Chapter 9 #2
It was also still very possible Brielle was an accomplice to her own attack. She definitely knew more than she was letting on. But he truly believed if she was holding back, it was because she was afraid of her father’s retaliation. That also meant she still feared Callum, too.
He tossed the drink back with a flip of his wrist, letting the liquid burn in his gut. Through the picture window, he could see her standing out on the bedroom terrace. Her long blonde hair billowing in the warm breeze, her skin ghostly pale in the moonlight. It was a privilege just to look at her.
He made his way out to the balcony. The ocean breeze delivered a potent whiff of her vanilla perfume. He inhaled deeply, steeling himself for whatever the hell else the night was leading to. “Sweetheart, you’ve had a lot to drink. Why don’t you head on inside…”
She turned to him and squared her shoulders. The darkness in her eyes told him he should brace himself. “Why did my father really send you?”
There it was. The question he’d been waiting on. The one he’d rehearsed the answer a million times. “To protect you.”
“To watch me, you mean. You’re here to keep tabs on me, aren’t you? Well, tell Daddy not to worry. I won’t let him down.”
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You work for my father!” she spat, shoving him away from her. “That alone makes me want to hate you. But I don’t. You tell me to trust you, and I want to.”
“You can trust me, Brielle.”
“Yeah, because I don’t have a choice, right?”
When he took a step toward her, she shoved him again. This time harder, knocking him slightly off balanced. He righted himself and again tried to come closer. “Brielle you’re reading me all wrong. I swear.”
“You’re lying.” She dragged her hand over her tear-streaked cheek. “I feel like every important decision in my life has been made for me. When do I get to run my own life? When can I do something for myself?”
“I want that for you too, Sweetheart. You deserve to be happy.”
“You say all the right things don’t you, Streak?”
The ache in his gut told him he was no longer the detached agent he wanted to be.
He could feel her within him, shoving his insides around.
Her presence so incredibly forceful, it drove the breath straight from him.
“Brielle, I know what it’s like to give up your whole life for one thing.
It doesn’t make you less of a person.” He reached out to brush the tears from her cheek.
“Don’t touch me unless you mean it.”
He drew back. “You think I don’t mean it?”
“Daddy wants me to trust you, right? What better way than to get me in bed!”
The accusation floored him. He hated that she thought that. Even if he’d considered the strategy in the beginning, it wasn’t true now.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
That was it. A seething, hot anger surged within him, one that had little to do with her.
It was the situation they were both put in by a common enemy.
He stalked toward her, his fingers clenching to fists at his sides.
“Listen to me, I know your father has some sort of strange hold over you. But take it from me, you can’t let what he’s done dictate the rest of your life.
You’re too damn good to be one of his stooges! ”
He had said too much and he knew it. Anger always had a way of loosening his tongue, which was why he had become so good at controlling it. But there was something about her that totally disarmed him.
“Callum, why are you so angry?”
He was on the edge. The dangerous concoction of rage and desire churned within him like a violent storm.
He wanted her, but he also wanted her to understand.
He spun around, pulling her to him with greater force than he intended.
“You know, if I wanted to sleep with you because Daddy said so, don’t you think I would have had you by now? ”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
Holding her by the wrist above her head, he shoved her against the wall. She gasped but didn’t resist, her lips parting when his breath hit her in the face. “Then maybe it’s the perfect time to give your father what he deserves. You’d be surprised how sleeping with the enemy can settle a score.”
His gaze fell to her mouth, her cherry red lips begging him to take them. He ran a finger over her jaw then down her neck, stopping at the top of her breast. “Don’t tell me you think I’m just one of your father’s loyal field hands. Come on, sweetheart. I know you’re smarter than that.”
The white-hot glare in his eyes reminded her of the feral cats she’d seen in Australia.
So cunning and aggressive, any sudden movement would send them into a frenzy.
The feeling should have scared her, but it didn’t.
Instead it excited her, making her keenly aware of the strange spell he held over her.
With deliberate care, she slid her fingers between the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them with an ease that surprised her. Like a child opening a most precious gift, her breath caught when she revealed his bare chest. Steel hard but with faint purple ridges.
