Chapter 22
Lucy
I wake up the next morning alone, well-rested, groggy, and feeling utterly ridiculous.
The sleep I managed after that hellish nightmare rejuvenated me. But when I remember the way my head rested in Callum’s lap, with his warm, reassuring palm on my back after I begged him not to leave me…
I cringe as I strip off my pajamas to shower, mortification mauling me like a dog would a new chew toy.
Why in the world did I ask him to stay?
He’s not Maya or Nika.
No one’s paying him to sing me lullabies or rock me to sleep.
What must he think of me now?
I lean my forehead against the marble shower tiles in defeat, allowing my eyes to drift shut as the water drenches me from head to toe.
First, I kissed him, and he kissed me back. Then I clung to him like a pathetic weakling after a typical nightmare—something I should’ve managed on my own.
I bang my head against the wall and stew in embarrassment for another second before shaking it off. Torturing myself with recriminations benefits no one. If anything, I should reroute my thoughts to something productive…like the competition.
As I hop out of the shower and dress, I focus on exactly that. Yesterday, I won, but today, the slate is wiped clean. I need to be at my best if I hope to conquer round six.
A destination shoot in SoHo. No one’s up for elimination today, but the photos will be posted online for viewer voting. Those tallies will count toward the scores the judges will use to whittle us down to the top three.
Two hours later, the models gather downtown. We climb into luxury cars beneath the bright, offensive daylight.
When I’m ushered into the back seat of a Ruby Red Porsche Macan and find Callum in the driver’s seat, solemn as ever, my cheeks burn. I inflate my lungs and realize I’m in for another delightful day of him scrutinizing my every move.
Darren must’ve pulled some strings to land Callum in this additional role as my chauffeur.
And here I was hoping to avoid alone time with him for the next few days. Or weeks. Maybe years. However long it takes to recover from a severe case of “embarrassed AF.”
Since that ship sailed, I may as well attempt to behave like a semi-functional and emotionally stable human being. That means ditching my go-to strategy of pretending like he suddenly became invisible.
“Hi.” See that? I greeted him first. Look at me killing this adulting thing today.
I fasten my seat belt as he eases off the brake pedal to join the procession of neon sports cars headed to the shoot location.
He casts me a sideways glance. “Miss me?”
The question flusters me. “Um. Not quite. Hasn’t even been an hour since we left the hotel.” My gaze falls to my lap before roaming out the window, where I observe other cars and pedestrians as we roll through the streets.
Whenever I get nervous like this, my fingers trace and retrace the engravings on my silver bracelet. Usually, that familiar motion comforts me, but no luck today. I remain on edge no matter how much I rub my lucky charm.
After a few minutes of thick silence, Callum hits a button on the stereo. A soothing Celtic melody trickles through the car speakers, cutting through my mental fog.
I search for his eyes in the rearview mirror and find them already staring at me.
“Celtic music helps me quiet my thoughts.” He shares this as if he already knows my mind’s in disarray.
The intimacy of this small gesture overwhelms me.
I swallow hard. “It’s beautiful.”
Callum returns his attention to the road, but I can tell he’s still listening.
“You must play this type of music a lot.” I shift in my seat. “Finally, I know the secret to how you manage to remain so even-keeled all the time.”
“Most of the time, you mean.” Our eyes meet again in the mirror. Every time his gaze slides to mine—even through a reflection—my heart performs a bunny hop.
The intensity is too much.
I start studying everything but that mirror. That’s when I notice the angry scrapes and cuts littering his hands. “What happened to you?”
Callum shrugs. “I took care of some unfinished business.”
His deliberately casual tone pings my radar. “When? What business?” When he doesn’t immediately respond, I sit up straighter, tugging at the seat belt across my chest. “What are you not telling me?”
Seconds tick by. So many that I think he won’t answer. His knuckles whiten around the steering wheel. “I went back to your apartment last night.”
“My apartment?” My hand clutches my throat. “Why?”
“Our conversation.” He blows out an audible breath. “You’ve been afraid in so many different environments, in so many different ways, and I just…didn’t want you to be scared to go home.”
His shocking reply stills my tongue. Once I process his words, a warm sensation seeps through me, slow and sweet. He did that…for me? “I don’t understand.”
“I went back to your place to gather evidence. So I could try to track the fucker down and…discourage them. In a permanent way, so they’d never bother you again.”
