Chapter 24
Lana
“The barn?” I laugh softly, raising my eyebrows. “That’s your romantic alternative?”
His smile is playful yet somehow still serious. “Jake and Ella are here with Nora, and two dozen men are staying here and over at Ella’s place, Julia, Richard, and Margret. Not exactly private. But the barn...” He leaves the suggestion hanging.
I consider it for a moment, picturing the rustic space with its hay bales and animals. It’s certainly unconventional, but then again, nothing about Caleb or our situation is conventional.
“I’d like that,” I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. “But I should probably go back to the lodge first. I need a change of clothes and a shower.”
“Of course,” he says, looking relieved that I didn’t dismiss the idea outright. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”
My mind is already racing ahead, planning. “Give me about an hour and a half? That should be enough time.”
He nods, his eyes warm in the fading light. “I’ll be waiting.”
The drive back to the lodge feels both too long and too short.
My heart is fluttering with anticipation, a mixture of nerves and excitement that I haven’t felt ever in my life.
When I arrive, the place is bustling with the other half of Declan’s men, packaging all the archives from the underground room we’d found for the trip to the MacGallan estate in Toronto.
Still, I manage to slip upstairs without getting pulled into conversation.
Under the hot spray of the shower, I try to calm my racing thoughts. This isn’t just physical attraction—though God knows that’s strong enough. There’s something deeper forming between Caleb and me, something I didn’t want but can’t seem to resist.
After drying off, I pull on a pair of old, comfortable jeans and a soft sweater, then pack an overnight bag with pajamas, a change of clothes, and toiletries.
I hesitate before the mirror, wondering whether to apply makeup, then decide on just a touch of mascara and tinted lip balm.
This isn’t about impressing him—it’s about being comfortable together.
On impulse, I call him from the car as I’m heading back.
“Hey,” he answers, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver through me.
“Hey, yourself. I’m on my way, but I thought I’d head to Pinecrest for food. Any requests?”
“Surprise me,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m not picky.”
I end up at Stephen’s Wok, the only Chinese restaurant in town. The elderly owner recognizes me from previous visits and adds extra fortune cookies, giving me a knowing wink that makes me grin.
By the time I pull up to Jake’s farm, night has fully fallen.
The security team has established a discreet presence—I notice at least three men positioned around the property—but they let me pass without comment.
Caleb is waiting outside the barn, a silhouette against the warm light spilling from inside.
“Special delivery,” I call softly, lifting the bags of food as I approach.
He steps forward to take them, leaning in to kiss me briefly. “Perfect timing. I just finished setting things up.”
Inside, I’m greeted by the familiar sounds and smells of the barn—hay, animals, the earthy scent that’s oddly comforting. The mother cat emerges from her nest in the corner, stretching languidly before approaching to rub against my legs.
“Hello, beautiful,” I murmur, crouching to scratch behind her ears. She purrs loudly, arching into my touch. “Everyone doing well in here?”
“All secure,” Caleb confirms, watching me with the cat. “The kittens are getting bolder. One of them tried to climb my leg earlier.”
I laugh, straightening up. “Bold is good. They’ll need it in this world.”
“Come on,” he says, taking my hand. “This way.”
He leads me toward the ladder to the hayloft, insisting on carrying my bag while I bring the food. As I climb up behind him, I’m not prepared for what awaits me at the top.
The hayloft has been transformed. Soft, twinkling fairy lights are strung across the rafters, casting a gentle glow over the space.
Battery-operated lanterns create pools of golden light in strategic corners.
In the center, a real mattress is covered with layers of clean blankets and pillows, creating an inviting nest. To one side, he’s set up a small folding table with an actual tablecloth, a lantern serving as a centerpiece, and a bottle of red wine.
“Caleb,” I breathe, taking it all in. “This is... how did you do all this in an hour?”
He shrugs, looking almost shy. “I may have had help. Ella lent me the lights and blankets. The mattress is from Jake’s office—he keeps it for when the cows are calving, and he needs to stay close. But Julia insisted on helping with everything else.”
“Remind me to thank her. It’s magical,” I say, setting the food on the table. “Like something out of a fairy tale.”
