Then, softly, she asked, “Do you ever regret it?”
I didn’t even have to think. “Not for a single second.”
Her lips parted, something unreadable flashing in her expression. “You are such a good man, Cal.”
Imagine that—the one woman I had set out to hate, thinking I’m a good man.
I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do.” She pressed a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. “I think the only thing I actually hate about you is how impossible you make it to actually hate you. Especially after that first night you barged in on me with a baseball bat, but left me Band-Aids after.”
A laugh bubbled in my chest. I couldn’t hold back anymore, because she saw me, because she didn’t just listen—she understood—I kissed her again.
This time, there was nothing careful about it. This time, I poured myself into the kiss and showed her exactly how much she was changing everything.
THIRTY
ELODIE
My body buzzed with energy.
Hours had passed since Cal had kissed me breathless, since he had pressed me into the mattress and taken me apart with slow, devastating precision. But lying in the tangle of his sheets, my skin still flushed and my breath still uneven, sleep felt impossible.
My fingers traced lazy patterns along his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall beneath my palm. He was warm, solid, and so deeplyhere. That was the part that scared me, because Callum Blackwood wasn’t just some guy I had fallen into bed with.
Somewhere between our arguing, our banter, our stubborn refusal to give each other an inch—I’d started to fall for him.
And that was dangerous.
Because men like Cal? They didn’t fall.
His fingers ghosted over the bare skin of my back, his voice a deep, sleepy rumble. “What’s going on in that head of yours, Darling?”
Darling.Why did I love it when he called me that?
I turned my face to look up at him, our noses nearly touching. “Just thinking.”
One of his brows lifted. “That sounds dangerous.”
My fingers dragged lower over his stomach. “Says the man who just spent the last two hours proving he’s very, very dangerous.”
A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled through him. “Are you still in one piece?”
I grinned. “Barely.”
His hand drifted down my spine, a lazy, possessive stroke, like he was still claiming me, even in the afterglow.
“Do you ever think it’s strange?” I asked, letting my words wander alongside my thoughts.
Cal’s brow furrowed as he looked down at me.
“That you live with a bunch of strangers,” I clarified with a gentle laugh.
“Ah.” He nodded, thinking about my question. “Sometimes, but it’s a part of the gig.”
The gig.
Hearing Cal talk about how he came to run the inn was heartbreaking. He blamed himself for so much he couldn’t control.
