Chapter 11 #2
I had to be a special kind of stupid, because his explanation softened my resolve. Cal must have seen it in my expression, because he leaned forward and said, “I need your help, Deena. I could lose my business. You, of all people, know what that would do to me.”
Oh, damn him. Damn him for knowing exactly what to say despite barely knowing me. Damn him for using that soft voice and making me feel like he was sharing a secret with me. In a desperate attempt to save my crumbling defenses, my gaze slid away from his as I set my jaw.
“Deena,” he murmured. “Name your price. I mean it. Name the hours you want to work. Name any condition that you want written into the contract. I need you.”
All my debts could go away. If I worked for him, we’d draw professional boundaries. This silly infatuation would surely run its course.
God, I was such an idiot. But I still looked at him and asked, “Six months?”
A flicker of triumph went through his eyes. “Six months.”
One last gasp of logic pushed the only correct answer from my lips: “No.”
He laughed, bright and honest, and my own lips curled in response. It was impossible not to lean toward him, to soak up some of the magic of his attention.
I was a fool, but when he looked at me with warm eyes still full of laughter, I didn’t care. A smile bloomed over my lips, and Cal watched it, his eyes darkening with desire. He lifted a brow. “If you won’t work for me, then there’s no reason not to kiss me again.”
Desire slammed into my gut, and I hid it with a disbelieving laugh. “I can think of a few reasons, actually.”
“Like?”
My mind went suddenly blank, and he gave me another one of those sinful, knowing smiles.
I clicked my tongue and marched past him, trying to put some distance between us.
It was my turn to pick up a red billiards ball.
I tossed it from hand to hand, then rolled it toward one of the pockets as I said, “Number one: You’re a creepy stalker who showed up here without being invited and then kissed me without warning. ”
He hummed, the sound of his footsteps alerting me to his approach. My heart thumped in sync with his steps.
“Number two. You’re too used to getting what you want, and I resent that.”
“Not true,” he said, one palm appearing on the edge of the table near my hip. “There are a lot of things I want that I can’t have.” His lips dropped to my shoulder, and I shivered. He pressed a soft kiss to the exposed skin there, then ran his lips toward my neck, inhaling the scent of my skin.
He was too close. The fog was back in my mind, muddling all my thoughts.
He was here because he wanted me to work for him, but then what was this? What was going on?
And what did I want?
I couldn’t make any sense of it. His right hand landed on the other side of me, and I was trapped against the billiards table, penned by his arms. I gripped the felted edge, my heart beginning to thrum.
It was too much. He was a hurricane of male energy, and I couldn’t keep resisting him.
As my head bowed, panic began to build in the pit of my gut.
I needed to run. I needed to get away from him—but I couldn’t.
And even if I did, what would stop me from turning around and running right back?
I took a deep breath. “Cal,” I started hesitantly. “I don’t do well when I feel trapped.”
It was half an admission, but it felt like I’d bared myself to him for inspection.
Even though I couldn’t see them, I was sure those sharp, intelligent eyes were studying every line of my body.
Reading all my secrets. I didn’t want to give him anything to use over me.
I’d fought so hard to build my life and get away from my past. Handing Cal any sort of power over me felt like a regression.
He’d do what everyone else had done: use me and keep me leashed, then toss me aside when he was done with me.
His fingers shifted on the table next to my hips, but they didn’t move away. He exhaled, the breath ruffling the back of my neck, and gave me an admission of his own: “I don’t like giving up control.”
I snorted.
Of all the possible responses I could have had, that was probably the worst choice, because Cal’s presence pressed against my back.
His warmth was an inferno from shoulder to heel.
I couldn’t decide if my legs were trembling because I wanted to run, or because I wanted him to spread them wider.
“You think it’s so funny to push my buttons, don’t you, Deena? ”
I was breathless, trembling with anticipation and anxiety and adrenaline. “You’re the one who pushes buttons,” I replied. “Stalking me across state lines? Calling me at all hours of the night?”
His chest pressed against my back. A spike of panic went through me.
I hated being trapped. Hated my freedom being restricted in any way.
But beneath the panic was something else—a warm wave of emotion that made my breath quicken.
My heart fluttered like a trapped bird. My legs twitched, wanting to run.
