Kathryn
She was going to see a boy.
Perhaps that sounded a little eleventh grade of her, but when the situation was boiled down to the basics, that’s what it was. Callan had called, asked her to come over, and she’d said yes. Why she’d agreed still wasn’t entirely clear, besides a desire to see him, and the fact that he’d sounded rough. In pain, really, as if he’d been hurt.
He’d also said he’d needed her.
From her perspective, it was a remarkable turnaround, from first trying to ensure he never came around again, to then having him fix a thousand little things wrong with her house, followed up by kissing him. Now she was going to see him. At his house. In the evening. Kathryn wasn’t naïve; she knew what that might result in, though that was a whole new set of issues she had yet to deal with. Her scars were…extensive, and not the sort of thing she really felt sexy about. It was unlikely to happen anyway, she told herself. Callan had so far comported himself like a gentleman, and if she didn’t make it obvious, then it wasn’t likely to happen.
Probably.
The luxury SUV turned off the road and headed down a ramp to underground parking. She looked up, but hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings and wasn’t sure which building they were at. Sinking back into the plush leather, she reminded herself that this was another example of why she was no longer in the eleventh grade.
The boy back then hadn’t sent a luxury vehicle to pick her up. It had been his mom’s beat-down minivan. With his mom driving.
Yeah, this was a little different. She giggled to herself at the idea of Callan sending his mom to get her. The driver glanced in the rearview, but she just waved him off, the imagery of that making her smile. It just went to show that no matter how old someone got, the prospect of attraction and flirtation, romance, desire, whatever you chose to name it, could still affect someone to their core.
The vehicle came to a halt before her thoughts could go any deeper, darker, or more lustful. After some help from the driver she got settled in her chair—that in itself killing any arousal she might have been feeling—and headed toward the elevator Callan had told her to take. She got in, punched in the code he’d provided, and then jumped slightly in surprise as the elevator doors closed swiftly and whisked her upward. This was no slow-moving cage, it moved, her stomach dropping slightly from the sudden g-forces.
A moment later it stopped, her stomach rebounding like elastic as the doors slid open in near-silence. Kathryn wheeled out of the tube, eyes wide as she took in everything. It wasn’t until a moment later that she realized the elevator opened into his apartment.
A private elevator? She was stunned. The white marble tones accentuated with silver and gold were everywhere, with various pieces of colored art and rugs breaking up the scheme just enough to make it feel homey instead of showroom. It did little to take away from the fact that Callan clearly had more wealth than she’d imagined.
Just like her ex. Unease slid its greasy fingers into her mind. The situation was almost too similar to that of her ex-fiancé. The last thing Kathryn wanted to do was repeat that situation. That mistake. It had hurt deeper than she’d thought it might, and it wasn’t until recently that she’d begun to feel emotionally healed.
Now she was facing the same situation once more.
“Callan?”
A giant form shook as it sat up from the couch off to her left. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
His voice was quiet and raspy, and as she spun the chair to look at him straight on Kathryn saw why.
“Oh my goodness, are you okay?” She wheeled over to him as fast as she could, looking at the mass of bruises on his face. They were mostly healed, but it was still obvious he’d been hurt badly. He had a piece of plastic wrapped around his left arm as well, held tightly in place.
“Did you break your arm?”
“No. Just hurt it bad enough that I wanted to protect it.” He sat up gingerly as she tsked over him, looking over his injuries.
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story, but I got jumped and wasn’t ready for it.”
She stared at him agog. “Someone jumped you? What in the hell for? They must have had a death wish. Did they not see the size of you?”
Callan smiled, his upper lip showing some pink skin where it had healed as well. How had he done all this in the twenty-four hours since she’d last seen him?
“I know you said you were in rough shape, but I just thought you meant you were a little sick, or extra tired or something. Hungover maybe. Not that you got beat up.”
Callan stiffened. “I did not get beat up,” he ground out forcefully through a clenched jaw. “I was in a fight, yes. But I didn’t lose.”
“Are you sure?”
He smiled widely. “You should have seen the other, uh, guy.”
She reached up and caressed the part of his face that didn’t seem bruised. “You don’t have to act all macho for me, you know. It’s okay. Sometimes things happen and we don’t come out of it victorious.” She waved a hand over her broken body as an example.
Callan growled angrily. “Don’t you dare say you aren’t victorious.” His already deep voice took on a different tone, more melodious and fluid, and somehow bigger as well. “You could have been killed. But you fought through it, and now you’re pushing yourself to get back to where you were. I admire that in you, and you should be proud of your efforts. It would have been much easier to just give up.”
Kathryn looked down, feeling ashamed by her attitude, though it didn’t last long. Callan had a way of ensuring she didn’t dwell in the darkness for very long.
“Lie back,” she said, pushing him down gently with one finger.
It would have been easy for his massive form to resist, and he gave a token fight at first, but she glared at him and he sagged back into the huge couch with obvious relief.
“This isn’t about me,” she said, leaning over and kissing his forehead gently. “Now, do you have water?”
“Water?”
She sighed. “Of course water. You need to stay hydrated. Your body is going to use more water than normal as it repairs itself. Have you eaten?”
He shook his head. “Okay, first order of business: water and food.”
Callan started to get up, but she drove a finger into his chest hard, freezing him in place. “You lie there and relax. That’s an order, got it?”
