by Lauren Smith
“Was I too rough? You never used your safe word.” He seemed to be desperately trying to collect himself and regain control.
Callie couldn’t speak, not right away, and this seemed to worry him because he hastily got out of bed and unchained her wrists, removing the cuffs. Then he cupped her face and forced her eyes to his.
“Are you all right, darling? Please say something.”
She covered his wrists with her hands and smiled dreamily up at him. She felt…wonderful.
“I’m good. Better than good. Wonderful.” She felt suddenly shy despite everything they’d done and she dropped her hands from his wrists and tried to pull away.
“Stay right there,” he ordered and went to his closet where he fetched a shirt and a pair of boxers from his dresser. “Put these on.” He assisted her, even though she tried to swat his hands away. Before she was done, he’d pulled back the sheets of his bed and settled her there.
“Wes, I’m fine—” He silenced her with a shake of his head.
“Rest. I put you through a lot. I’ll go check on dinner and get you something to drink.” He threw on a pair of jeans before she could stop him.
She stared at the empty doorway in shock. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone after…She glanced at the rumpled bed and shivered. She could sit here and mope or go after him.
With caution, she climbed out of the bed, wincing with each step as she entered the bathroom. She pulled Wes’s boxers down and tended to the sore spot between her legs. She’d taken quite a pounding for her first time. A little bit of blood coated her thighs and she washed it off with her hands, trembling. After she pulled the boxers back up, she was disposing of the bloody towels when she realized she was being watched.
Wes stood at the entrance of the bathroom, a glass of water in hand. A scowl darkening his features more than his usual demeanor did.
“That’s more blood than I thought…” He stared at the bloodied cloth, and then his eyes shot to hers. He set the water down on the counter next to her. “Maybe we should take you to a doctor.”
Callie frowned right back at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t be stupid, Wes. I’m fine. I figured there would be blood. It’s not like I haven’t bled down there before.” Her sarcasm wasn’t lost on him, but her flippant response didn’t seem to amuse him, either.
“I’m serious, Callie. I might have hurt you. Damn, this was a bad idea. You aren’t ready—”
Smack!
Her hand exploded with pain as she whacked him open palmed across the cheek. She barely bridled her anger and hurt at his insinuation that she wasn’t ready.
He touched his reddening cheek in shock, dark red-brown brows lifting.
“I. Am. Fine,” she snapped. “Stop trying to baby me and quit hurting me by suggesting I’m not ready. It’s too late for that. We slept together. You can’t give me my virginity back just because you’re bored already. Don’t try to hide that from me. I’m fully aware it took you only a few days to seduce me and get me into bed. Shame on me for making it easy for you to win that stupid bet.”
Tears stung her eyes and carved cold paths down her cheeks. This wasn’t how she’d pictured her first time. She hadn’t been foolish enough to expect romance, candles, or declarations of love, but she wasn’t expecting this, either. Not after Fenn had broken her heart and she’d vowed never to love again. The warmth in her chest hardened into stone and was on the verge of fracturing. She couldn’t do this. Not again, not so soon after Fenn. Stifling a sob, she tried to run past Wes but he captured her by the waist and dragged her into his arms, fiercely holding her so she couldn’t move. Her breath hitched and the anger churning inside her deflated, and all that was left was humiliation. She was bruised and battered on the inside.
Damn Wes and his beautiful life. I don’t need it or him.
She struck out at his chest and he let her do it, but the blows weren’t hard and she collapsed against him after only a moment of trying to get free. He made soft shushing noises, and as much as she hated it, the noise soothed her, as did the distant sounds of her lovebirds.
“I’m sorry.” The apology was gruff and awkward, as though those two words had never left his mouth before, which was probably true.
“You’re the first virgin I’ve ever been with. I’m not sure what to do.” His admission made her give a hiccupy laugh.
“What you should do is not run away from me. I want to be held, Wes. Held and talked to, that’s all.” She needed his physical closeness. Some primal urge inside her required his presence and his touch, as though that would reassure her all was well.
