He says nothing and moves us, so we are both lying on the sofa. He drags a blanket over us, and I keep my cheek on his chest and wait for my breathing to level out. We stay like that until our chests slow and our hearts hum to a steady beat. Finally, he breaks the silence.
“How was your morning?” He wants to know.
“Average, so far, my afternoon has been surprisingly enjoyable.” I yawn into his chest, which vibrates with laughter. He shifts, dragging my leg over his thigh.
“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve gone from picking a woman up once a month to being unable to go a morning without moving meetings just to get you to myself?” He says it with such conviction that I can’t deny his claim, but I don't want to believe it. I’ll start to feel things, and that’s not good for either of us.
“The former, yes, the latter not so much.” I grin against his flank, and the dark blush of nipple is too much of an allure, so I bite it gently. He groans and runs a hand over my hair. I keep on moving up until I’m face to face with him.
Allure, that’s what I will call my fragrance. It's dark and bold, decadent and sexy, alluring. I smile inwardly, happy that he has assisted me unknowingly in something he probably has no interest in. I want to thank him, celebrate my little business venture with him, but he will never allow it. A sudden thought occurs, and I smile mischievously at him and tug the blanket so it is covering his nose and mouth.
“Do you trust me?” I say. His eyes tighten, and he eyes me sceptically before he nods. I smile softly. “Can I try something?” I ask.
My gut instinct tells me he already knows what I’m asking, what I’m about to do. Slowly, he nods, and I cup his face, the blanket flattening over his lips. Callan’s hands come up to hold mine, and I lift my brow.
Hesitantly, he moves his hands, holding them up in defeat, and I can feel the heavy drum of his heart picking up. I keep our gazes locked and slowly lower my face to his. I press my mouth to his, the blanket a soft barrier between us. His cock knocks against my stomach, and a harsh sigh exits his nose. I don't push my luck and pull back, smiling to myself. I twist so my back is to him, snuggling into his side. I stay quiet, his hand tightens around my waist, and I try not to grin at my small victory. I’m dazed with happiness, staring back at our reflection in the blacked-out window. Callan’s eyes are on mine, staring, assessing, satisfied, and unblinking in his continued hunger for me. We lay like that for an age, watching each other in the silence, wordlessly existing in a post-sex haze.
Chapter Eighteen
After a little while, I shift and get up to avoid the tumble and crash of thoughts about this intoxicating man. Callan moves to his chair and relaxes, watching me dress. I roll the dress over my bare bottom, looking back at him, scowling at me.
“Next time, you’ll wear underwear,” he says, his tone thick with anger that leaves little room for argument. I twist my neck, no longer meeting his eye. He can make all the suggestions in the world, but I don’t have to abide by them. Besides, my dress hits past my knee—no one could look up there even if they wanted to. The material is a thick band around my legs, holding them together.
“I’m ready to leave.”
“I have some work I need to do.” Callan is already focused on the screen in front of him. I don't want to keep him, and I want to let Oscar know that I’m okay. He looked sick to the stomach when I left.
“Okay, see you later.” Grabbing my bag, I pull out my mirror and check my makeup, reapplying another layer of lipstick. The click of my compact echoes around the room as I slide my feet into my heels. I shake my hair and head for the door.
“Zara, you’ll stay here.”
Callan’s tone makes my spine stiffen, and my feet move quicker. I grab the handle and swing back to look at him already up on his feet, shoulders tense.
“We may have made a deal, but you don't own me, Callan Scott. If I want to walk out and carry on about my day, I will.” I give him the most insincere smile I can muster and pull the door open. He is on me in a quick attack. His hand slams the door shut, and he yanks my wrist up.
“You’re really fucking aggravating. Anyway, customers have arrived. We can’t leave,” he growls, nodding his head over to the window, where I notice the first few people entering the bar below. How long did we lie just staring into each other’s eyes? I hate how he can capture me with that look. Ownership. I can’t explain it any other way.
“Surely that’s more reason for me to leave without you,” I snap.
“What’s the rush? You have nothing planned, nowhere to be.”
“That doesn't mean I have to be joined to your hip,” I state with a light laugh.
He glowers at me. “We’re leaving together,” he tells me, grabbing my neck in a vice grip and pulling me to his face. I don't baulk. In fact, I press on to my toes to match his height. His stare is nothing like the reflected one from earlier. Oh no, it’s spitting fire.
“We’ll be seen. What are you planning?” I search his eyes. He grins darkly, and for a moment, I worry he is ready to out me to those bastards that took my father’s life. “What the fuck is going on?” I shout, shaking in his hold.
“We need to be seen together. I don't care if you shake it off as you planning a party here at the bar, but we need to be photographed. I need to draw them out. Understand,” he orders.
“Who,them?” Santino and Ramis. My eyes widen, and I back up, hitting the door. I gape, shake, and mutter a protest. “We’ve not even discussed any of this!”
He’s kept me in the dark.
What the hell has he been planning all week?
“And here I was hoping an orgasm would calm you the fuck down.” He glowers above me, rubbing at his temples.
“Oh my God. You slept with me so I wouldn't cause a fuss about this.” I laugh in disbelief. He is a complete nut.