Chapter 31
Thirty-One
LEWIS
Instead of taking Callie home, we ended up at my parents’ house, and Mum invited Callie’s parents and Harry over for dinner. If it made them all feel better to have us with them, then we could do that, but I did want Callie alone so I could get a finger on the pulse of what she was feeling.
The chance never really came. Mum pulled out the board games after dinner and even Walker played, though, as per usual, he didn’t say much.
It was good for us. It brought out mine and Callie’s competitive nature, and it was funny to watch Harry and Mor act like a younger version of us, bickering and egging the other on.
Honestly, it was just really nice to see Mor come out of her shell a bit.
For once she wasn’t begging to leave so she could return to her book.
Callie was worn out by the end of the day, though, so much so we crashed in my parents’ annex.
The next morning, after breakfast with my family, Eilidh accompanied us back to my place so she could see it in person for the first time.
I saw her pride in Dad as she walked around the home he’d designed, and perhaps a bit of longing.
An emotion she was quick to hide. She stayed through lunch, and when Fyfe unexpectedly showed up with his security guy, Paul, I was relieved Eilidh was no longer acting strange around him.
Back to her usual self, she teased Fyfe mercilessly and flirted outrageously with Paul who was not immune to a famous actor’s attentions.
Callie and I exchanged a grin. I didn’t think Eilidh knew how to interact without flirting. Dad said she hadn’t gotten it from him or our mother, Francine, but it was in the Adair blood because Uncle Arran and Uncle Brodan were the biggest flirts he’d ever known until Eilidh came along.
“You miss her,” Callie observed once everyone left. Eilidh was off to catch a flight back to Romania.
I nodded. “I do. Sometimes I wish she’d chosen a normal career.”
“She’ll come back one day,” Callie replied with sincere belief.
“How do you know that?”
“Because every Adair who’s ever left this place has found their way home again.”
The next morning, my body clock seemed to know Callie’s early alarm was about to go off, and I woke up first. Only to discover I was spooning Callie, my morning wood digging into her arse. A plump breast filled my palm, and I realized I was also groping her in my sleep.
Fuck.
Slow.
She wanted to take it slow.
Hoping not to wake her, I released her, my thumb grazing a hard nipple. I had to stifle a groan as need tightened in my gut. Carefully, I withdrew, easing back silently from her.
I’d quietly taken care of myself in the bathroom and when I’d come out, Callie was awake and stomping out of the bedroom with a grumbled “Morning.” She didn’t look in my direction and I felt confusion and guilt. Had she been awake after all, and I’d made her uncomfortable?
I found her upstairs making coffee, her back to me.
She wore a strappy tank top, the hem rising to reveal her lower back and the way it sloped from her narrow waist to her curvy hips.
The pajama shorts she wore were extremely short and cupped her perfect arse.
Blood was traveling southward again, so I dragged my eyes off her.
“You know, we never really discussed the sleeping arrangements?” I broached tentatively.
She whirled, her generous, unbound tits bouncing with the movement.
The woman was trying to kill me.
I looked past her to the coffee machine, thinking about cold showers and Walker Ironside to dull the throb of arousal.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean … did you want your own bedroom?”
“Do you want me to have my own bedroom?”
At her smarting tone, I looked at her. “I want what you want.”
“Fine. I’ll move into the other bedroom.” She abandoned her coffee and marched past me.
“Callie—”
“I have to get ready.”
“Shit,” I murmured under my breath, suspecting I’d fucked up but uncertain of how.
CALLIE
There was something therapeutic about making pastry.
As I worked on the détrempe (the dough for making croissants), I tried to relax into the method, knowing it by heart.
In fact, I was on autopilot as I took my last batch out of proofing and put the new batch in.
Shaping the former batch into rectangles, I wrapped them and put them in the freezer where they’d stay until early the next morning.
Then I worked on the butter blocks and put them in the freezer too.
Once all batches were in and everything else was prepped for me returning in the early hours, I stood in the bakery kitchen not knowing what to do. I’d dragged out prep for as long as possible.
With a sigh, I texted Lewis I was on my way home.
Home.
It didn’t much feel like it with the two of us dancing around our attraction.
My phone pinged.
Still at my parents. Been helping Dad with work project. Meet me here?
I should be grateful my boyfriend and Dad had eased up and were letting me go places by myself this week, considering everyone was on edge about the break-in.
Especially as the police hadn’t gotten in touch about the CCTV footage yet.
Instead, I was agitated. Despite Lewis’s weak protests, I’d moved into the guest bedroom.
Waking up to realize my boyfriend was taking care of himself in the bathroom instead of making love to me, I’d been hurt.
I knew we’d talked about taking it slow, but I was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t more to it.
Lewis was serious about sex. It was important to him.
Not that it wasn’t important to me, but it obviously wasn’t good for him unless emotions were involved.
And I got that. Sex with Lewis was explosive, and I think it was because of how we felt for each other.
But did that mean he didn’t want to have sex because he still didn’t trust me with his emotions?
That’s not how he made me feel otherwise, and it was confusing the heck out of me. I mean, he got me pregnant, for goodness’ sake, so it wasn’t like he couldn’t have sex when our emotions were up in the air!
