Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Yesterday was a red day,” he surmises.
I give him a small nod.
“I’m a fan of red.”
My cheeks blaze hotter. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
We’re still staring at each other when Jax saunters back into the room.
“Your sister is having a crisis,” Jax complains, oblivious to the fact I’m sprawled out on his employee’s bed like it’s mine. “I have to get to the station.”
“Good luck,” Atlas says with a chuckle.
“Come on, Callan. Let’s go. I’ll run you back home on my way.”
Atlas shakes his head. “I got it. You go ahead. I have a couple of other things he can help me with. I’ll make sure he gets home.”
Oh my God.
Jax, the trusting bastard he is, shoots Atlas a grateful smile. “I owe you one.”
I think Atlas is going to call in that favor the second Jax walks out that door.
I’m in deep shit with this guy.
And my dumb ass smiles like an idiot.
Atlas
Most men have a strong sense of morals. Values. An understanding of what’s right and what’s wrong. I suppose I know the difference. Only thing is, I don’t care.
Like Callan.
There’re a million reasons why I should leave the kid alone. Damaged. Young. My boss’s soon-to-be brother-in-law.
It just makes the craving that much harder to ignore.
As soon as Jax leaves, silence creeps in like a foreboding fog. In all his bright, sunshiny yellow, Callan is a beacon of light, urging me to him. He crosses his arms over his ridiculous Miley Cyrus shirt and shifts from one leg to the other in the middle of my living room. I like seeing him here. Unsure but curious.
“You need more stuff,” Callan says, his gaze drifting over the empty space. “I know a guy.”
I quirk a brow. “What kind of stuff?”
“A chaise lounge right there in front of that window. Preferably something simple so that it doesn’t distract from the view. Jarrett has a velvety antique piece in his shop. I’d bet he’d part with it pretty easily. Like I say, I know a guy.”
“What color?”
“Gray.”
I skim my eyes over his yellow shirt down to his immaculate Docs. “I like gray.”
“Of course, you could give it a splash of color with a throw or a pillow.”
“Yellow?”
His cheeks turn pink. “Maybe.”
“That all?”
He shakes his head, his shoulders relaxing, as he walks over to an empty wall. “A bookcase right here. You do read, don’t you?”
I fight the urge to smack his sexy ass in his tight jeans. “Only when necessary.”
His half-smile is brighter than anything he’s wearing. He waves a slender hand at the floor. “A rug. Not just any old rug. One with character. Addison Granger has some pretty ones that could go with the décor.”
“You’re good at this,” I muse. “You going into interior design?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
His noncommittal answer bothers me. Callan Kincaid is an alien to me. Something unlike anything I’ve ever seen or encountered. Unusual and unique and unbelievably lovely. His lips are nothing but two pillowy taunts for my dick.
“This is the first time I’ve ever planted roots,” I admit. “The first time I’ve ever bought furniture and decorations with the intent on making it mine.”
“How come?” He turns to face me, his brows knitted together.
“Moved around a lot for the military. Just wasn’t necessary.”
“Why, of all the places in the world, would you choose to settle here?”
The disgust lacing his words has me craving to pull him to me so I can stroke my fingers down his spine, chasing away whatever bothers him. I’m not necessarily a cuddling type of guy, but something about Callan makes me want to.
“My sister’s here.”
That’s it. The only reason.
His eyes grow stormy. “I understand that.”
“Come here,” I rumble, my voice dipping to a dangerous octave.
He blinks hard several times before slowly approaching me. So slowly. That’s what little rabbits do when they approach a lion. I remain still until he’s close. Then, I grab Miley’s face and draw him to me. He widens his eyes, teasing lips parted in shock.
“Do you know what this is?”
This being us, us, us.
“Dangerous,” he whispers.
My grin is wolfish. “Inescapable.”
“Interesting word choice.”
“Do you feel trapped?”
“Should I?’
The feral quality of my smile grows more savage by the second. “You should.”
“I’d have expected you’d have stripped me by now. Fucked me against that window.” He points in the general direction of the window. “But you’re doing this.”
“What’s this?”
“Toying with your prey before you eat it.”
“Who says I want to eat it? Maybe I just want to taste it. Lick it and inhale it. Tease it. Maybe devouring it isn’t on the agenda.”
“What good is prey if it doesn’t get eaten? What a waste.”
I clutch his delicate chin, all sharp bones and smooth skin. “It’s not wasting it. It’s savoring it.”
“Oh.”
“Not many things in my life are good. But when I do manage to get my hands on something so…” I trail off, running my thumb across his lower lip. “I appreciate it.”