Harley jerked upright, rubbed his face, then peered out the window. "Hey, Madigan."
"Roll down the window you son-of-a-bitch."
"What's the problem?" Harley asked as he lowered the window.
"Callie called me and said she saw someone. What the hell are you doing sleeping?"
"I'm tired. I pulled double duty before this. Sorry, man. When the lights went out, I thought she'd gone to sleep."
Evan pushed away his frustration. Harley had done him a favor by keeping an eye on Callie. "Help me check out the place, okay? She's not answering the door."
"Damn. I didn't see anyone hanging around her place. I got a bird's eye view here -- how'd they get past me?"
"It's hard to see when your eyes are closed," Evan said. "C'mon."
Harley eased his bulk from the car. Motioning Harley to cover the backside of the mansion, Evan pulled out his 9mm and went to the door. "Callie?" he shouted. "Open up, honey. I'm here."
He heard a scream, then a crash. He stilled the rain cold against his neck as he clicked off the 9mm's safety; checked the chamber to make sure it housed a bullet. Just as he raised his foot to kick at the door, it opened and Callie's pale face appeared.
"Evan?"
Evan's thoughts disappeared under the onslaught of fear and relief shuddering through him. He gathered Callie's into his arms, careful to hold the gun away from her, and buried his face into her hair. The citrus smell of her shampoo invaded his nostrils and he inhaled deeply, trying to absorb the trembling of Callie's body.
"Hey, is everything okay?" Harley's deep voice startled them both and they jumped apart. Evan pushed Callie into the house as Harley stepped onto the porch, then followed them inside. As they entered, the lights flickered on.
"Cool digs," Harley said.
"Thank you," Callie answered, then peered at him. "Who are you?"
Harley's gaze flicked to Evan. Evan unloaded the gun, putting the chamber's bullet back into the clip. He reinserted the clip, clicked on the safety, and put the gun into the waistband of his jeans. "Michael Harley. He's a police officer. I asked him to watch you tonight."
Callie's eyes widened. "What?"
"I've had someone watching the house every night since your home was vandalized. You've been safe, Callie."
Emotions rioted across her face; disbelief, anger, gratitude. Hands on hips, she turned to Harley. "So where were you when that creep showed up in my window?"
Harley cleared his throat, a flush on his cheeks. "I saw your lights go out. I thought you'd gone to sleep."
"I see."
Evan watched as she assessed the big man and saw the fine tremor of her fingers as she stretched out a hand. Brave Callie. He knew Harley's size probably terrified her. Harley loved to pump iron and was four inches taller than Evan.
"Thank you, Mr. Harley. I'm grateful."
Harley shook her hand. "I'm sorry I didn't see anyone, ma'am."
Her gaze flickered and she pulled away her hand. "I am, too."
"Thanks, Harley. Why don't you go get some rest? You look beat."
"I will. It was nice to meet you, Callie." Evan saw the interested look Harley gave Callie. Jealousy arrowed into his gut. He walked his friend to the door, clapped a hand on Harley's shoulder, and said, "Don't even think about it."
Harley stared at Evan, then grinned. "I got it, Madigan. Hands off. Nice looker, though."
"Yeah. Stay the hell away from her."
"Okay, okay." Harley stepped into the rain, then turned. "I'm sorry, Mad. She looked scared. But I was only out for a few minutes."
"All right, Harley. Thanks for watching her."
"No problem."
Evan watched Harley disappear into the rain, then shut the door, locking it. When he turned, he saw Callie watching him.
"What was that all about?"
"Nothing." He walked into the living room, grimacing when she took a step backwards. She shivered and wrapped pale arms around her waist. "I heard you scream before the door opened."
Her shaky laugh nearly undid him. She was being brave again, and he wanted to kiss her. "I knocked over a lamp. I couldn't see anything and when I bumped into it ... I was being silly."
"You were frightened. Tell me what you saw in the window."
"A -- a man. I was looking out the window at the rain and I saw a face." She took a shuddering breath; hugged herself. Evan kept his distance, knowing that she still didn't trust him. Damn, he wanted to hold her. "It was probably my reflection."
