Chapter Fifteen #2
“Think you forgot something,” she said, one brow lifting. “Or was this part of your secret surveillance gear?”
His lips quirked. Then he scratched his temple and exhaled. “Looks that way.”
Callie tilted her head, her voice softer now. “Have you been sleeping out here?”
He didn’t dodge it. “Yeah.”
Her brows lifted, but there was no judgment in her expression, only quiet surprise and something else he couldn’t quite name.
“For how long?” she asked.
“Couple nights,” he admitted. “Didn’t want you out here alone. And I figured if I told you, you’d either drag a sleeping bag out and join me or try to stop me.”
She stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head slowly. “Okay, fair.”
That earned a ghost of a smile from him. “I needed to be sure we weren’t missing something. If anything happened to you—”
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” she said firmly. “Because you’re here.”
That settled between them, quiet but full of meaning. He hadn’t realized how damn much he needed to hear that.
She leaned back, one foot propped on the edge of the bench. “You’re kind of ridiculous, you know that?”
“Comes with the job.”
Callie let out a soft laugh, then tipped her head to look at him. “Why don’t you come home with me for supper tonight?”
His heart thumped, but he kept his voice casual. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Her tone was steady. “And I’ll even feed you something better than dried trail mix.”
He smiled slowly, the tension in his shoulders finally giving way to something easier. “Then I’ll be there.”
She stood and passed the flashlight to him, and their fingers brushed. He didn’t let go right away.
“Thanks,” he said. “For the flashlight or the invitation?”
He smiled. “Both.”
Then he tugged her close and kissed her, softly at first, a quiet thank you, a question wrapped in warmth. But the moment her hands slid up his chest, everything shifted.
She kissed him back with quiet urgency, the kind that said she’d also been holding back far too long.
He deepened the kiss, one hand cradling her jaw, and he slipped the other around her waist as he eased her back against the post.
Callie didn’t flinch. Didn’t pause.
And hell, neither did he.
The rest of the world blurred, no manifests, no threats, nothing but the pull of her mouth on his and the heat that flared in his veins.
When they finally came up for air, her breathing was shallow, her eyes still locked on his.
“Well,” she murmured, a little dazed, “that was convincing.”
He grinned, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. “Been wanting to do that for a few days now.”
They left the lean-to side by side, and for the first time in days, Matthew felt as if they weren’t reacting anymore.
They were moving forward.
Together.
***
L ater that evening, after he’d left before Nate for a turn-and-burn shower and change, Matthew pulled up to Callie’s house before sundown.
He wasn’t nervous.
He’d faced firefights, breaching ops, cartel camps. He could walk into a hurricane and keep his pulse steady.
But standing on Callie’s front porch, holding a bottle of red wine and a bakery-boxed chocolate ganache tart, Matthew Walker was…not calm.
He knocked once, shifted his weight, and tried not to think about how domestic this all felt. Like he belonged here. Like this could be more than just tonight.
The door opened before he could spiral any further.
Callie stood there barefoot, wearing a soft blue sundress that clung in ways that should’ve been illegal. Her hair was up, messy and perfect, and she smelled faintly of something floral and fresh.
Something in his chest tightened at the sight of her.
“You look beautiful,” he said, watching color flush her face.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling in that way that undid him a little more every time. “I’m glad you made it.”
Nothing would’ve kept him from showing up.
“I brought bribes.” He held out the wine and the box. “The bakery twins insisted this dessert would complement any meal.”
“Then we’re off to a good start.” She took them, brushing her fingers against his in a casual move that didn’t feel casual at all. “Come on in.”
He followed her inside, the air cooler, the lights low. Sammy thumped his tail against the kitchen wall in lazy welcome before padding over for an ear scratch.
“Something smells amazing,” he said, eyeing the skillet on the stove.
“Chicken and dumplings. Grandma Jo’s recipe,” Callie said, moving toward the counter. “Maggie says it has healing powers.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He helped set out bowls, aware of how easily they fell into rhythm. It wasn’t only the comfort, it was the rightness of it.
They sat down across from each other at the small kitchen table, steam curling from their bowls. A breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the scent of gardenia and sun-warmed grass.
