by Wood, Joss
‘Uh … what are you doing?’
‘Trying to get you to settle down so that we both can get some sleep,’ he muttered.
His hand rested on her lower back and she snuggled up to his warmth.
‘Now, listen to me, city girl. A lion’s roar can be heard up to five miles away, and I promise you that lion is nowhere near us. Yeah, he sounds amazing, but he’s not about to eat us—so calm down, okay?’
‘I still think we should call the lodge,’ Callie protested on a huge yawn.
‘What would we tell them? A lion is roaring? Yeah, that’s what they do in the wild, Mr Banning. They’ll think that I have the tiniest pair of balls in creation,’ Finn scoffed.
‘I’ll call them and tell them that you aren’t scared but I am terrified.’
Finn’s sigh brushed the top of her head. ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of. Listen. He’s stopped.’
Callie lifted her head and, true enough, the grunts and roars had stopped. She was just starting to relax when another rumbling loud roar split the night. Callie yelped and buried her face in Finn’s neck, plastered herself tightly against him, hoping to climb inside.
Finn sighed. ‘Or maybe not.’
Finn’s hand stroked her neck, her hair, her back. His voice was low and warm and calming. ‘You’re safe, Cal, I promise.’
Callie shivered in his arms.
‘Breathe, angel,’ he told her.
Callie pulled in long deep breaths, felt his warmth and his strength and breathed again. Then her eyelids started to close and she pulled in another deep breath.
In Finn’s arms, fast asleep, feeling warm and safe, she didn’t even hear the next roar that shattered the night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THEY DINED OUTSIDE the following evening, at a beautifully laid table on the lawn of the lodge, under another magnificent star-heavy sky. In the distance they could see a storm, the lightning lighting up huge thunderclouds. They could taste the rain in the air but were assured that dinner would be long over before the storm hit, so they sat back to enjoy the exceptional food placed in front of them.
Finn noticed that the lead singer of a popular band sat with a pouty waif at the next table, and beyond them he recognised an English politician with a woman who was definitely not his wife. If he were a tabloid journalist he would be having a field-day right now; he might be feeling a bit sleazy but he’d be making a fortune, he thought.
He looked across at Callie, who was leaning back in her chair, holding her wine glass, her eyes fixed on the storm on the horizon. God, she was beautiful, he thought. He’d always thought that she was attractive, but now, after seeing her without make-up and dozy with sleep, or animated and thrilled while she bottle-fed two orphaned cheetah cubs, or pensive while watching a pride of lions take down a zebra, he was slowly realising that she was more than pretty and deeper than he’d thought.
He’d thought that he would be taking a bubbly flirt on holiday with him, but the woman he was with—even if he’d only spent two full days in her company—was less bubble, more substance. And sexier than he’d believed possible.
Finn dropped his hand and surreptitiously rearranged himself under the table, feeling as if his pants were suddenly a size too small. Since he’d woken up with her clinging to him like an octopus he’d been super-aware of her all day. The length of her legs, the freckles on her chest, her white-tipped fingernails. God, if he was noticing a woman’s nails then he was in deep, deep crap.
He’d thought he was going on holiday with Flirty Callie but instead he found himself with Intriguing Callie, and he wasn’t sure he could handle her. Flirty Callie he could brush off—ignore if he had to. This other Callie had him wanting to dig a little, to see what was below the surface.
Finn took a sip of his Cabernet and pushed his dessert plate away. Then he manoeuvred his chair so that he was sitting next to her, facing the storm. He could smell her perfume and feel the heat of her bare shoulder when he touched it with his.
He slid his hand under hers and linked her fingers with his. He saw the quick, searching look she sent him and ignored it. If she asked he’d say that this was what married people did—touched each other—but the truth was that he couldn’t sit there and not touch her.
‘Tell me about your jewellery box.’
There was so much else he wanted to know about her—he had a list of burning questions—but this topic seemed the safest, the most innocuous.