Last night he’d gone and dropped the surprise that he was taking me on dates three and four from my teenage list of dream dates: We were going to Edinburgh to the theater (he wouldn’t tell me what play) and to visit the National Museum.
He’d booked us into the Scotsman Hotel and had planned this lush weekend getaway.
I assumed he’d only booked one room, which was kind of a problem since I’d moved out of his bedroom to give him space.
The fact that I felt like I was coming out of my own skin didn’t help.
Every inch of me prickled with awareness when I was near him or even when just thinking about him.
I had goose bumps, hard nipples, and slickness between my thighs on a regular basis.
I’d eventually googled it and apparently, it was not unusual to be extremely horny late in the first trimester and during the second.
Last night, I’d taken care of myself in my lonely guest bedroom and was louder than I intended when I came. This morning, Lewis had watched me with a brooding intensity that made me want to jump him.
We needed to talk about it before I combusted all over him.
The plan was to broach the subject with maturity and calm.
However, after my decision to talk to Lewis about our non-sex life, he kept us so long at his parents’ house, I had no option but to head straight to bed when we got home. Then I was up at three a.m., so there was no time then either.
Lewis was at work when I returned to the house in the afternoon. The security system hadn’t been installed yet, and I’d promised not to be home alone without him, but I needed a nap.
An ache filled my chest as I wandered into the primary suite instead of the guest room. Lewis had made the bed, but I found myself kicking off my flats and getting in on his side. I wrapped my arms around his pillow, inhaling the scent of his aftershave and feeling a mix of desire and sadness.
The water from the moat around the house glimmered in the afternoon sun, and I let the peaceful magic of my surroundings lull me from my sadness into sleep.
I dreamed of Lewis. Of him slipping into the bed beside me and sliding his big man hand down my shorts, his thumb finding my clit.
I dreamed he fucked me until I was hoarse.
A sound jolted me out of sleep, and I blinked against the brightness of the room because I’d fallen asleep before I could lower the hidden blinds.
Footsteps on the staircase brought me out of my foggy, aroused state.
“Callie!”
Grumbling, I shoved out of the bed, hot and sweaty from the midday nap and the dreams.
“Coming!” I called and then winced at my poor choice of words. “Or not,” I muttered.
Lewis was at the fridge, a glass pressed to the built-in cold-water dispenser. He scowled at me as I reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the living space. “You said you wouldn’t come here alone.”
I glowered right back. “I needed a nap.”
Instantly, his face fell. “Why? Are you okay?”
Not in the mood for his mixed signals, I huffed impatiently and moved into the kitchen to grab my own glass of water. “I’m fine. I was up early so I needed a nap.”
“Are you … pissed off at me for some reason?”
“Nope.”
“You sound pissed off.”
“I’m fine,” I gritted out.
Lewis sighed heavily. “Callie, let’s not be one of those couples who bottle up their resentments and then treat each other like shit.”
I whirled on him, anger flushing through me. “Oh, so it’s okay to bottle up other feelings, though, until one of us wants to explode?”
His brows drew together, and he placed his glass down on the island. I watched him hungrily as he crossed his arms over his chest. His biceps flexed with the movement and I suddenly resented the hours he spent at the gym when he could be getting his exercise from having sex with me.
“What is going on?”
“Do you not trust me?” I blurted out.
Lewis studied me carefully. I stared back hungrily.
Not only because he was a tall drink of sexy water with his messy man bun and tattoos and broad shoulders and six-pack hiding underneath his shirt …
but because that was all just very nice packaging for his steadfast and kind heart.
It killed me that his good heart might not trust mine anymore.
And we needed to talk that out because we had a child on the way, and I didn’t want our kid getting caught up in the confused relationship of his parents.
“Why would you even ask that?” he inquired quietly, clearly confused.
Now I was even more confused. “Because … because … this taking it slow is brutal, and I don’t want to take it slow.
And it’s not only the pregnancy hormones, but my God, they are not helping.
I feel like I could come if you just put your hand down my shorts—because I’m all in!
I want this! All of it. But you clearly don’t want to have sex and the only reason that could be is because you don’t trust me fully yet. ”
His eyes had flared at my “come if you just put your hand down my shorts” comment, but now, he was gaping at me like I might be mad. “Are you kidding?” His question was hoarse.
“Nope.” I threw my hands up. “Lewis, I think I might lose my mind if we take this any slower.”
“And you think I want to take it slow?” There was an edge to his tone as he stepped toward me, almost predatorily. “Do you know what it’s like for me watching you walk around in your wee shorts … or listening to you make yourself come in the room next door?”
Oh. So he had heard that. “Maybe how it felt for me to know my boyfriend was taking care of himself with his hand instead of fucking me.”
A grin prodded his mouth, even though his eyes gleamed with intensity as he crowded me against the island.
My whole body at once softened with relief and grew hot at the feel of his erection digging into my midsection as he braced his hands on either side of me, caging me in.
“I think we’ve got our wires crossed. If I don’t want to take it slow and you don’t want to take it slow … ”
My chest heaved as I flushed from head to toe with want. “Then why aren’t you inside me already?”