by Emma Renshaw
“Saw someone I didn’t want to see.”
“The person who is responsible for you shrinking away from me when I go to run a hand through my hair?”
That’s another thing about Callan. He’s perceptive. Though, I don’t know who could miss a woman shrinking away from a raised hand. I move to step back, but Callan pulls me forward until my hands fall to his chest and the rest of our bodies are flush against each other. In my most inner thoughts, I’ve wanted this from the beginning, even when he terrified me. I’ve wanted to feel his hard and strong and capable body against mine. I’ve wanted to feel what it is like for his protective instincts to rise for me. Now that’s here though, I can’t unload my burdens on his already full plate. I can’t do that. Not to him.
“Tell me.”
I shake my head. “Not right now. Not yet. Maybe not ever, but definitely not now.”
“Just tell me who that person is to you.” The hand on my neck slides into my hair and sifts his fingers through my locks.
“My ex-husband.”
His hand spasms when I answer and his eyes flare bright and angry. “Ex-husband?”
“Yes.” The shame, the torture, everything that I left behind with Pierce is flooding through me as I admit it out loud.
“That’s who you saw today?” Callan pulls me even closer to him. My body yields to fit against his and in the cocoon of his arms, I know nothing could ever touch me.
“Yes.”
Callan doesn’t say anything else, just hugs me close to him. My cheek rests against his chest. One of his hands slides into my messy hair, and the other stays anchored to my lower back, keeping us close together.
“I want to know about him. Not now, but I do.”
“Callan.”
“We’re going to start something. I want to take you out. I want to get to know you and I swear to you, whatever it becomes—friends or more or whatever—you’ll always be safe with me.”
I lean my head back, staring into his eyes. “Take me out?” I can’t stop the smile from stretching across my face. I thought it would be impossible to smile today after seeing my monster, but the man in front of me proved me wrong. So many wouldn’t consider him with his gruff exterior and hard past a white knight, but he’s all that and more to me.
“Yeah. Take you out.” Callan’s eyes roam my face and settle on my lips. He leans forward, putting his forehead against mine. His breath fans over my face and I shiver.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
He stands to his full height once again, gazing at my lips. “Yeah, birdie. I’m going to kiss you.”
With a whoosh of air, all the oxygen leaves my lungs. My breathing picks up with my heart rate. I tilt my face back, my eyes sliding closed.
Callan leans down, barely grazing his lips along the column of my neck until he reaches my ear. “Fuck yes, I’m going to kiss you. Not yet though.”
Chapter 17
Iris
It’s been almost a week since I saw Pierce in the flesh for the first time in a long time. I’d hoped it would be longer. I’d hoped it would be forever.
Every night this week, I’ve had dinner with Callan and Brae, and twice Corbin was there. Brae hovered around me for the first two nights. I’d catch her staring at me with furrowed brows. I wish she hadn’t seen two freak-outs. On the same day. Pancakes.
Every night this week I’ve been with Callan.
And still no kiss.
At least not a kiss on my lips. He’s kissed my forehead, my cheeks, my neck. Just not my lips. I desperately want to feel his lips against mine. Every part of me he has kissed is tingly for hours after his lips leave my skin.
I’m hoping it will change tomorrow night. Our first date. Even though I feel like we’re past that point now.
I bite my lip and tilt my head back, looking up at Callan. His eyes are on the television in front of us. I’m tucked against his side with my head on his chest. Brae is in the opposite corner of the couch, also watching TV.
I can’t concentrate on the picture in front of me. I’m only thinking about our date and Callan’s lips.
Brae gets up to go to the bathroom. Callan turns his attention to me and grins, shaking his head. His eyes, which capture me in their depths, are dancing with amusement. I ask the question I’ve been asking for a week.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
“Not yet.”
I blow out a frustrated breath, huffing. Callan’s large hand cups my cheek.
“There isn’t a lot I’ve done right in my life. Brae is about the only thing. I’m trying to do things right with you and give you the things you deserve. Taking you out on a date before I taste your lips is just one way I’m trying to do that.”
My heart melts into a puddle right there on Callan’s brown leather sofa. It’s been a week since he told me he’s going to take me out, and he’s already treating me better than I’ve ever known.
Pierce was a prince in the beginning of our whirlwind romance, but I can’t look back at that time and say I was treated well. It was a game and I was an easy target. There’s a small niggling fear that Callan is too good to be true.
That he’s another person who’s hiding behind a mask.
The logical side of me knows that isn’t true. Callan has surrounded himself with good people. I was automatically welcomed by everyone at The Cellar. They didn’t judge or make me feel like an outsider. They enfolded me into their close-knit group from when I sat down.
After The Cellar, Savannah added me to a group chat with her, Harper, Val, Tate, and Ava. I’m meeting them tomorrow morning before Harper opens her boutique for early morning shopping.
Callan’s phone vibrates on the table in front of us, breaking our eye contact. He flips it over and stares at the screen. The serene expression that was gracing his face turns hard. His jaw clenches and his nostrils flare as he hits the screen of his phone. I glance at it, but the call is gone.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Spam caller.”