For a moment she just stared at them, trying to gage what could inflict such harsh looking wounds and how Callum could still be alive to tell the story. She touched them. The coarse bumps spread over taught muscle felt like cut rock. He flinched when she did.
“Don’t,” he said.
“No Callum,” she replied. “Let me touch you.”
She leaned into him, spreading her palms over each pec, kissing each muscled crease. He tasted salty and smelled like his familiar musky cologne. She rubbed her cheek against him, feeling his heat, hearing his heart.
“Christ, Brielle,” he whispered, his voice strained like he was short of breath. His large hands took her by the back of her head, bringing her mouth up to his.
His kiss was different than the night at his house.
More certain, his body was tighter and intense.
She could taste the bourbon, the syrupy sweetness on his lips.
He kissed her harder, fisting her hair in his hands.
She gasped when he pulled it and then again, even harder.
Her arms looped around him holding him close.
When he shoved his knee between her legs, she was startled by the electric jolt that ripped through her.
She moaned, his body pressing harder on her until he suddenly pulled away.
“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, looking her dead in the eyes. “Tell me you want me to make love to you right here and right now.”
“I do,” she stammered taking his hand and leading him to the bed beside them, “I promise you, I do.”
“Good, because so do I.”
Cold air rushed around her when he yanked her dress to her hips, sending it to the floor in a puddle. She was naked and exposed, but his heat covered her like a blanket.
“Callum,” she whispered when he took her back in his arms. He tilted her back, kissing her throat, her neck, over her breasts and down her stomach.
With a loud groan, he swept her off her feet and laid her on the bed.
His breath snaked between her legs when he kissed her wet center.
A primal moan escaped her lips. The sound, like nothing she thought she could make.
Like a wordless plea or declaration. If it was a language, Callum seemed to understand it.
He moved up her body, dipping his head to her breasts, taking a sharp nub in his mouth and taunting her with his snake-like tongue.
If her life had been a famine from human contact, being with Callum was a feast. Sensations pulsed through her she didn’t recognize, forcing responses she couldn’t control.
She dragged her hands through his hair griding against his mouth.
The muscles bowed and flexed as he held her in place. Not easing up his assault.
“Callum please,” she begged for God knows what. But he stopped instantly, kissing his way back up to her face.
“Please what, sweetheart?” he smirked. “Please stop or don’t stop?”
She nodded, struggling to find her voice. The only abilities remaining were basic reflexes and the carnal desire to satisfy every carnal wish of the man standing before her.
“Don’t stop,” she managed to get out.
“At your service, Blondie.” He loomed over her now, his agile fingers unzipping the fly of his pants. “Being bad feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”
Her heart raced as she looked at his naked form.
As hard as he was, and as big as he was, the sheer mechanics of the impending act scared the hell out of her.
But she never balked at a challenge. This was the real Callum Harrison.
The complex, dark man who lurked underneath the smirk and charm.
The competitor in her wanted to give him the play he so obviously demanded. She would not let him down.
He drove into her with the velocity of a freight train, sending through her a pain so intense, she was sure he had ripped her in half.
But it only made her crave him more, daring herself to take him deeper.
Faster. Holding him against her, she kissed him hard, then harder.
Urging him, driving him. He responded with a fevered pace, his breathing pants against her ear.
Each time he moved, he claimed another inch of her, and her body held him like it was made for it.
The initial sting dulled, melting into a restless, hungry warmth that made everything feel bigger, louder, sharper, She blinked her eyes open and met his stare, and the connection hit her like a blow.
Her legs weakened. Her body trembled, helpless and responsive, breaking apart in his hands.
“Oh yeah, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear. “Come for me, Brielle.”
Twenty-five years of guarded emotion came rushing back with the force of a tidal wave.
Washing over her, head to toe, and overwhelming every sense.
He thrust one last time, filling her deeply, and shattering the last of her self-control.
Just when she thought she would surely shatter, Callum stilled and rested himself on top of her.
Her senses were overloaded, her body now blissfully numb.