“That I can do.” He let go of her and wiped the tears from her cheeks before he picked her up and carried her through his room and downstairs.
He settled her on the couch and tucked her in with a couple of thick blankets, then went into the kitchen. When he came back, he had another glass of water and he made her drink it all before he turned on the TV. He put in a movie without asking and it was a good one. An action movie with some comedy that distracted and entertained her.
Then Wes returned to the couch and settled in beside her, sliding her body over so that she was tucked into his side. For a minute, she didn’t move, but then the temptation was too strong and she wrapped her arms around his chest, hugging him, letting herself finally relax. This was what she had wanted all along, this right here. A warm, wonderful man to hold her after making love. She nuzzled his chest, inhaling his scent and she sighed.
“I’m learning, Callie. This is all new to me. I don’t know how to be with you.” The words were so quiet she thought for a moment she might have dreamed them.
“Just be, Wes. That’s all you have to do,” she murmured sleepily. After that, she was aware of nothing more than him holding her and the distant sounds of Paris outside.
Chapter 13
Fucking hell. This was not going according to any of his grand plans. Wes traced the fine blue veins on the back of one of Callie’s hands where it lay on his chest. The plan had been to bed her, make her submit, then still be clearheaded enough to keep his distance. That wasn’t what happened though.
He’d taken her body, her virginity, and something inside him had changed. Like mighty rivers carving canyons, it was unstoppable. What he couldn’t see yet, no matter how he tried, was how was it changing him? What would he be like at the end of this? Satisfied? A damn mess? Who the hell knew. And the blood…He couldn’t get the sight of it out of his head. He shuddered.
Pain. He’d hurt her, and not in the fun, erotic way he’d planned with a little spanking. No, this had been real pain. He should have prepared her body more for him, but the waiting had almost killed him. Yet she’d powered through it and climaxed like an angel beneath him. He was hopelessly addicted to the sight of her eyes as she came apart. The light of surprise, the slight lifting of her brows and the parted lips as she sucked in a shocked and delighted breath as her world splintered apart in dozens of overwhelming sensations and pleasures. It was like nothing he had ever seen. He, the man who had looked upon some of the most famous pieces of art, the most rare and stunning ones, could find none to compare to Callie when he made love to her.
Made love. She had made love, but Wes didn’t know what he’d done, didn’t know his own heart. Love wasn’t for everyone. Love was a danger, a burden. He could do without it. But if Callie fell in love with him, that wouldn’t be so bad. It might be nice, to be loved, even if he couldn’t reciprocate, except physically.
Callie murmured something softly in her sleep. Her fingers on his chest curled into a fist, tightening, and her brows knotted as though worries carved those little lines. He didn’t like to think that bad thoughts or concerns plagued her dreams. Wes lifted her hand and gently uncurled her fingers, pressing kisses to her knuckles. She relaxed again.
Her palm was a little wide and her fingers a little short and rough with calluses. The hands of a woman who worked hard, not the dainty and long manicured f
ingers of the women he’d been with in the past. Those women had never worked for anything, never had to fight to survive, or had to face losing their dreams because they’d had to make sacrifices. But Callie had. She’d done all of those things and she was only twenty. A sharp stab in his chest made him wince. He didn’t like to think of everything she had missed out on in life while working, not when he had the ability to change her life.
A distant chime sounded and he tensed. The oven timer. The pot roast had cooked for four hours now. It had to be ready. But Callie was dead to the world. It took him nearly five minutes to cleverly maneuver himself off the couch without waking her. He draped a blanket over her and made sure a pillow rested beneath her head before he padded over to the kitchen. He wiped his palms on his jeans and searched the cabinets for oven mitts. When he found a pair, he slid them on and approached the oven.
This was easy. Right? Remove the item from the oven and voila!