He heard her quick intake of breath, felt her eyes on his face.
He slowly turned his head and lifted his eyebrows. ‘Why would a woman who loves clothes and shoes and accessories not wear some of that fabulous jewellery?’
Callie crossed one leg over the other and her swinging foot told him she was considering her response, choosing her words. He didn’t want the bog standard answer she obviously wanted to hand him—he wanted the truth. He’d rather not know than have her spin him a line.
‘Don’t wrap the truth up in a pretty bow—give it to me straight.’
The foot stopped swinging and the sigh was louder this time. She took so long to say anything that Finn began to doubt that she would speak at all. When she did, her voice was low and tight with tension.
‘That was the first time I’d seen the box for … oh, fifteen years. It lived on my mum’s dressing table and as a little girl I’d spend hours playing with her bangles and necklaces. Her rings.’
Finn tried not to wince at the thought of little Callie playing with the two and three carat diamonds he’d seen.
‘Some of the jewellery was my grandmother’s—my father’s mother’s—passed down through the family. A lot of it is my mother’s. My father constantly bought her jewellery in an attempt to make her happy.’
Ah, well … ‘I take it that the buying of jewellery didn’t work?’
‘Not so much. Neither did the pretty clothes and the gym membership and the credit cards.’ Callie shrugged. ‘She didn’t want to be a wife … a mother. To be chained to my dad, the house, us. She gave birth to the expected son and was horrified, I once heard, to find herself pregnant with me. She’d never really wanted children, and apparently finding herself pregnant with me was a disaster of magnificent proportions.’
‘Who told you that?’
Callie crossed her legs and shuffled in her chair. ‘People say that kids don’t remember stuff, but I do. She screamed that during one of their fights.’
‘I’m sorry.’ It was all he could say—all he could think of to say. Finn removed his hand from hers and put his arm around her shoulder, leaning sideways to kiss her temple. ‘But people do say stuff they don’t mean in the heat of the moment.’
‘Except that her leaving me—us—made that statement true.’ Callie took a large, serious sip from her glass. ‘Anyway, the jewellery—she left it behind. It meant nothing to her. So why should it mean anything to me?’
God. Imagine knowing that your mother was out there somewhere but not interested in knowing whether you were dead or alive, happy or sad. People should have to take a test before they were allowed to become parents, Finn thought. His father should head up the queue.
Callie turned her head and blinded him with a big smile, perfect teeth flashing. ‘Now, don’t you go all sympathetic on me, Banning. I had a father who adored me and spoilt me rotten, an older brother who adored me and spoilt me rotten, and a housekeeper-cum-nanny who—’
‘Let me guess,’ Finn interrupted, making sure that his tone was bone-dry. ‘Who adored you and spoilt you rotten?’
Callie laughed. ‘I have a fabulous life, and I’m on holiday with a nice man.’
‘I prefer sexy.’
This time her smile was more genuine. ‘So I have nothing to complain about!’
Being abandoned by your mum is a pretty big deal, Callie, Finn told her silently. Even if you choose to think it isn’t. The one person who is supposed to put you first, love you best, stand in your corner left you. That’s got to cause some deep
scars on your psyche.
Feeling the need to banish the sadness from her eyes, Finn nudged her with his shoulder. ‘Want to take a walk down to the lookout over the waterhole and see if any wildlife has come down for a drink?’
Callie immediately nodded and a sparkle returned to her eyes. ‘Yeah, let’s do that.’ She stood up and folded her arms. ‘How come I find myself telling you stuff?’
Finn wanted to make a joke but he couldn’t. ‘I don’t know, but rest assured you’re not alone. I keep doing the same thing.’
Callie bit her lip. ‘Maybe we should stop?’
Finn held out his hand. ‘Yeah, maybe we should. The thing is, I don’t know if we can.’
There was nobody in the lookout and nothing at the waterhole except for a lone bull elephant. They watched him and the storm for a while, but Callie’s thoughts were miles away. On Finn and their bizarre situation, and on the fact that every time they drew a line in the sand they managed either to smudge it or step right over it.