But my feet stayed still.
Callum loomed behind me, big and dangerous and intimidating. But at the same time, his presence made warmth spread through my core, made my heart slow as it thumped harder. Hot blood coursed to my tingling extremities.
Slowly, as if giving me the chance to stop him, Cal moved. His hands slid to my legs and up over my stomach, pinning my arms to my sides and banding me to him. His hold was unbreakable. His chest was a broad wall, immovable against my back.
My heart fluttered and pulsed—but I didn’t fight or thrash or scream. I didn’t panic.
I softened.
Calm washed over me, the kind of calm that felt other. Like it had blown in from another realm to make me rethink everything I knew about myself. I was trapped here, with a man so much bigger and stronger than me. And it felt incredible.
Callum let out a low grunt as my fingers softened against the felt of the table, my body melting against the safety of his bulk.
He held me, and there was nowhere else to go, nothing else to do but give in to him.
Every muscle in my body eased, and Callum made another noise, muttering something that sounded like, “Thought so.”
Something in my brain clicked into place. This was safe. Cal was safe. I could let go. I could reach out and take what I so desperately wanted.
All it took was for me to angle my hips back slightly, to push against Cal where he stood behind me. His reaction was immediate. His hand clamped around my hipbone to hold me there, and his own hips surged forward so I could feel the hard ridge of his erection.
I gasped, and Cal slid his hand from my hipbone down to the core of me, squeezing his hand around me so I was pinned to him by the part of me that wanted him most. Lust surged within me, so strong it ripped the breath from my lungs.
My hands landed back on the table as my dress crumpled in his grasp.
His voice was darker than I’d ever heard it, his breath hot on my ear as he growled, “You feel what you do to me, Deena?” He squeezed me again, fingers pressing into my clit as my panties soaked through. “Been hard since the moment I saw you standing in front of that leering asshole.”
Desire was forked lightning in my veins.
My fingers curled into the green felt in front of me, my vision going dark at the edges.
“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, Cal?” I asked, breathless, unable to stop myself.
It felt amazing to finally give in to temptation, but I still liked pushing back.
“It’s a lot fucking more than jealousy,” he rasped, hips rolling against my ass in an imitation of the act. “You drive me insane.”
That made two of us. I huffed, focusing on the felt before me, pushing against his movements so he knew I wanted it as badly as he did. My head fell down, chin landing against my chest.
His fingers spasmed against me, all the layers of dress and tulle and crystal embellishments and underwear far too much for the raw contact I needed. He rubbed me through all the layers, rough and clumsy, making me gasp and buck. “Don’t block me again,” he growled.
I glanced over my shoulder as I pushed out a breath of a laugh, catching the dark look in his eyes. “Still mad about that, huh?”
“Furious,” he said, fingers tangling into my hair as he yanked my head back to kiss me.
It was awkward and messy and electric. I tried to twist in his arms to kiss him better, but he kept his hand locked on my crotch, his arm a band of steel that kept me from moving away.
His cock pulsed against my ass, needy and insistent.
As his fingers dug into my dress, his other hand fisting my hair, I began to realize there was something seriously wrong with me. I liked being twisted to the point of discomfort and held down so I had nowhere to run. I liked when he took control.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my fingers curling into the table.
His grip in my hair slackened slightly. “Same things as you, sweetheart.”
“We can’t.”
“Says who?”
“You’re my client. And you’re annoy—” I gasped as his palm gripped me hard, squeezing me with the kind of ownership that made me want to melt.
“Annoying?” he finished for me, amusement lacing his tone.
“Very. But nothing special. A run-of-the-mill control freak,” I said between breaths as his palm pressed where I needed friction the most. “Spotted it a mile away.”
His hum made heat spill through my middle, and then he grabbed my dress and bundled it up until his bare palm was against my thigh.
“I think you enjoy being a brat, Deena.” When he said the word “brat,” Callum—Cal—slid his hand up and pressed it against my soaking-wet underwear.
He probed at my entrance, rubbing the fabric against me, and my legs trembled. We groaned in unison.
He crowded me against the billiards table, hand pinning me in place, and dropped his voice while his lips brushed my ear. “How about just this once, sweetheart, you try being good?”