Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

B iceps. Thick, glistening biceps that stretched the material of the crisp white shirt. A white shirt that, in her opinion, was far too tight. Surely seeing every curve of muscle on the man’s body was overkill. And had he always been that tanned? She didn’t remember his skin looking so bronzed.

She should still be thinking about the creepy note and the way her open door had scared the crap out of her. But nope. Lock Walker entered her home and suddenly she was undressing him with her eyes.

“You should have let me fix this earlier.”

She jumped at Lock’s words. The first words either of them had spoken since he’d gotten to work. In fact, he’d arrived, looked at her door, done that jaw-clicky thing he did when he was mad, and immediately gotten to work fixing it.

She cleared her throat. “I didn’t want to ask you for a favor, and I didn’t want to hire someone else in case word got back to Dad. Besides, I thought I’d fixed it.”

Clearly, she was no Bob the Builder.

He shot her a look over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you want it getting back to your dad?”

Of course that was the part he focused on. “I didn’t want to worry him.”

His brows flickered before he turned back to the door. “Call me next time. It’s not a favor—it’s me taking care of you.”

She was tempted to tell him it wasn’t his job to take care of her anymore, but that would just start a fight, and she didn’t want to fight with him while he was helping her. “Well, thanks for coming.”

“So it was just open when you got home?”

“Yeah. Aspen forgets to lock it sometimes.”

The muscles in his back visibly tensed. “Have you received any more of those notes?”

Her gaze shifted to the note on the hall table. The note she’d dropped there when opening the front door for Lock. “I, um, received another one…today.”

He paused and turned. “What did it say?”

“Something stupid about my hair.”

Lock’s jaw tightened.

Shit. She needed to change the subject. “Are you finished?”

He straightened, the muscles in his arms once again contracting with his movement.

Jesus, had his arms gotten bigger in the last two years? It didn’t seem possible because they’d always been huge.

He closed the door and the click of the bolt catching was loud, making relief wash through her belly. Good. The door wouldn’t be opening again. She should be safe.

She forced herself not to fiddle with her fingers as she looked back at him. It was a nervous habit, something Lock knew, and she did not want him to know she was nervous to have him in her space.

“Thank you. If you could send me an invoice—”

His growl cut off the words in her throat. “You are not paying me to make sure your home’s safe, Callie.”

“Lock—”

“No.”

Oh Jesus. He was using that deep, growly voice again. “Well, thank you then.” She didn’t look at him when she said it.

Dammit, Callie, grow a backbone.

When the silence stretched, she finally looked up. He was watching her so closely that she was almost scared he could see every secret inside her. He’d always had a freaky way of reading her far too well.

“What is it?” he asked quietly. “The door’s fixed. No one’s getting through. Is it the notes that are upsetting you?”

He knew she was upset. But it wasn’t just the notes or the door…

“It’s my dad.”

Lock’s brows slashed together, and he stepped closer again. They stood so close now that all she had to do was reach out and she’d be touching him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to tell him, but closed it, scared that if she did, she might cry. Dammit, why was she feeling so emotional today?

He kept watching her, and it was one of those moments where the sympathy in the other person’s eyes made you want to cry anyway.

He closed that last bit of space and cupped her cheek. She sucked in a sharp breath because that touch… God, it was everything. Warm. Familiar. Comforting.

“Callie. You can talk to me. You can tell me anything.”

“He’s sick,” she whispered.

“Sick how?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, and suddenly there was no stopping the words from tumbling out. She wanted him to know so he could tell her everything would be okay. “Parkinson’s.”

Lock cursed and tugged her into his hard chest. For a moment, she was still. She hadn’t been hugged by Lock in so long, and it was everything she remembered it to be.

Two heartbeats of stillness, then she gave in and wrapped her arms around his waist, letting his warmth envelop her. He was all strength, and she absorbed that strength.

“I’m sorry, C. So damn sorry.”

The first tear fell, then another. Silent tears that sank into his shirt, linking them together.

Lock knew how much her father meant to her. He was her only family. He was and had been her entire world for so long.

She cried about her father’s diagnosis. About the unfairness of it. About the time she’d lost with him over the last two years, and about every hard moment she knew was coming.

Lock just held her, not uttering a single word, like he knew she needed his touch more than his words.

When she finally pulled away, his hands remained on her hips.

She touched the wet patch on his shirt, tracing it with her finger. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” He stroked her hip with his thumb, and she couldn’t step away. It was like she was stuck. “What can I do to help?”

Once upon a time, she would have thought that he was the only thing that could help. His touch. His deep, gravelly voice telling her everything would be okay.

“Nothing.” The whispered word felt painful to release.

A hurt expression crossed his face, and he didn’t even try to hide it.

The hand on her hip slipped up to her waist and his head lowered, his warm breath brushing her sensitive skin. “Let me in, Callie. Lean on me.”