He opened the oven and stumbled back at the wave of fierce heat. When he reached inside to grab the roaster’s pan handles, he could feel beads of sweat breaking out on his chest and forehead. The side of the oven clipped his left forearm and he cursed as it seared his flesh.
“Damn it!” He nearly dropped the roaster onto the counter before he hastily ran his arm under cold water. How had Callie made this look so easy? Then again, he remembered flour covering every surface of his kitchen. Whoever said cooking was easy was lying through their teeth.
After seeing to the minor burn, he removed two plates from the shelf and started carving up the roast and loaded it onto the plates with vegetables. It didn’t look all that impressive in giant lumps on the plate, but it smelled divine. He needed this to be perfect though, for Callie. Using his cell phone, he searched the Internet for plate arrangements of pot roast, and with a cocky little grin, he fixed the food in a pleasing way and dropped sprigs of fresh basil over the meat. It was a good thing he was a quick study and he was able to get it just right. It almost looked like it could have been prepared by a chef from Fouquet’s. He chuckled, far too proud of himself, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading.
“What’s so funny?” Callie’s amused, sleepy voice from behind him had him whipping around, using his body as a shield to hide the plates from her view.
“You should still be sleeping,” he chastised, but he winked at her to show her he was only teasing.
She ran her hands through her tousled hair and smiled. “The smell of a good pot roast could wake anyone out of a dead sleep, even Rip Van Winkle.”
“Rip Van Winkle?” Wes asked, surprised she would reference an old classical short story.
“Yeah.” Callie giggled, the sound pleasant and enticing. “Mom used to read me stories like Rip Van Winkle and Sleepy Hollow when I was a toddler.”
“Really? That’s not exactly light reading for a child, you know.”
She shrugged and walked toward him. Her eyes were bedroom soft and her lips looked plump and kissable. God, the woman tested his control without even trying. He wanted to drag her into his arms and plant her on the nearest flat surface and take her again.
“Children remember magic. They remember tales that hold that magic. My mother read me the classics. Even though the deeper historical and political points made no sense to me at four years old, I will never forget the man who drank moonshine and fell asleep in the woods, only to wake twenty years later.” She tapped the tip of her nose, winking at him. “Magic.”
As she talked, he’d found he was enjoying this playful banter—light, yet personal conversation. It wasn’t at all what he did with other women, and he certainly hadn’t expected to like it so much. He took everything seriously because seriousness was the only way to stay in control. Yet Callie made him feel so light-hearted sometimes. It was nice.
“Now, quit hiding whatever is behind your back.” She tried to reach around him but he caught her wrists and trapped them at the small of her back and grinned lazily down at her when she struggled uselessly to escape his hold. With his free hand, he fisted his fingers in her hair and lightly tugged her head back.
“I think you need a little kissing before dinner.” He smiled against her lips as he teased her and she melted against him. Her dark gold lashes fluttered and the sight made his cock hard enough that he was uncomfortable in his jeans.
“Then kiss me, damn it!” she growled like a little puppy.
“Fuck, you make me so hot when you act like that,” he said and laughed.
Confusion tinged her warm hazel eyes. “When I act like what?”
“Like a puppy, so young and sweet, with just a little bite to you.” He trapped her in his arms and moved them back so he pinned her against the fridge. “Makes me want to wrestle you to the ground and fuck you senseless.” He nipped her chin, then possessed her mouth, relishing the shock of her reaction to his words. Sometimes her natural sensuality and her innocence were an explosive combination.
“Don’t worry. There’s plenty of time to try that and a lot more,” he teased between steamy, slow kisses. The way she responded to his kisses alone was beautiful. She put her whole heart and body into it, the flames of her hunger and the desire heating his own body until he swore he’d ignite.
Unable to resist, he cupped her between her legs, but she bit his lip hard and he stepped back.
“Sorry,” she said and gasped. “I didn’t mean to bite you. It’s sore down there.” She ducked her head but Wes refused to let her indulge in any more self-pity.
