” I carefully remove the dressing, and suck in a breath when I see where his arm is gaped open. It’s getting more and more painful for me to look at his injury, even as he’s healing day by day.
“A bit,” he acknowledges.
I frown. “I can get you some—”
“I don’t need anything,” he cuts me off.
“It doesn’t—”
“Callie.” He touches the fingertip of his uninjured arm to my chin, and I gasp like a maiden in a Regency romance seeing something forbidden from behind lace curtains. But he’s so gentle as he guides my face to look into his. “I want to feel.”
I have no idea why my brain goes to filthy places from his words. But “want” and “feel” and my name, they conspire to make my body ignite. It makes me think of me on his lap, both of us naked, him inside me, his big hands cupping my breasts, his mouth on mine.
Between my legs, I melt.
“Okay,” I whisper, and it’s the most horny little sound. I’m pathetic for this man. He nods and lets my chin go.
My heart aches as I carefully remove the bandage, and wash out the angry red flesh.
He watches me silently.
“It’s healing well.” I’m glad, I am. Honestly. Even though it’s shortening the amount of time we have in this weird space of being together. “I think the scar isn’t going to be too bad.”
“I usually put a tattoo over them.”
This has happened enough times that he has a “usual” thing that he does about bullet wound scars.
We really couldn’t be more different. Me, with my cautious little life.
Him, keeping doing his job even though he’s been shot multiple times.
I’ve been scared of getting close to any man for fear they’d be like my father. Violent.
Reid has brutality in his life, but he’s delicate with me. I love being near him. The security I feel is surprising, given he’s a mafia boss, far bigger than me, and sometimes when he looks at me, it’s with the expression of a hungry wolf.
I pack the wound this time, my gloved fingertips lingering on his skin. There’s something about this man that makes me want to touch him.
And I think, when there’s a clean dressing and bandage on his arm, and he catches me with that penetrating gaze, that he knows it too.