Callan’s content expression is back on his face by the time Brae comes back into the room, but there’s a feeling in my gut telling me I’m not the only one on this couch hiding secrets.
Harper’s boutique, Harper’s Avenue, is nestled on an Austin city street in a beautiful area. A black and white striped overhang boasts the name of the store in feminine lettering.
I hop out of my car, smiling, and cross the street. I’ve only met her one time, but this shop is totally her. Feminine, classy, and trendy. I knock on the glass door. My smile turns into a grin as I watch her strut to the door in high heels with a baby on her hip. She makes it look effortless and like she’s gliding across a runway with her hair blowing behind her with every step.
“Come on in. All the girls are here, and we’ve already picked a few things we think will look absolutely perfect on you.”
I sidle past her into the shop. It’s like a dream here. The walls are painted a pale blush with black-and-white art hanging around the shop. The racks of clothes are separated nicely in the large space, making it welcoming rather than overwhelming. At the register, in the middle of the room, is a small bakery display.
“Wow,” I whisper. “This is beautiful, Harper.”
“Thanks,” she says, smiling broadly and looking around with pride. “Roman thinks there’s too much pink, but I say it’s just the right amount.”
“Is this your son?” I ask, tickling his side. The little guy bats his long dark lashes and gives me a gummy smile. It’s instant, the way I fall in love with him on the spot. And, I swear it’s as if he knows. His little smile turns into a tiny smirk reminding me of his tall, dark, and handsome father.
“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. Yes. I forgot you haven’t met him. It feels like you’re already part of the family. This is Caden.”
“Hi, handsome,” I coo. Caden is resting on Harper’s shoulder, and his attention is focused on me. A smile stretches across his face, and he holds out his ar
ms, opening and closing his fists.
“Can I?” I ask, already reaching out my hands to grab the little guy from her arms.
“Of course.”
Harper shifts Caden into my arms. His hands clap against my face and I laugh as I nuzzle his neck soaking in the unique scent that babies carry.
“Come on,” Harper says, walking to the back of her store. Val, Savannah, Tate, and Ava are sitting on blush suede couches, sipping what look like mimosas, and eating cupcakes. On the small gold coffee table is a tower of cupcakes with frosting piled high on top. Each looks decadent and masterfully decorated.
“Cupcakes for breakfast?”
“Cake can be had at any time. The one on the top row in the middle has bananas. Bananas are breakfast food,” Harper says. “Want a mimosa?”
“Absolutely,” I say and reach forward for a cupcake. I take a bite into the pink cake and icing and moan when the strawberry flavor explodes on my tongue.
“A lot or a little bit of orange juice?”
“Just so you know, girl, we like a tiny bit of orange juice with our champagne,” Valerie says.
“A little bit of orange juice.” I settle into a seat next to Savannah, still chewing my bite of cupcake, and move Caden from my hip to my lap. Savannah’s daughter is in her lap. As soon as Caden is settled on my lap facing Savannah’s daughter, he starts speaking baby.
“They always do this,” Savannah says, bouncing her legs. “I swear they’re speaking a real language to each other. Best friends since birth. This is Avery, my daughter.”
“She’s beautiful,” I murmur while watching Caden and Avery together. I prayed so many times over my years with Pierce to never have children. I couldn’t imagine bringing a child into that hell. It’s something I gave up on a long time ago.
Watching these two together sparks an interest inside me. I wonder what a baby would look like with turquoise eyes and tan skin?
I take a large gulp of my mimosa when Harper hands it to me, banishing that thought from my mind. We haven’t even had our first date, and I’m imagining babies with his eye color.
Harper pulls a rolling rack in front of the couches. A few dresses are already hanging from it. “This is what we’ve already chosen for you, but have a look around, add it to this, and then we’ll try on.”
“I’ll start with what you have right here.”
Harper walks over to me and takes Caden from my lap. I stand up and look at the group. “Am I the only one trying things on?”
“Yes. So make it interesting,” Val says, grinning manically. She’s a complete nut, but I can’t help but laugh at her expression.
I pluck the first dress from the rack and head into the dressing room, hanging the garment from a hook inside. That’s when I notice how short it is and how low the front and back are.
I stick my head around the curtain. “Who the waffles chose this one?”
“Must be Val’s,” Tate says. “You’ll look hot though. Callan would fall over if he saw you in that. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you the other night. James said he’s never seen him act that way.”
The dress is suddenly forgotten. I want to plant myself back on the couch and demand that Tate tell me everything she knows about Callan.
But instead I go back into the dressing room and remove my clothes wondering if this is normal these women. I’ve never had this type of friendship. I’ve seen it in movies and read it in books, but assumed it was fake. I wait for the awkwardness to settle in, but it doesn’t, I want their opinion on how to impress Callan. I want him to feel proud that I’m by his side. If he looks even half as sexy as he does when he comes home in mud-soaked work boots and dirt all over his clothes with his hardhat tucked under his arm, I’ll be drooling all night. I want the same reaction from him.
