Chapter Eighteen

Madison

“W hoa,” I said, throwing up both hands at him as we stood in the common area, separated by the coffee table and nothing more. “Let’s just back it up there, all right?”

Callum’s blue-green eyes flickered. “Back it up?”

“Yes, back it way up there. You need to get your facts right,” I said, putting both hands on my hips as I stared him down, not letting those eyes distract me. Instead, I stared right at his mouth as the stubble-covered skin around it drew down from a smile into a tight line.

“My facts …” he echoed.

“Yes. I don’t want you going around spreading false rumors about me, Cal.”

My use of his nickname spurred further confusion, tightening the tanned skin at the corners of his eyes and producing a pair of vertical wrinkles between his brow as he tried to figure out what I was getting at.

“I’m not spreading any false rumors,” he stated emphatically.

“Sure you are. You just did a moment ago.”

“I—what?”

“You said I was kissing guy s ,” I said, stressing the plural. “I will have you know that it is not true. Not only that, I didn’t kiss you.”

He scoffed, his long sandy brown hair bouncing with the movement before settling on either side of his face, a handful of unruly hairs stuck to his stubble. “You did, too.”

“No, I didn’t,” I countered, licking dry lips to keep them wet. “You kissed me. It’s very different.”

Callum laughed. “Oh, no, you don’t. You one hundred percent kissed me.”

“Your memory must not be as good as you think it is because I distinctly remember crouching down on the roof when, out of nowhere, for no good reason, you just leaned in and kissed me. Your lips to mine, bam. That, in my world, is called a kiss.”

It had been a good kiss, too. Callum knew how to steal it from a woman. He’d come in quickly, striking without warning, but after that, there was nothing but gentle confidence. A man who knew he was taking it yet didn’t have to keep pouring it on. Instead, he let the kiss do the talking for him.

Subconsciously, my hand came up toward my mouth, but I caught myself before my fingers touched my lips to find the echoes of his mouth there.

“You didn’t pull away,” Callum pointed out with that same quiet confidence, brushing aside my objections. “And then you kissed me back.”

“You had a hand on my head,” I countered.

“Only as backup. You never tried to pull away.”

“It was instinct,” I said. “That’s all. I reacted, nothing more.”

“You could’ve reacted by pulling away. Pushing me. Hitting me even. I was ready for that.”

“Why even kiss me then?” I exclaimed, shaking my head.

“I needed you to be quiet.” He grinned. “It worked, and you didn’t do anything to stop it. I think you liked it. Maybe even wanted it.”

“How can you want something that you had never considered?”

Now, I was lying, making things up. Kissing Callum had entered my mind more than once. It was a temptation, nothing more, one I’d never allowed to grace the light of day outside the very back of my mind. But how could I not think of it? The way things sparked every time we made contact, even accidentally, was a constant distraction. Then there were his unfair good looks, with those intoxicating eyes I could stare into for ages, or his buff figure with those broad shoulders and giant, powerful arms, biceps stretching any shirt he wore to its limits.

The combination was like a drug. Kidnapping aside, Laura’s argument about fate aside, everything aside, the man was a walking sex advertisement, and he was turning it on me , whether he meant to or not. There was no avoiding it.

Even now, a gentle tingle from between my legs teased what could be if I would only let it.

“Oh, we both know you had considered it,” Callum murmured. “And in the end, like it or not, you didn’t hate it.”

At some point, he’d come a little closer, moving around the coffee table. Now, there was no physical barrier between us. Alarm bells were going off in my head, signaling this was no accident, that he was doing it purposefully.

“Did you?” he said, prying with gentle words, forcing me to answer instead of ignore.

He was in charge now, at some point having assumed command of the conversation and turning it against me.

Damn him. Though he’s not wrong.

“You’re an okay kisser,” I said, looking away, crossing my arms, trying to radiate all the signs to say “stay away,” even as my heart pounded loudly enough I was sure he could hear it.

I was nervous. My hands were clammy. My breathing shortened. My nerves were on fire, noticing every shift of my clothing as I adjusted my weight, trying to disperse the tingly energy building within.

“Just okay?” he teased.

Looking up—when had he gotten so close?!—I struggled to find an answer that would do what I knew I should: End the conversation. But I didn’t want to be a bitch. There was no need for that. Not now.

Not when I could just smell the hint of fresh campfire that tickled my nose as he came near. It was pheromones, I knew, and because I knew, I should be able to say no.

But I couldn’t. I was losing the battle, slowly being overpowered by his presence.

“I … I guess you’re good.”

Oh, god, I was stammering. Losing control of my voice. He was going to do it again, wasn’t he? He was going to kiss me.

Unbidden, my tongue came out, flicking over my lips. Preparing them to be kissed again.

He was right. I did want it.

I wanted him.

Somehow, a dam had ruptured between us, and close behind it was the flood. A surge of desire that would wash over us and sweep us away.

If we let it.

Which begged the final question, the one I could see being asked in his eyes, the one he would wait for a sign to know the answer to.

Was I going to stay and soak in it with him? Or turn and run for the hills?

A terrible, terrible pulsing between my legs was gathering steam, urging me to stay put, to ride the wave and see what it was like. To give in and just let whatever was brewing between us have its way.

I swayed, unsure I could resist it. My shirt scratched against my skin, and I nearly gasped at how sensitive it felt. My brain had cranked all my senses to their highest level. One touch of his, one drag of his fingers across my skin, and I would be trapped, a fly before his web.

It was the time to leave. To make my stand.

“You sound unsure,” Cal rumbled as he pushed into my personal bubble, though he still didn’t touch me, unwilling to startle the gazelle before he leaped. “Perhaps you need to try it again to be more certain.”

“Per—perhaps,” I said, forced to clear my throat to get the single word out.

There it was. The permission.

The hunter’s eyes flared wide, and he went in for the kill.

I, as the helpless gazelle, stayed still. Losing my chance to flee.

Cal leaned down to kiss me at last.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

I cried out in shock at the sudden violent noise at the door, snatched from the heat of the moment in an instant.

Callum snarled, moving like a blur, inserting himself between me and the unexpected noise, radiating frustration.

“ Open the door right now!” an unfamiliar voice shouted.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Callum groaned as he went to get it.

Realizing we weren’t threatened, I stood up and feverishly plucked at my clothing and hair, trying to pull myself together.

That had been close. Too close.