She opened her mouth to tell him again that he couldn’t help her. That the days of her leaning on him were in the past, but then he turned his head, and his eyes burned into hers.

His warm breath skittered over her lips as he whispered, “I still love you.”

Her breath caught, emotion welling in her chest, pressing more tears to her eyes. “But love isn’t supposed to hurt, Lock. Ours did.”

It hurt her in its absence.

Another flicker of pain on his face, this time deeper, shading his eyes to navy. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I wish sorry changed the past.”

His head lowered, his forehead touching hers. “I don’t deserve you…but I’m too selfish to leave you alone.”

His mouth hovered over hers before pausing. It was like he was waiting for her to push him away. Or maybe for her to step back. To run from this.

She did nothing. She remained so perfectly still she wasn’t even sure she was capable of moving. Then his lips touched hers. A light kiss. A graze of lips against lips. But she felt it everywhere. It slipped through every limb, beating life into her.

His lips swiped hers again, and that kiss…it thrust her back two years. To a time when life made sense. When she hadn’t been touched by loss and pain.

When Lock was hers.

Lock had to remind himself to breathe. Because her lips were too warm, and her skin too soft, and everything about her too damn consuming.

Every day for two years, he’d thought about this moment. Dreamed about it. Craved it.

She reached up and cupped his cheek, and that one touch lit a fire inside him.

He lifted her and turned, setting her on the counter and stepping between her thighs. His hands slipped beneath her shirt to touch a waist that was as soft as he remembered.

She gasped, and the second her lips parted, he slipped inside her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers.

God, she tasted good. He’d almost forgotten her sweetness. A combination of berries and candy. A flavor that called to him. A taste that was so infinitely Callie.

He touched his chest to hers, pushing her thighs farther apart. He nipped her bottom lip, wanting to take her whimper that cut through the air and store it deep inside him so he never forgot.

But then, he’d never forgotten anything about this woman. Not the angelic sounds she made. Not her sweet scent or taste or the way her skin was soft like silk. She was a part of him. And right now, kissing her, he was whole again for the first time in ages.

He shifted his mouth from hers, trailing it down her neck while his hand slipped over her ribs. He was about to close that last bit of distance and cup her breast when she tensed, then grabbed his wrist.

“Lock…we can’t. I…I can’t.”

He hung his head, the pain so real and visceral that for a moment, he couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

“I’m not giving up on us, Callie,” he whispered.

Finally, he gained the strength to look up. Her lips were red and her eyes conflicted.

Good. There was a part of her that was fighting for him. A part of her that wanted him back. He couldn’t just see it in her eyes. He’d felt it in her kiss.

He gripped her hips and helped her off the counter but didn’t step back right away. “You and me…we’re not over. We will never be over.”

Her eyes widened.

Leaning forward, he gently kissed her temple. It took all of his strength to drop his hands and turn away. His steps were heavy as he made his way toward the front door, her soft footsteps trailing behind him. He’d just wrapped his fingers around the doorknob and was about to tug it open when something on the hall table caught his attention. His eyes narrowed.

The note.

Whenever I see your hair, I just want to touch it. I bet it’s soft like silk.

But it wasn’t just the handwritten words that caught his attention, it was the envelope beneath it. An envelope addressed to her house in the same handwriting.

Callie tried to snatch it away from him, and he let her. What was the point in keeping it? He’d already read the damn thing. “He sent it to your home address?”

Her mouth opened and closed. “Lock—”

“Tell me I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing. Tell me he doesn’t know where you live.”

She blew out a long breath. “Yes, he sent it to my home address. I opened it just before I called you.”

Fuck . “You’re reporting this to Eastern now .” He pulled out his phone, only for her to grab his wrist. “Don’t argue with me on this, Callie. This is your safety we’re talking about.”

“I know. I’m going to contact him, but I can do it myself. I don’t need you looking after me.”

“You clearly do.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Shit, he was going about this the wrong way.

He took a breath, trying to dampen the flame of fury in his gut. “We may not be dating, but we can at least be friends.” The word tasted bitter in his mouth, but friends was better than nothing. “And friends help each other.”

“We can’t be friends.”

“We can. We can see each other in the street without running. We can talk. And we can help keep the other safe. Let me call my brother so he can investigate this.”

When she remained silent, he stepped closer, cupping her cheek once again. There was less hesitation this time. And for the second time that day, she didn’t push him away.

Progress.

“Please,” he whispered. “I need you safe.”

When the anger slipped from her face and her features softened, he knew he had this one.

“Okay.”

The air rushed from his chest. Thank God.

He lifted his phone and called Eastern, who answered on the first ring.

“Lock.”

“Callie received another note.”

She frowned. She didn’t know he’d already told Eastern, but surely she’d expected it.

“She’s ready to let you help.”