I take off my bra because there’s no way someone could wear a bra in this dress. It’s an amethyst color that compliments my skin and eyes nicely, but I wouldn’t be able to bend over or do much of anything.
I can’t deny that, when I look in the mirror, I want to see Callan’s reaction to this dress. The dip in the front drops below my cleavage to the very top of my stomach, and the dip in the back hits my mid-back in about the same spot.
The dress is short.
And incredibly sexy.
I slide my feet into the heels I wore over here, taking the dress to another level.
I step out of the dressing room and everyone’s jaw hits the floor; even the babies stop gurgling.
“Hot damn,” Val says. “I think our work is done here. Well, my work. I chose this. And when that sexy boy can’t keep his hands off of you, you’ll have to thank me. I don’t know how, but you will.”
Chapter 18
Callan
Six forty.
I’ll be knocking on Iris’s door in twenty minutes. I pull the stopper out of my bottle of whisky and pour a shot before tossing the amber liquid down my throat.
I sit in a chair in the living room. My leg is bouncing. I’ve taken girls out before, but nothing like this. For one, I’ve never had money to take a woman to a nice restaurant. The only girl I’ve taken to a nice restaurant was Brae, after I’d saved to take her there for her birthday. Second, I wasn’t about to pursue anything with someone while I was in the mafia. Third, the girls I dated in Chicago were looking for the same thing I was—an easy fuck.
So, in a way, this is my first fucking date.
“Ugh! Cinnamon roll!”
My leg stops bouncing and a chuckle escapes. Iris’s groans are muffled through the walls, but I can still hear her.
I check the time on my phone. It’s still early, but she sounds like she’s struggling with something over there. I stand up and slip my phone into the pocket of my pants.
I leave a note and a twenty on the counter for Brae in case her plans change and she comes home early. I hear another breakfast food curse as my lock slides into place. Four steps and I’m in front of her door. Anticipation thrums in my veins.
I knock. The door flies open a second later. My tongue just about rolls out of my mouth when I catch my first eyeful of Iris. My dick twitches behind the zipper of my pants as I scan her from head to toe. Sitting across from her in this dress is going to be the most exquisite type of torture and I’ll surely have blue balls by the time I drop her off at her door.
“Christ.”
A purple dress hugs her body as if it’s painted on her skin. The dress is cut low in the middle, and her tits are perky and round. I want to trace that v with my damn tongue as I peel the dress from her body inch by fucking glorious inch.
Her legs look long and toned in sky-high heels. I’d leave those on as I undressed her so I could feel them digging into my back.
“Is Brae home?” Iris interrupts my fantasy of those legs being wrapped around me, that skirt pushed to her small waist, and the spikes of those damn heels digging into my back. I cough and think about the nasty stories I hear from the men on my crew, anything to get my dick to calm down. Greeting her dick first wouldn’t be the best way to start our first date. I haven’t even tasted her pretty pink lips.
“No. Why?”
Her head falls. “Pancakes.” Her voice sounds defeated with a hint of desperation.
“What’s going on, birdie?”
“I can’t zip my dress. I did it by myself in the store this morning. Do you know how much that sucks? Do boys go through that? With girls, we go in, we go shopping, find something that fits, and get it home. Boom! It’s like a whole new garment.”
It’s then that I realize one of her hands is tucked behind her back while the other flies around, wildly gesticulating, punctuating each word she says.
“Turn around, birdie. I’ll zip you up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.” I try to make my world sound nonchalant, but it takes all I have to concur that feat.
Iris turns slowly, letting her hand fall. There are only a few more inches of zipper. I suppress a groan. Th
e dress dips in the back too. Pure exquisite torture.
I don’t know how I’m going to sit across from her while she looks so damn beautiful and sexy.
My hand fucking shakes like I’m a teenage boy who’s never touched a girl as I reach for her zipper. I can’t resist brushing the pad of my finger along her spine before grabbing the zipper.
My chest puffs as chills break out over her skin. She feels this too.
I ease the zipper up, taking my time with those few inches and relishing every brush of my fingers against her bare skin.
She turns back to face me, putting a palm to her forehead. “I can’t believe I’ve already made the date awkward.”
“Getting a peek at your skin isn’t awkward. You’re the best view I’ve seen all damn day.”
If you looked down and saw my dick pointing straight at you, that might make it awkward.
As if she hears my thoughts, a flush rises on her chest, up her neck, and to her apple cheeks.
“You’re stunning.”
She smiles shyly, biting her lip, and looks at the sexy shoes on her feet before meeting my eyes again. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself.”
“Thanks. Are you ready?”
“Yeah, let me grab my purse.”
Iris heads back into her apartment, grabs her purse, and walks back outside. I stay close to her as she locks the door, and I take her hand to go down the stairs.
Chapter 19
Iris
Callan’s truck isn’t brand new, but it’s clean and has a wonderful pine scent combined with his spicy smell. The leather is soft and smooth underneath my legs. It’s roomy and the seats are comfortable.