"Bull. Whatever you saw in that window scared the hell out of you. Did you recognize the face?"
He watched her lick her lips, her eyes wide when she looked at him. She shook her head, then averted her gaze. Awareness buzzed along his nerves. She was lying. He knew part of the reason why -- she didn't trust him. The other part -- well, that was something he would figure out later. Now, he had to take care of Callie.
"Are you ready to go to bed?"
The question had an affect he hadn't intended. Her head jerked up and her gaze riveted to his lips. "W-what?"
Desire and another urge to kiss her senseless riveted his feet to the floor. If he got within an arm's length of her that's just what he'd do. So he stayed put. Emotions swirled in her green eyes -- desire, fear, damned bravery again. A pink tongue flicked her bottom lip and he swallowed a groan. "Callie."
"Yes?"
"If you don't stop looking at me that way, then I'm going to kiss you."
"Oh."
Her gaze darkened and Evan clenched his fists. "I didn't mean for -- what I meant was -- are you ready to go to sleep?"
"Sleep?" The tongue appeared again, this time caressing the upper lip. The action wouldn't be nearly so erotic if she had known what she was doing. He knew she didn't realize what kind of signals she was sending.
"It's very difficult to be a gentlemen when you keep doing that."
"Keep doing what?"
"Licking your lips."
"I didn't mean to."
"Callie, I'm not going to touch you without your permission. But I want you to know that I'm attracted to you. I get turned on being in the same room with you. That's your power."
"Are you turned on right now?"
"Just about."
"Oh." She looked at him. "That scares me."
"Come here. Please."
She hesitated, then walked to him, stopping about a foot in front of him. "Closer," he said. She took another step, then another, until she stood only inches away.
"Do you want me to touch you?"
"No."
"Okay. Then why don't you touch me?"
At first, he thought he'd pushed her too far, too soon. Then she put a cool hand against his cheek, her palm caressing the stubble. Her hands memorized his face; a finger stroking a brow, a thumb tracing his lower lip. His control nearly snapped under her hesitant touches, but he knew his trustworthiness had to be proven. He had to prove, too, that he'd always respect her wishes.
When her hands explored his neck, fingers dipping under his T-shirt, he groaned. The soft skin of her hands against his collarbone felt like silk. "Callie?"
"I like touching you."
"You have power over me," he said. "Do you want take it farther?"
Her hands stilled. "How far?"
"Just a kiss, Callie. That's all." He saw the doubt in her eyes, and the ever-present fear. "You do it, if you want to."
Moments stretched into forever as she looked at him, her head tilted. He saw the freckles sprinkled across her nose like cinnamon and wanted to kiss her there. Her hands cupped his face and she rose on her toes, fitting her mouth over his. Her lips moved softly against him. The uncertainty of her touch made Evan patient, gave him the strength to rest his hands lightly on her hips instead of crushing her against him and deepening the kiss. She increased the pressure of her mouth and he parted his lips, pure electricity zapping him when her tongue shyly entered. She pressed closer, her stiff nipples rubbing his chest.
He pul
led away. Callie's cloudy, confused eyes met his. "I'm not rejecting you," he said. "I just can't take much more."
Elation lighted her features, as if she had just discovered a diamond among coals. Then she straightened, the elation replaced by resignation. "I teased you." She placed his hand against her breast. He allowed himself to cup the sweet weight for a swift second, then withdrew.
"So what? I liked it and I invited you to do it."
"Evan, it's not right. I shouldn't have -- no, wait a minute." She took a deep breath. "I liked it, too. Thank you. For not wanting anything else."
He touched her nose. "Wanting and taking are two different things. I plan to make love to you, Callie. But we'll both be ready when the time arrives. I meant what I said before. I won't touch you without your permission. I'm telling you right now, though, that any time you want to touch me, you can."
Pain made her gaze liquid. "I don't want to get involved with you. You don't understand yet, Evan. It won't be long before you -- you won't want me."