“A fairy tale in a hayloft,” he chuckles, coming to stand behind me, his arms circling my waist. “Not exactly conventional.”
I lean back against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him. “I’ve never been much for convention.”
We eat cross-legged on the blankets, sharing containers of sweet-and-sour chicken, beef with broccoli, and vegetable fried rice.
The conversation flows easily between us—stories from his childhood with Jake, tales of my travels with Kori, comfortable silences filled only with the occasional sounds from the animals below.
“Fortune cookie?” I offer, after we’ve eaten our fill, holding one out to him.
He cracks it open, reading the small slip of paper with a smile. “‘You will find unexpected joy in unusual places.’ Well, that’s appropriate.”
“What does yours say?” he asks as I open mine.
I read it and can’t help but laugh. “‘Take a chance—the timing is right.’ These things are getting suspiciously specific.”
He takes the paper from my fingers, setting it aside before gently pulling me closer. “Maybe we should listen to them.”
His kiss is tender at first, a question rather than a demand. I answer by deepening it, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, feeling the strong muscles beneath his shirt. He tastes like sweet-and-sour sauce and possibility.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing harder. His eyes search mine, looking for hesitation or doubt. He won’t find any—I’ve made my decision. I want this. I want him.
“Lana,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “We don’t have to—”
I silence him with another kiss; that’s all the permission he needs. With surprising gentleness for such a powerful man, he lays me back on the blankets. As his hands begin to explore, I let myself surrender to the moment, to him, to us.
His hands slip beneath my sweater, warm against my skin, and I gasp as his fingers trace my ribs, moving upward with tantalizing slowness. I arch into his touch, wanting more, needing all of him.
“Is this okay?” he whispers against my neck, his breath hot on my skin.
“More than okay,” I breathe, helping him lift the sweater over my head.
The cool air of the barn makes me shiver, but Caleb’s eyes on me are like fire. He looks at me with such intensity, such hunger, that I feel beautiful despite my scars—the faint white line along my collarbone, the mark on my hip where Mark’s ring caught my skin.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, as if reading my thoughts, his fingers gently tracing the scar on my collarbone. “Every inch of you.”
I reach for him, tugging at his shirt until he pulls it off in one fluid motion.
The sight of him steals my breath—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, the skin over his muscles marked with scars of his own, each telling a story of survival.
I trace one that runs across his right pectoral, feeling the raised tissue beneath my fingertips.
“Knife fight,” he explains softly. “Kabul, 2024.”
I lean forward and press my lips to the scar, tasting his skin, feeling his sharp intake of breath. My hands explore his chest, the hard planes of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his jeans. When I reach for his belt, his hand covers mine, stopping me.
“Slow,” he says, his voice strained. “I want to take my time with you.”
He lowers me back onto the blankets, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that makes my toes curl. Then his lips are moving down my neck, across my collarbone, to the swell of my breasts above my bra, and he unhooks it, sliding the straps down my arms.
The cool air makes my nipples tighten, but then his mouth is there, warm and wet, and I’m gasping, arching off the blankets. He lavishes attention on one breast and then the other, his tongue circling, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting through me.
“Caleb,” I moan, threading my fingers through his hair, holding him to me.
His hand slides down my stomach to the button of my jeans, pausing there in silent question. I lift my hips in answer, and he smiles against my skin before undoing the button and slowly—torturously slowly—lowering the zipper.
He tugs my jeans down my legs, his callused hands skimming my thighs, my calves, before tossing them aside. I lie before him in just my underwear, feeling exposed yet empowered by the naked desire in his eyes.
“Your turn,” I whisper, nodding toward his jeans.
He stands to remove them, and I watch, mesmerized, as more of his body is revealed to me—powerful thighs, his right one marred by the bullet wound that I notice has healed nicely, strong calves, and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal straining against his boxers.
When he kneels back on the blankets, I reach for him, running my hand along the hard length of him through the thin cotton.
He groans, his eyes closing briefly before he captures my wrist. “If you keep that up, this will be over embarrassingly fast.”
I laugh softly, thrilled by the power I have over this strong man. “We can’t have that.”