Chapter 18
CALLUM
Long strands of wet hair are still stuck to her flushed cheeks and neck, while shivers claim her shoulders.
As much as I keep my eyes on her face, not fully focused, I’m perfectly aware of the map of pleasure stretching from her chin down.
Taking her in with the tarnished edges of my awareness, I become aware of the root of her neck, the elegant arching of her clavicles, and the smooth path to her breasts.
Her touching her breasts makes me feel their weight as if my hands form cups around them.
As if they sleep protected by my touch.
She’s like a blooming flower caught in a pelting rain, her eyes waves of glass against a final shore, her eyebrows little caterpillars. Her heart a butterfly.
Insufferable beautiful woman, her beauty stemming from the alchemy of the damned. Someone is going to break their neck for her, and I hope it won’t be me.
She holds her towel against her chest too, unable or unwilling to pat herself dry. I move my eyes to the vanity, and my hand follows suit.
A moment later, I drape my suit jacket over her shoulders and head to the door, but not before inviting her to use the towel.
As much as I’d like to say she looks funny wearing my suit jacket, having my coat over her shoulders makes her even more sexy. My fingers burn to reach her cheeks and brush away her wet hair.
And then the unavoidable happens.
My eyes dip, and she catches that.
I expect a smirk on her face when I lift my gaze up, one of those obnoxious smiles that makes me want to spank her, yet, to my surprise, she seems to be in shock.
Our eyes stay connected briefly, like birds flapping their wings against each other in flight, before we both hear the knock on the door.
“Wait here,” I say, regaining my composure.
Seconds later, Cosimo hands me a couple of hangers.
“Things all right outside?” I ask.
“Everything’s fine.”
With that, he quietly retreats, and I close the door.
On my way over, I check the time on my watch. It’s almost midnight.
I need to get out of this house before something worse than this happens.
Pushing through the bathroom door, I speak.
“Here. Pick one.”
Then I shift my focus to her and notice that she’s crouched down, her back to me, as she’s collecting what's left of her dress.
The bottom of my suit jacket almost touches the shiny tiles, setting a stark contrast to her red coral heels, before she pushes up and turns around, and her beauty hits me like a rocket.
She’s done something to her hair––perhaps run her fingers through it––and then, removed the smudged mascara from her eyes, and the most important change, her bare breasts touch the inside of my jacket.
Half moons hidden in the shadows.
Half moons peering at me, her nipples hard.
She still wears her white shorts, which are now drenched and leave nothing to the imagination, and heels, but there’s nothing else under my jacket.
Patiently, she’s waiting for me to finish my inspection.
I’m so hard, I can barely suppress my need to adjust myself.
This is so wrong.
Wrong and fruitless.
I try to talk myself into the idea that this is nothing more than biology. Little stupid molecules linking hands together and planning to dance on my grave.
I shift to face the vanity and make myself busy with my tie. It all works great, although I feel the heat of her stare on my back, like it can’t find a way to land.
She doesn’t move. No picking up her new dresses. No checking them.
The devil knows where I am in my journey.
She must know.
She may be young, but she is smart beyond her years.
A glance in the mirror gives me a perfect view of myself as I expertly produce a smooth tie knot, and of her silhouette in the background.
Her slightly inclined profile tells me she is contemplating something else.
I won’t be here to hear the rest of the story, as I have no interest in it.
Luckily, the tension in my groin subsides, and I turn around with renewed confidence, ready to make a quick exit.
My plan is simple: grab the hangers, give them to her, if possible, cover her chest while doing that, and then collect my suit jacket.
It should go fast and be done in no time.
Avoiding her eyes, I reach the hangers and turn to her, when the desperation in her eyes hits me hard.
She throws a wrench into my plans as she slowly lets my jacket slide off her shoulders, exposing herself.
Naked from her chin to her shorts, she looks at me with innocent eyes. Those are the devil's eyes, tempting me, imploring me to lose my head.
I gently lift my arm so the hangers cover her chest. I do that. She drops them back where they were.
My eyes meet hers.
Her eyes bear tears.
Mine bear smoldering fire.
“We can’t do this, Leilani,” I say quietly.
“Not now. Not ever. We’re not on the same side of this war.
We can’t be friends. Besides, you’ve done enough stupid shit tonight.
I’d say it’s enough. Put on a dress, and go straight to your room.
Have a good night's sleep and think things through tomorrow morning. There are so many matters that need your attention.”
The more I speak, the more warm tears fill her eyes.
They threaten to break and stain her cheeks as I watch them bloom into pools of sadness.
I wish her pain meant something to me.
I wish she weren’t the mess she is.
In all fairness, she was born into an ugly world.
We all were.
And she’s bound to have a messy life.
Have my feelings for her changed throughout the evening?
Probably not.
She’s still a liability, but I can see the demarcation between the crazy woman who can turn on me in a second and the woman who feels trapped, who’s too young to be caged alive.
There’s life in this woman. Her skin, her hair, her lips. Her eyes. They are all beaming with life.
She has the body of a goddess.
She’s perfect in her own crazy way, but she’s not for me. I can’t afford her.
She’d bring me war and famine, even if in a metaphorical way.
“Do you understand?”
She nods, the miracle of tears held up together disappearing in a second as broken ones roll down her cheeks.
She’s no longer sultry, cheeky, conniving, or taunting.
She’s a vulnerable woman with no options and a bumpy road ahead.
“Then do what I just said.”
She nods again, to appease me. Her lips pressed together to keep her tears quiet.
Her head is bowed down when I’m about to leave, and that is what finally gets me.
I smoothly erase the space between us and tilt her chin up. Forgetting about her being naked, I look deep into her eyes.
“Learn to fight, Leilani. That’s all I can say. That’s all life really is. Neither of us knows the future. Neither of us can stop it. We have to bravely face it. That’s it.”
I tilt my eyes to her mouth as she attempts to nod her head again, and I stifle my impulse to touch her lips.
It wouldn’t do us any good.
I tear my touch away and almost make a step back when she winds her arms around my neck and presses her lithe body into mine, her lips against my shirt, staining it with tears, and then she pushes up on her toes, crawls as close as she can to my ear, and makes me listen with my head tilted down.
“I have no one, Callum. No one. And they just sentenced me to death.”
She pulls away a little to check my eyes and softly nods a couple of times for emphasis before I feel like there’s nothing else to say, and all I do is break away from her with a finality that’s hard to bear.