Frustration -- sexual and emotional -- ravaged him. He wanted to take away the memories that haunted her; wanted to make her happy. Evan raked a hand through his hair. What was she talking about now? Didn't she realize nothing would make him turn away from her? "I'll always want you, Callie. Now, where's a pillow and a blanket?"
"Why?"
"If I'm going to sleep on the couch, I'd be more comfortable with a pillow and blanket."
"You can't stay."
Her words brought the reason he'd rushed over here to mind. "You get a brick through your window, then some guy shows up and terrifies you. I'm not leaving."
"You believe me?"
"Yes." He stroked her cheek, unable to stop from touching her. She didn't pull away or ask him to stop, so he traced her earlobe. "You're not going crazy. A ghost didn't throw that brick through the window, honey."
"Maybe one did."
"What do you mean?"
Callie looked at him and he saw the battle raging in her eyes; the need to protect herself against the need to confide, to trust. She opened her mouth and he thought that she would finally tell him what was going on, but her expression blanked. She said, "Nothing. I'm just tired. I'll get you a blanket."
"You can trust me. One day you'll realize that."
Her laugh was hollow, bitter. "Yeah. Maybe you should be worried about trusting me, Evan."
Cryptic words. He watched Callie walk down the hall. Something had happened to her, something soul-shattering. Evan walked to the couch, sat down, and unlaced his sneakers. He intended to find out what had happened to Callie, then he would find a way to heal her.
--------
*Chapter Six*
"I've changed my mind. I don't think you should stay," Callie said as she entered the living room. She clutched the blanket. Though she knew Evan wasn't like Dan, the thought of being alone with a man -- any man, except her father -- for an entire night scared her witless. Or it may have been the desire that snaked through her when Evan came near. He frowned at her; the dimple had disappeared under the bend of his lips. Callie swallowed the knot forming in her throat. She didn't trust her judgement when it came to men. She couldn't control the attraction to Evan, but she would control her actions. The memory of the kiss she'd teased him with just minutes ago filled her with shame and longing.
Evan said nothing. His look was thoughtful. His gaze caressed her face as if trying to discern her thoughts.
"Thank you for coming to my rescue. I appreciate it."
"It was the kiss, wasn't it?"
Butterflies danced in her stomach. She sought solace in the fuzzy blanket and dug her fingers into its softness. "You can use the phone if you need to make a report."
"Answer my question, Callie. I pushed you, didn't I? You weren't ready."
"I liked the kiss. But I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself now. I don't need you to baby-sit me."
"Where's the gun?"
For a moment, her mind snapped to the moment thirteen months ago when a uniformed cop had put his hand on her shoulder and asked that same question. He wore white latex gloves and his hand came away bloody. Her blood or Dan's, she'd wondered.
"Callie?"
"I don't know where it is. I think it's on the bed. I can't remember."
"What?"
The memory faded and Callie shook her head. Evan's gaze made her realize something was wrong. "What -- what did you say?"
"I asked where you kept the gun. Remember -- the one you almost shot me with?"
"It's in the nightstand drawer next to my bed."
"Good." He crossed his arms. "Do I sleep on the sofa or on the porch?"
"In your own bed at your own house."
"Nope. What if that guy comes back?"
Fear chilled her insides; she took a deep breath. Maybe it had been a ghost after all. The storm had died down and once again small tendrils of comfort wrapped around her. She'd be okay. She'd been jittery -- drinking mocha coffee and reading that suspenseful mystery. Caffeine and the mood of the book coupled with the storm had created a scary situation. In the safety of light and Evan's presence, Callie buried nagging uneasiness under the weight of reasonable thinking.
"I'm okay. Really."
"I believe you. Sofa or porch?"
A hot emotion slid through her. Unfamiliar, yet familiar, Callie frowned and put hands on her hips ... then she realized what she was feeling. Anger.
"Time to leave," she said.
"Make me." The words weren't a threat, but a dare. Anger intensified and she felt the heat of it in her cheeks.
"I can't believe you would say that," she accused. "I thought you were a nice guy."
"I am a nice guy. I'm trying to protect you."