A permanent way? As in…kill them? Just so I’d feel safe going home? I don’t know whether to feel touched or horrified. “Is that why you’re hurt?”
“More or less.” He engages his turn signal, veering left onto a one-way street. “When I showed up, the guy who broke in happened to be there again.” His voice lilts a little, his accent thickening. “So I gave him my regards. Him and his friends.”
My eyes bulge wide. “You’re saying you got into a brawl last night with a bunch of…a bunch of…”
“You’ve got enough going on, Lucy.” Another hard exhale. “Don’t worry about it.”
Guilt scalds my stomach. This is all on my head. If I returned the crypto wallet to Viktor, there’s a good chance he’d stop sending his goons after me.
Although, I doubt the missing witness who also agreed to testify against him stole anything.
Focusing on that dilemma could break my brain, so I scowl at Callum instead. “And when exactly were you planning to tell me about your little martial arts fighting adventure?”
“I didn’t want to distract you before the next round of competition.”
“You could’ve been hurt. Or arrested!” I dig my nails into the seat. “What if you hadn’t come back last night?”
That final question hangs awkwardly between us. I sound like I care about him.
Maybe because you do.
I shove the smug inner voice into a dark corner of my mind. No one likes a know-it-all. Not even an imaginary one that only exists in your head.
“But I did come back, I wasn’t hurt, and those guys will never bother you again.” A muscle twitches in his jaw. “They’re in Kings custody now.”
“That’s not the point.” I slump against the backrest, blowing hair out of my face.
Wow. Just wow.
Callum Kavanagh is really something else.
No one’s ever had my back like this before.
Maybe I’m sick in the head—strike that, I’m definitely sick in the head—but I can’t deny my developing feelings for my babysitter. Not after he risked his life just so I could have a safe place to return to once this whole ordeal ends.
It’s one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever done for me, ranking right up there with Nika and Darren’s rescue.
To be honest, I’m torn between bursting into tears and jumping Callum’s bones. Knowing me, I might do both simultaneously. Because every man wants a woman who sobs during their trip to pound town.
I murmur “thank you” as he pulls to a stop in the short procession. Ahead of us, contestants pile out onto the street.
When I reach for the door handle, Callum’s brow is lowered into a stern expression.
I want to smooth that little furrow above his nose with my finger.
“Remember what we discussed about safety—”
“Hey, how are the plants?”
“What?”
“The plants. Did you get a chance to water them? Or at least say hello.”
“I, um, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry about it.”
For the second time in twenty-four hours, I lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek. That shuts him up.
I linger near his lips, temptation streaking through me.
His delicious cedar and vanilla scent beguile my senses.
When we kissed last night, I told myself never again. But why not? If we’re both willing…
Callum’s still as a viper waiting to strike. His body language suggests that he won’t be the one to cross the line this time. Not even when his gaze drops to my lips, his eyelids fluttering to half-mast.
He wants this too.
That knowledge injects me with the confidence to cup his cheek and cover his mouth with mine.
In a blink, his big hand circles my neck and tugs, damn near pulling me into the front seat.
Our tongues and teeth clash, the tension coiling between us for the past several days taut as a tightrope.
I clench the front of his shirt, and a soft moan slips from me as one of his hands rakes through my hair.
He cradles the back of my skull in a firm but painless hold, allowing him to position my mouth exactly how he wants it.
My fingers fumble to un-button his shirt—
A knock on the car window acts like a bucketful of ice to the face. I release Callum and spring back against the seat.
“Miss Marlow?” A hand waves through the tinted glass. “Are you coming?”
Skin flushed, I avoid meeting Callum’s eyes as I venture out into the midday sunlight, forcing my focus to shift. It’s competition time. I need to keep my head in the game, not make out with my bodyguard like a lovestruck teenager.
I touch my fingers to my tingling lips. But damn. That kiss was good.
Shaking my head, I will my body to calm itself and walk over to join the competition officials and other models.
The way my heart clenches…I can practically hear it issuing a deadly warning. If I keep this up, I’ll be in danger of falling for my bodyguard. And that can’t happen.
Callum is ignorant about my true connection to Viktor Roguilin, and I want him to stay that way. I can already picture the disgust in his eyes, if and when he finds out.
Once he discovers what kind of person I really am, he’ll never choose to stick his neck out for me again, let alone kiss me.
I try to shove aside the memory of his lips on mine but fail.
These warm feelings bubbling through me refuse to simmer down.