For a while, they ate and talked. About Sammy’s squirrel vendetta. About the customer who tried to return a rose bush because it “looked at him funny.” About Rosie forgetting her lunch and blaming the clipboard.
It wasn’t until the dishes were cleared and the wine poured that the mood shifted.
Matthew leaned back slightly, watching her. “Thanks for this.”
Callie looked up, wineglass halfway to her lips. “For the food?”
“For the invitation.” His voice was quiet. “For letting me in.”
She set her glass down, her gaze steady. “You’re already in, Matthew. You just haven’t figured that out yet.”
That cracked something open in his chest.
He stood slowly, walking around the table. She rose to her feet and met him halfway. For a beat, they stayed still, breathing the same air, close enough to feel the tension humming between them.
Her voice was softer now. “What are you waiting for?”
He answered with his mouth.
The kiss was deliberate—no crash, no urgency—only the slow, searing kind of connection that came from knowing exactly what he wanted.
Her hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt, and that was it. The last thread of his restraint snapped. He cupped her jaw and deepened the kiss, pouring everything into it. Want, yes. But also reverence.
Because this woman, this moment—they weren’t temporary.
They were everything.
Her hands moved to his shoulders as he dragged his mouth down her jaw, her throat, then lower, his grip steady on her waist. He took his time, reveling in her hitched breaths and soft moans. She was beautiful and amazing, and he was the luckiest son-of-a-bitch to be part of her world.
Taking advantage of the space, Matthew lifted Callie into his arms, carried her to the living room and gently laid her across the settee portion of her sectional.
Anticipation and need burned in her gaze as she leaned back slowly, eyes locked on his, with a look of already knowing exactly where this was headed.
And she welcomed it.
Matthew dropped to his knees in front of her.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice rough as gravel, “and I will.”
How the hell he’d do that, he had no idea. But for her, he would.
Callie shook her head once, a quiet defiance, her chest rising with every breath. “Don’t you dare.”
That was all the permission he needed.
He slid his hands up under her dress until he hooked his fingers around her panties and slowly tugged them off.
She let out a soft breath, her eyes locked on his. “You really don’t believe in wasting time, do you?”
Her voice was low, teasing, but the way her hips lifted to help him said exactly how much she wanted this, too.
A slow grin curved his mouth as he let the fabric drop to the floor. “Not when I already know what I want.” Then he leaned in, his voice rough at her ear. “And right now, all I want is you.”
He shifted back down onto his knees and let his thumb trail over her skin, slow and sure, then leaned in and kissed the inside of her knee.
She shivered.
Then he glided one hand to her thigh while the other slid higher, until his fingers found her center.
Warm. Wet. Waiting for him.
“Damn, Callie…” he muttered, the words dragged from somewhere deep in his chest. “You’re already soaked.”
She let out a sound—something between a gasp and a plea—and tilted her hips in silent invitation.
He didn’t make her wait.
Matthew slipped a finger inside her, teasing gently, then circling just right until her hips bucked and her breath hitched hard.
“Yeah,” she breathed, closing her eyes. “More.”
He leaned in, mouth brushing her thigh as he worked her with slow, expert precision. “Anything for you.”
Her hand gripped the edge of the cushion, her knuckles white as he eased her open further, watching her face as he added another finger, reveling in every reaction. Every shift. Every sigh.
When he found the rhythm that made her pant, he leaned in and kissed the inside of her thigh again, then again, slower this time, worshipping the beauty.
She moaned.
He grinned against her skin. “That good?”
“Better,” she managed between breaths.
He moved his fingers with purpose now, steady and deep, his thumb brushing the place she needed the most. A breathless beat later, she shattered under his touch.
Callie cried out, her hips lifting off the cushions as he coaxed every last wave from her, not letting up until her body finally slumped, spent and trembling.
Only then did he withdraw his touch, his own heart pounding nearly out of his chest, having witnessed something too incredible for words.
He kissed the inside of a quivering thigh before he drew back to watch her flushed face. “You’re exquisite, Callie.”
She sat up slowly, framed his face with both hands, and captured his mouth with hers in a kiss that was equal parts lazy and loaded.
Then she said something that would stay with him longer than the taste of her mouth.
“Come to bed, Matthew.”