"From what? Ghosts? I overreacted to my own reflection and called you. Everything's okay now." She shot him a look of annoyance. "Why can't I ever get rid of you?"
"You don't really want to."
"Yes, I do. Right now, I really want to get rid of you."
Evan's brown eyes twinkled at her and the dimple appeared as he grinned. "Are you going to go get your gun and shoot me this time?"
"I'm thinking about it. You're very annoying."
"Challenging."
"Stubborn and arrogant."
"Persistent and charming."
"Impossible."
"Very possible," he said. "I know there's something going on. Do you want to tell me what? Otherwise I'll just figure it out for myself."
Callie walked to the couch and dropped the blanket onto it. By virtue of just being around for the last couple of weeks, Evan was the closest person she'd had to a friend in the last two years. When Evan found out what had happened in California, he'd turn away. In the end, they all turned away. People understood, or thought they understood, her reasons, but never understood her actions. Twelve people had judged her and freed her. The rest of the world judged her still. She'd regret the loss of Evan's companionship deeply, but her dependence on him and his constant attention and kindness scared her silly. If she could be hurt now, his departure later might kill her. No more risks. No more pain.
"Evan, I'd like you to leave."
"I'm staying. I'm just waiting for you to make a choice as to where that's going to be."
"Make me," she mimicked, crossing her arms, too.
"Is that an invitation to touch you?"
She envisioned his embrace; felt the warmth of his lips cover hers in slow hunger. Callie shook her head. "No."
"Darn." He looked at the sofa then at her. "You can lock your bedroom door and you have my permission to shoot me if I even rattle the knob."
"Did I mention you were stubborn?"
The dimple appeared again, beguiling her. Her resistance melted a little, then she shrugged. "Do what you want."
"Fine. I'll take the sofa. The porch is probably wet."
"But you would have slept out there, wouldn't you?"
"Yes."
She took comfort in the strength a
nd reassurance in that one word. "Good night, then."
"Good night, Callie. Sweet dreams."
* * * *
Callie bolted awake, the scream lodged in her throat. Frantic, she pushed off the thick coverlet and sat up. Pre-dawn light filtered through her bedroom window. Scooting off the bed, she padded over and leaned against the cool glass, drinking in the soft light. No more darkness. Slowly, the remnants of the dream -- a memory replayed, really -- faded. Dan hitting her. Blood. Screams. Gunshots. "All the same," she whispered against the glass. "Nothing changes."
As the sun stretched lazy yellow fingers across the purple sky, Callie faced the truth. The man in the window last night had not been an apparition. Someone was trying to frighten her. Someone who looked like Dan.
Callie rubbed the sleep from her eyes, suddenly remembering that Evan Madigan, self-appointed knight, was downstairs sleeping on her couch. For some reason, the thought comforted instead of frightened. She shouldn't be so glad he had stayed. She should be furious. But she wasn't.
Sighing, she turned around. Another new day of freedom and life. Another chance. Callie smiled. Moments, precious and indistinct, blended into hours, into days, into forever. She couldn't take a single one for granted. Humming, she went into her private bathroom to shower.
Half an hour later, Callie descended the staircase. The delicious smell of coffee and -- was that pancakes? -- wafted up to meet her. Evan.
"You look like hell," she said, entering the kitchen. "But the apron's cute on you."
Evan turned, a grin lighting his craggy features. Barefoot, clad only in a pair of dangerously low-riding jeans, the full apron looped around his bare chest. The ends were tied into a sassy bow. "Gee thanks." He looked down at the apron. "I thought it was me."
He turned around, giving her a nice view of his muscled back. She watched him flip a pancake, admiring the bulging biceps of his arms. Callie had a sudden urge to trail a finger up his spine. The image had appeal and he had said she could touch him ... shocked at the turn of her thoughts, she clenched her fists. The man had to go. Evan Madigan was too tempting, too nice, too easy to have around.
"Coffee's ready. Have a cup."
Callie took two mugs out of the cabinet and poured. Grasping the warm mug between her hands, she took a sip. "What are you still doing here?"
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