Maybe it was time to draw a line that couldn’t be removed, stepped over or just plain ignored. But how to do that?
Callie yawned and felt his arm come around her shoulders. Without thought she circled her arms around his trim waist and laid her cheek on his chest.
Smudging that line again, Hollis?
Callie felt Finn’s kiss on her hair. ‘Tired?’
‘Mmm …’
Callie moved her hands to his abs and Finn sucked in his breath. In response she scraped her nails across his cotton-covered skin. A quick glance down and she realised, by the tenting of his pants, that he had a hair trigger response to her touch.
This wasn’t smudging the line—this was obliterating it. Was she prepared to go there? She had about five seconds either to take this to the next level or to back away.
Callie knew herself well enough to know that she wasn’t going to step away. She was facing a fire and for the first time in, God, so long she was going to jump right in. But this time she was going to be a little wiser and don a fire suit.
‘Finn?’
‘Yeah?’ His voice was husky with desire and so sexy.
‘That thing that happened in the dressing room … thinking about it.’
She knew exactly when he stopped breathing, when he finally sucked in much needed air. ‘Okay. Where are you going with this?’
‘Our room only has one bed, and if I climb into it with you I’m going to be all over you.’
Callie forced herself to walk out of his grip, to pick up the bottle of beer he’d brought with him and take the last sip. To keep herself from jumping him, she held the bottle in a loose grip.
Finn groaned. ‘Good to know. Want to get going, then?’
She smiled at the hopeful note in his voice before quietly murmuring, ‘Holiday romances seldom work out.’
‘That’s what I’ve heard.’
‘People tend to put on rose-coloured glasses and, because they know their time together is short, the experience can be intense, powerful.’
‘I guess.’
Callie rolled the bottle between her palms. ‘I’m at a bit of a crossroads in my life and I’m questioning so much. I’m not thinking as straight as I usually do, so don’t let me get forget that this is a couple of weeks of pure fun, okay? Don’t let me get seduced by the luxury and the romance and the fact that I like you.’
That was the line in the sand, she decided. They could chat and talk, share confidences and make incredible love, but she had to remember that this was going to end. It was too easy to forget who they were and why they were here. It was not real life. They were on a fake honeymoon—emphasis on the fake—surrounded by romance and luxury. She could easily get swept away and inadvertently slip on a pair of those rose-coloured glasses.
They were two strangers who hardly knew each other—not a couple on their honeymoon. They could have fun, even sex, but they had to keep it real. She wasn’t in a place to consider a relationship beyond the three weeks. Sure, it would be easy to fall for Finn, but it wouldn’t last because it wasn’t based on anything real.
She—they—had to keep their eyes open, their heads in the game. If she had sex with him she would finally know how he felt, tasted, moved. and then she could stop thinking about him—and sex—all the damn time.
Callie turned her head and sent him a direct look. ‘We’re on the same page?’
He rubbed his hand over his jaw before nodding briskly. ‘Yeah. Just to be clear, are you saying that you’ll sleep with me?’
The tip of her tongue touched her top lip and her skin flushed with anticipated pleasure. Yeah, that was the plan. Callie held his eyes.
‘Well, sleep isn’t what we’ll be doing, exactly.’ He made a move towards her but her lifted hand stopped him in his tracks. ‘I don’t want to be seduced, Finn.’
She saw a moment of confusion and then his face cleared. ‘No hearts and flowers, no expectations.’
How did he seem to know without her having to explain? It was unsettling, but reassuring at the same time.
Finn touched her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. ‘Only in my bed, honey. I promise. Sex is on the table—everything else is off it.’
They could do this, Callie thought as they made their way out of the hide and across the lawns to their new room behind the main lodge. If they were smart and sensible, and if they kept their heads, they could have three weeks of fun and walk away unscathed.