He looked ready to argue, but she just pushed harder, and once more he relented. Kathryn smiled. It felt good to be needed. Doug had never made her feel this way—though Doug had also never been beaten up either. Callan, despite his wealth, definitely struck her as a bit more of a rough and tumble sort of guy, not afraid to fight if it came to it. She doubted he went looking for trouble, and that he actually worked hard to avoid it, but when push came to shove, she could tell he wouldn’t back down.
Happy to finally be of help to someone, she wheeled into his kitchen. Her energy had spiked again, and she decided to make the most of it. The meal wouldn’t be too extensive, though she vowed to show him her skills in the kitchen once she was healthy enough to stand and truly prepare a meal.
But for now, after finding the ingredients she needed, she felt that he wouldn’t object too much. A hearty, beefy tomato sauce over noodles was just what the doctor ordered for Callan. While the meat was cooking—something she could thankfully sit in between checking it and the pasta—she brought him his water, complete with a couple of cubes of ice.
Callan took it without arguing, and to no surprise from her, drained the entire thing.
“Okay, maybe you were right on that,” he acknowledged, looking away as he admitted she was right.
Although she wanted so badly to hear him repeat that, to tease him about it, she decided against it. Callan was stubborn, and seemed possessed of a mindset that he shouldn’t show any weakness or vulnerability in front of her. That was cute and adorable, but she liked being needed as well, and it felt good that he was willing to come to her at this early stage of…of…what the hell were they?
She contemplated that as the pasta boiled away, the meat sauce simmering beautifully. Shockingly he had next to no spices, but she did find some pepper, mixing some of that into the sauce as well, her mind shying away from answering its own question.
What were she and Callan? It had become obvious rather quickly that he was more than just an assistant, and that he viewed her the same. Looking back, she could probably attribute it to being held in his arms at the pool. Of course she would have to be saved from drowning to realize someone was interested in her! And there was no denying that Callan was into her. She’d only meant to kiss him goodbye, but he’d taken that to a whole new level.
It had awoken in her a feeling she’d not known since before the accident. Lust. Carnal desire. Arousal. And all of a sudden eight months of backlog had come out of nowhere, turning a fiery goodbye kiss into a near sexual encounter. Only Callan’s sense of…nobility? Chivalry? Whatever it was, had stopped her from dragging him to her bedroom.
To do what? Have sex? She couldn’t do much more than lie there, her body still sore. Only the fact that he’d left her primed and ready had proven that she was even ready to have sex again. But just because she could physically become aroused again didn’t mean that sex with her would be anything resembling fun. Her body was just still too broken. It was unlikely he would want that.
Sauce spattered out from the pan, landing on her wrist and her shirt, the heat of it yanking her back to the present. Right, food. Getting back to it she finished preparing the meal—having made enough for herself as well—and brought it over to the couch one plate at a time. Together they ate at the coffee table, so that Callan didn’t have to get up.
He wolfed the first plate down, and the second. By the time she brought him what little remained, happy she’d decided to make extra from the start, Callan was starting to look and feel more alert. It must have been rubbing off on her, because she plopped herself down on the couch next to him without asking, moving with more grace and strength than she’d felt in a long time.
“Do you want to watch some TV?” she asked, snuggling up into the corner.
Callan was seated on the far end, so Kathryn didn’t feel that her actions were enormously leading or suggestive, but she knew it opened things up to the possibility much more so than her chair did.
“That would be nice,” he said around the last few bites.
“What do you want to watch?”
Callan seemed to hesitate over that, then shrugged. “You can pick, Kathryn. I’m open to anything.”
Picking up a pillow and pulling into her chest to rest on, she smiled, letting him see the happiness in her eyes as he spoke her name. “You can call me Katy,” she offered.
The gentle giant set his dinner plate down and pushed back into the couch, still sitting upright. “Would you like that?”
She didn’t have to think before nodding.
“Well Katy, what would you like to watch?”
Her spine tingled at the way he said the short form of her name, the throat bass making it sound just right. She kind of wished he would say it again.
They turned on the TV, and to her surprise spent just a few minutes deciding what to watch. She and her ex had used to take forever to decide, always bickering about whose show or movie they were going to watch that time.
With Callan everything seemed smooth and effortless. It just…worked, no matter what it was.
The intro credits started to roll as that thought bounced around in her head, and she studied him as discreetly as possible, noting the profile of his head, the slightly blocky look to his chin, and the lean yet powerful lines of his arms and chest. She knew they contained strength, but they could also be soft as well.
Her brain was drawn back to the pool once more, and the feel of her head against his chest. A craving, worse than any sugar or hungover-need-for-grease she’d ever had rose up. Kathryn needed to feel that again. To have his touch, to be pressed up against him. It ran over her defenses like Godzilla over whatever city he felt like, crushing everything in its path.
“Callan,” she asked, surprised at the throaty, tension-filled tenor sound of her voice. Was she really that nervous?
“Yes Katy?”
Oh. Oh yes, she liked the way her name rolled off his lips so very much.
“Can I put my head on your lap while we watch the movie?”
His only giveaway at the bluntness of her request was the double-blink of his eyes. Otherwise Callan remained stoic and, outwardly at least, calm.
“Of course.” He snagged a pillow from beside him and put it across his lap.
She smiled at his politeness, not having thought about doing that, and leaned in to him. Almost instinctively his hand came to rest on her lower hip. Sparks of electricity shot through her body from where his fingers lay, several curling down over her stomach, some across her back as his massive hand wrapped around her side while it rested on her.
I wonder just how much of the movie we’re going to get through…