Page 48 of Protecting You
Alyssa’s fake smile faded, and her eyes widened with terror. She held Callan's hand in a death grip as if she saw him as her protector.
He didn’t hate that.
Callan was trying to sell a story, which was the only reason he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.
That was exactly the kind of thing a fiancé might do.
The fact that the kiss felt so natural…
He didn’t hate that either.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. “If we get separated and you need me, just scream. Wherever you are, I’ll find you.”
Before she could answer, the driver opened her door.
She held Callan’s eye contact another moment, then let go of his hand, shouldered her giant purse, and climbed out.
Callan exited from his side, reached back in for his laptop bag, then stood and stretched, relaxed as could be. “Wow, this place is beautiful, isn’t it?” He headed to the trunk, where they’d stowed their suitcases. The driver had already unloaded them both.
“I got these. Go on.” The guy nodded toward the front door.
Callan took Alyssa’s hand, and they walked along paving stones set in a bed of ground cover. The garden was thick and wild and smelled of sweet flowers, fertile soil, and springtime. He was no gardener himself, but the scent brought him back to his childhood, to playing hide-and-seek in the woods and racing his sister and the neighbor kids to the boulder at the edge of the pond.
Would Peri have any happy childhood memories? Or was the joy of childhood behind her now that she was stuck with her dad?
That was a question he preferred not to ponder.
The front door opened, and Dariush Ghazi stood on the other side. He wore jeans and a short-sleeved button-down that looked brand new, as if it’d come straight from the store. As if he’d purchased the clothes for exactly this occasion, in order to create an impression. “Welcome, friends. Please, come in.”
Alyssa preceded Callan up the steps. “Hello, Charles.” Her tone was formal, a stark contrast to the man’s exuberant greeting.
“Nice place you got here.” Callan climbed the steps, noting the placard inlaid in the stucco wall that dated the building to 1916. He stuck out his hand, grabbing Ghazi’s in a firm grip. “You lived here long?”
“It’s only temporary while I conduct my business in the States.”
His British accent was a little like his clothes—too perfect. Too practiced.
He stepped back, and Callan joined Alyssa in a modest foyer that had doors off both sides and a hallway that led toward the back of the house. The hardwood floors looked original. Light paint on the walls. The antique furnishings must have come with the place. A staircase that led both up and down wasn’t grand but simple and utilitarian.
“Would you like a tour?” Ghazi asked.
“I’d love one.” Callan infused enthusiasm into his voice. He angled to face Alyssa, hoping she read his mind.Say yes.“Wouldn’t you?”
“I’d like to get started, to tell you the truth.”
She wasn’t so great with unspoken communication.
Ghazi seemed amused, a smile playing at his too-thin lips. “I’ll have my housekeeper show you around, Caleb, while Alyssa and I get started.”
A woman materialized in the hallway as if she’d been conjured by the man’s words. She was about five five, not slender but more solid than fat with the look of a woman who spent as much time in the gym as Callan did. She had short spiked blond hair with purple tips and wore black jeans, sensible black shoes, and a long-sleeved black button-down shirt.
Nothing about her saidhousekeeper.
Ghazi waved her forward. “Ah, here she is now. Molly, take their coats and bags, and then show Mr. Thompson around.”
They slipped out of their jackets. Reluctantly, Callan handed over his laptop while Alyssa gave the woman her purse.
“I’ll give him the grand tour.” Her Boston accent was more North End than Southie.