“You are right. Too soon to go at it again. But it is time for dinner.” He gave her what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile. It was killing him to wait to have her again, but he would wait, so long as she needed him to. He, a man who swore never to wait for anything or anyone he wanted, had to bide his time. Callie was too precious a thing to risk. Too precious.
* * *
Dinner turned out perfect. Callie mentally gave herself a pat on the back. Of course, pot roast was easy so long as you had everything to throw into the pan in the right amounts. Wes had likely eaten much fancier and far more expensive meals than this, but she had a feeling it was the first time he’d actually helped cook. The look of pride in his eyes when he’d showed her the artfully arranged plates was obvious, and incredibly sweet. But hot too…There was nothing like a man who had worked hard on something and was proud of it. She knew Wes worked hard on his art consultations, but because of his wealth, everything else was too easy for him.
“I have to admit, this was an enjoyable experience.” He set his fork and knife down on his plate and pushed it across the large dining room table.
“What was?” Did he mean the food or the sex they’d had earlier? She’d have to agree in either case. She felt different. Changed. Her virginity was gone and in its place was a secret knowledge of darker, more sinful pleasures and a knowledge of how things could be with a man like Wes. It was more than satisfaction. It was thrilling, a pure rush of excitement, anticipation, and then, at last, pleasure. So much pleasure.
“Both aspects of the evening,” he clarified with a little twinkle in his eye. “Are you finished?” He gestured to the empty plate in front of her.
“Mm-hm.” She nodded. Her stomach was pleasantly full and she wanted to take another nap. Was sex and good food going to overcome her years of natural work ethic? Probably. She almost giggled. It had been half a week away from the ranch now and she wasn’t used to having so little to do. No horses to tend to, cattle to feed, fences to mend, men to cook for. Of course, when she went back, much of that would no longer be her duty, since Fenn had already hired fifteen able-bodied ranch hands to work full time on the Broken Spur.
Wes rose and collected their plates, setting them in the sink. The distant tinkling sound of porcelain and china assured her he wasn’t planning on doing the dishes. She would have wanted to help if that was the case, and right now she didn’t want to move at all. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
Seconds late
r they flew open again when she was being lifted up in Wes’s arms.
“Wore you out, did I?” he said and chuckled. Callie was not the sort of woman who liked to be carried about, but she’d seen Fenn haul Hayden around over his shoulder. There was something feminine about it, and no doubt a silly part of her wanted a man to do that to her, to prove he was strong. Not to prove that she was weak. There was a difference.
“Not going to insist I put you down?” He seemed amused at her relaxed reaction to him carrying her.
“Nope. If you had any idea how tired I was, you wouldn’t, either.” She tightened her hold around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling the rich scent of his skin. He didn’t wear cologne, didn’t need it. And she preferred a man’s natural scent anyway. Men were supposed to smell like pines and winter and wild winds. Not like a bottle of rotted plants crushed and soaked in chemicals.
“Are you sniffing me?” Wes asked, a rough laugh escaping him when she ducked her head and blushed.
“I like how you smell, too,” he said more softly, that rich seductive lilt in his voice like honey. “Makes me hungry for you, for your body, for your kiss. It makes me think that if dreams had a scent, they would smell like you.”
She stared up at him, astonished at the almost bashful, poetic musings that slipped from his sensual lips. These were not words spent to entice or seduce, but rather confessed to her with a sense of curious wonder. There was so much about him she wanted to know. She didn’t want to feel like he was a stranger, not after everything they’d shared so far.
“Wes, what’s your favorite color?”
“Favorite color?” He climbed the stairs that led to their rooms and carried her into the bathroom.
“Yes. Color. What is it?”
He set her down on her feet and started to run a bath in the massive tub that was more like a hot tub than anything. Once he seemed satisfied with the water’s temperature, he straightened.
“My favorite color.” He crossed his arms, brows furrowed. “Yellow.”