Chapter 25 #2
A hot thrill raced through her at the thought. She’d been longing for the man’s body for three weeks now. Craving him, really.
But he’d hurt her twice . . . badly. Was she honestly willing to risk her heart to him again? Right now, her body didn’t give a good damn about her heart.
Calista finished showering, got out, and dried off with a towel fluffier than it had any right to be (seriously, where did Eloisa get her guest linens?).
Unfolding the clothes Reid gave her, she slipped into the size large hunter-green T-shirt that proclaimed “I’d hit that” above a picture of a golf ball, and a pair of the softest gray flannel sweatpants she’d ever put on and cinched the drawstring tight to keep them from slipping down her hips.
The clothes smelled of laundry detergent and fabric softener, and the scent shot her back to the locker room where they made love for the first time on a pile of clean towels. The memory was so vivid she could almost feel the warmth of Reid’s skin against hers.
Calista gulped down the lump in her throat. Now was not the time for a nostalgic breakdown. She had an ex-boyfriend-turned-maybe-something-else to face without getting misty-eyed over laundry detergent.
She borrowed the hair dryer she found in the cabinet and dried her hair, running her fingers through the damp strands.
The familiar routine helped ground her, giving her a moment to collect her thoughts and steel herself.
In the kitchen, she found Reid dressed in clothes similar to hers, his hair still damp as he assembled a charcuterie board.
“I’m impressed with your well-stocked larder since this is just your vacation rental,” she said, watching him. “Why’d you buy all this food?”
“Since this is an employee cottage and too far from Crafters’ Corner for me to pop over for takeout, I picked up cured meats and cheeses at the Chef’s Chop in town because they don’t go bad quickly.
I’ve also got . . .” He pointed at the variety he’d arranged on the tray.
“Fat green pimento-stuffed Spanish olives, deep purple Greek Kalamatas, black French Nicoises. Almonds, cornichons, dried figs, apricots, cherries—”
“Got any condiments or gourmet dipping sauces?”
“Mais oui, mademoiselle,” he said with an exaggerated accent meant to be French, but he sounded more like a congested Pepé Le Pew.
He produced a variety of condiment packets with a flourish.
“We have your classic ketchup, your bold barbecue, Lebanese tahini, and for the truly adventurous, spicy honey Dijon. Four kinds of crackers and bagel and pita chips.”
Calista laughed, charmed. Okay, Reid was a fun guy.
Always had been. That meant nothing beyond right now, but she wasn’t looking for happily ever after.
All she wanted was a good time and maybe a sweet stroll down memory lane.
He might not have been her most accomplished lover, not at sixteen anyway, but hands down, he’d been the most entertaining.
“Wanna eat at the table or the bar?” he asked.
“The bar is fine.”
He set the charcuterie tray on the counter as she eased down on the barstool. “What’ll you have to drink?”
“Whatya got?”
“Water, coffee, and a bottle of Merlot that was in the welcome basket . . .”
“What are you waiting for? Crack that bad boy open,” she said. “We have a lot to celebrate. We survived an epic-level blackout fog.”
He opened the wine and tippled a generous pour into two glasses, then came to sit at the bar beside her. They fell into a comfortable silence as they ate. The only sounds were the crunch of meats and cheese-laden crackers meeting their demise.
“Feeling better after our misadventure?” His eyes crinkled with amusement, and oh, that was dangerous.
“What do you mean misadventure? People would pay good money to see that fog in a haunted house.”
His smile encompassed his entire face. That cheery grin made her want to do ridiculous things like compose sonnets about the ocean blue of his eyes. “You roll with the punches, Cal. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
“Yes, well.” Stunned by his use of the word love, she aimed for a supercasual tone. The cool girl. “Someone has to balance out your gung ho ‘let’s go golf carting in pea soup fog’ energy.”
His expression softened, turning serious in a way that made Calista suck in her breath. “I’m glad it was you.”
“Huh?”
“That I was with you. If I had to become one with the mist, there’s no one I’d rather do it with.”
Dirty pool! How was she supposed to maintain her carefully constructed walls when he said sweet things like that, looking at her like she was the answer to a question he’d been asking his whole life?
“Reid . . .” She paused, unsure what she would say but feeling the need to say something. Anything to break the tension that sprung up between them.
But before she could plan a response that didn’t include incoherent sputtering or, god forbid, blunt honesty, Reid leaned in. Slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted. As if there was a universe in which Calista Dempsey would not want to kiss Reid Thornton.
Their lips met in a kiss that started soft, hesitant like they were both afraid the other might disappear if they pressed too hard, but then Reid’s hand came up to cup her cheek, and something inside Calista snapped.
She surged forward, deepening the kiss, years of longing and missed opportunities and what-ifs pouring into it. Reid responded in kind, his other hand entwined in her hair as he pulled her closer.
They fell off their stools and into each other’s arms, a tangle of limbs and half-whispered endearments.
Somehow, Calista’s hands found their way under Reid’s shirt, relearning the planes of his back, the dip of his spine.
Every touch felt like homecoming and embarking on a grand journey all at once.
Reid pulled back slightly, his eyes dark and serious. “Cal,” he said, voice husky in a way that did dangerous things to Calista’s insides, “there’s something I need to tell you before we—”
“Shh, no talking,” she said, fearing conversation would kill the mood. She wanted him now!
Reid looked as if he wanted to protest, but she kissed him again, and whatever he’d been about to say was lost in a groan that she felt more than heard. After a shower of fiery kisses, she pulled back, panting.
“Protection?”
“I bought a box of condoms after that day in the bell tower.”
“Why did it take you so long to tell me that?” she asked but didn’t wait for an answer. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
Somehow, they made it to the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way like a very intimate breadcrumb trail.
But at the door, fear wrapped icy fingers around her neck, and Calista wrenched away from him, unable to meet his gaze.
There she stood in her bra and panties, fully exposed.
She’d let her guard down with him before . . .
“Hey,” Reid said, his voice so soft she could barely hear him. “Seriously, if you’re not ready, you’re not ready. I want you more than I can breathe, but this is too good to screw up. I’ll wait for you forever if you ask me to.”
Her hand rested on the doorknob. Her heart thundered. She wanted this—god, did she want this! But years of keeping people at arm’s length set her fingers to trembling.
“Cal?”
At last, she lifted her head and met his concerned eyes. He was in nothing but boxer briefs, just as exposed as she was. “I want this. I want you. I’m just . . .”
He arched an eyebrow. “Scared?”
She nodded, swallowing hard. “Terrified, actually. Letting people in isn’t exactly my strong suit.”
He stepped closer but didn’t touch her. “My knees are knocking too. But, Cal, I think we’re worth the risk.”
Calista looked up at him, seeing her vulnerability reflected in his eyes, and took a deep breath. Eyes that said, Trust me, I promise not to shatter you this time.
He lowered his head, inch by inch, until he was in kissing distance again. She didn’t move. Not one little bit. His breath warmed her skin, and he smelled of wine and cheese.
“Calico?”
That “ico” added to her nickname completely did her in. She grabbed his face with both palms and kissed him so hard he let out a groan. At the same time, she kicked wide open the bedroom door.
Call Frito-Lay, baby, because she was letting those chips fall where they may.