They had to do this, Callie amended as Finn took her hand in his. They didn’t have another option.
In their private chalet within the protected grounds of the lodge Finn took her hand and led her out onto a dark, private veranda, where moonlight glistened off the bubbles created by the hot tub that sat in one corner. Callie watched his face as he reached behind her and slid down the zip of her simple A-line dress, pulling the collar away from her neck and allowing the silky sage-green fabric to fall to the wooden deck. She stood in her violet strapless bra and matching panties, open to his appreciative gaze, watching his eyes as one index finger traced her collarbone, her shoulder, the top of her right breast.
He looked entranced, engrossed, fully involved in touching her, learning her shape, making her a memory. Don’t get fanciful, she warned herself, closing her eyes as his finger touched her nipple and it tightened and peaked immediately.
‘This is about sex, about pleasure, about a three-week affair,’ Callie gabbled, closing her eyes at the intense pleasure his touch aroused in her.
‘Shut up, Callie,’ Finn murmured gently.
You’ve had these before, remember? she told herself. You sleep with him until it stops being fun and then you stop. It’s not rocket science.
Except that Finn touching her didn’t feel like just another sex act, just another pursuit of physical pleasure. It felt like something more. Deeper, more important.
Finn’s mouth brushed her ear. ‘Stop thinking,’ he muttered. ‘Just feel me touching you, enjoying your smooth skin, tasting you, smelling you. You do the same to me.’
His breath tickled her cheek and the touch of his finger on her skin had heat pooling between her thighs, causing a rush of moisture to her panties. He had barely even started and she was already ready for him to take her—right now. Oh, this was going to be amazing, incredible …
‘I think you should kiss me,’ Callie said against his cheekbone.
‘I think I’ll go up like a cracker,’ was Finn’s wry reply.
Callie dropped her gaze to his pants and sucked in her breath. Unable to stop herself, she ran her finger down the long, rock-hard length of him.
Finn grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away. ‘Yeah, also not a good idea.’
‘I need you to—’
‘Honey, I know exactly what you need.’ Finn lifted his hand and tipped her chin up. Their eyes slammed together and held. ‘Trust me to take care of you.’
‘I do …’
‘You sure?’
‘If you can make me
forget who I am in a semi-public dressing room, I have no doubt that you can do it now.’
Finn waited a beat before he shot his arm out, encircled her hips and slammed her into him. As her mound made contact with his erection his tongue swept into her mouth. He tasted and tormented her, swirling her away on a whirlpool of pleasure. His hand slid into the back of her panties and he palmed her butt with his broad hands, dipping lower, stretching the silk over his wrists so that he could touch her inner thighs and explore her feminine folds.
Callie shuddered as she fumbled for the buttons on his shirt, ripping off the last one in her haste to feel his broad chest and his hard, ribbed stomach.
‘Want you … want you … want you …’ she chanted, standing on her tiptoes to nibble his jaw, to swirl her tongue down his neck.
Finn pulled his hands out from her panties and with one deft flick her bra fell between them. Callie couldn’t have cared less; her nipples were rubbing through the hair on his chest and if he didn’t touch her soon, in all those important burning places, she was going to scream.
Loudly.
Unable to wait, she took one of Finn’s hands and placed it on her breast, tried to direct his other hand to her crotch. But instead of taking her direction Finn stepped away from her and shook his head.
‘No—you’re saying no?’ Callie cried, her fists on her hips. She couldn’t believe that he was stepping away, that he was backing off.
Finn had the audacity to laugh at her before his eyes turned serious. ‘I have a feeling that you normally call the shots in the bedroom, but this time—this first time—I’m running the show, angel.’
His thumb rubbed her cheekbone and she forgot her thought.
‘You said that you trusted me. Take your panties off.’
Callie looked at him, her mouth drying at his command. She was always in the driving seat when it came to sex—she set the pace—and it felt strange and wildly intoxicating to relinquish control. Her heart was pumping at a mile a minute.