“I’m not so sure he loves me,” I murmur, remembering that morning that we made love. “And I also don’t know if we have anything in common.”
“You have one very big thing in common,” she says, nudging me with her elbow. “You’re crazy about each other. And if you doubt what he feels for you, well, you’re not nearly as smart as I thought you were.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“The walk. Listening to me.”
“Oh, dawlin’, it was my pleasure. I like you, Callie.”
We stand to walk back to the house, and come face to face with Declan, as he walks toward the fence bordering the cemetery.
“Well, seems you’re not done talking for today,” Mama says and pats my arm. She walks to Declan, kisses his cheek, and walks away, leaving us staring at each other, just like we did the other night.
Chapter Nineteen
~Callie~
He’s standing, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking back at me with those hazel eyes. But instead of impassive, they look… sad.
I cross my arms over my chest. I want to run right to him, wrap myself around him and hold on.
But I don’t. Maybe I inherited that damn pride gene too.
Thanks a lot, Dad.
Declan pulls his hands out of his pockets and flexes them in and out of fists at his sides, as if he’s itching to touch me, and after a long moment, he curses, and begins to pace in front of his dad’s grave.
“I fucked up,” he begins and pushes his hands through his hair, then stops and looks back at me.
“I’m listening,” I reply and cock a brow.
“Look, I’m not perfect.”
“I don’t want perfect,” I reply and drop my arms to my sides. “I want honest.”
“I’ve always been honest with you. The thing is, Callie, I don’t know how I fucked up. I don’t know what happened.” He looks truly haunted as he stares at me, unconsciously rubbing his fingers against his thumbs.
God, I want to feel those hands on me again.
He can’t read your mind, Callie.
“Okay.” I nod and lick my lips, gathering my thoughts.
“God, you look so fucking good,” he growls. His eyes have darkened and they’re pinned on my mouth. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in months.”
“You saw me the other night.”
“What, exactly, happened the other night?” he asks.
“That’s my question,” I reply, already getting frustrated. “Wait. It started before that.”
He rubs his hand over his mouth and waits for me to keep talking.
“You pulled away from me,” I say, my voice suddenly quiet. “You blew me off several times last week, and that’s not like you. At all.”
“I didn’t mean for it to feel like I was blowing you off,” he says, his voice also calmer, and he’s starting to look like my Declan again, which gives me the strength to keep talking.
“It did. And I realize now that I should have just spoken up, but it threw me. And then on Wednesday, you did it again, and when I went to dinner with Kate—” I have to pause and shake my head, the horror of it making me sick all over again.
“Keep going,” he says and takes another step toward me.
“I saw you with another woman,” I say and bite my lip so I don’t cry. “It just… it killed me, Declan. I assumed you were done with me, and had already moved on.”
“No.”
“And then later, back at the bar, after Keith apologized to me and left, you were there, and for a moment I thought, Oh good. He’s here to explain things. But you didn’t. You left.” I shake my head and pace away.
“Don’t walk away,” he says, his voice firm. “Look at me, Callie.”
“You walked away,” I reply and turn back to him, my anger back in place. “You didn’t fight. I needed to believe that you want this as much as I do. I needed you to fight for me, and you didn’t. You left.”
“Callie, you were upset, and I didn’t know what in the hell was going on. I thought you needed time to calm down. I went looking for you the next morning to figure it out.”
“I didn’t want to figure it out the next morning.”
“Maybe I needed a little space too,” he replies softly.
“Why did you need space?” I ask, but he just shakes his head and shrugs, as if he can’t figure it out himself. “Do I look like an idiot to you, Declan?”
“No, you look like the rest of my life.”
I stop and simply stare at him, all of the mad leaving my body. It’s replaced with nothing but hope and so much love for this infuriating, frustrating man.
“I needed to hear that,” I whisper, my eyes glued to his gorgeous face.
“What else do you need?” he asks. I frown, not understanding where he’s going with this. “What do you need from me? What do you need in life?”
“I need you to talk to me,” I reply without even thinking. “I need affection, and I need you to support me when I’ve had a bad night at work.”
“That’s a good start,” he says, his voice tender. “Go on.”
I begin to pace as I think about the question. “I need my business to be a success, and I need to renovate houses because it makes me happy.”
“And you’re fucking good at it,” he adds, but I’m on a roll.
“I need you to communicate with me. If you’re having a bad day, or if you’re just busy, or whatever’s happening, just let me know so I don’t do the girl thing and over-think it, making it into more than it is.”
“I’ve learned that lesson, sugar,” he says with a smile. “What else?”
“I need to feel like I belong somewhere,” I say quietly. “I don’t think I ever have before you. I feel like I belong with you.”
“Because you do,” he murmurs.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“It doesn’t matter; you’re the one who matters,” he replies.
“Fuck that,” I bark, suddenly frustrated. “I’m not the only one in this relationship, Declan. Don’t throw that macho bullshit at me. What do you need?”
He sighs and rubs his fingers over his mouth.
“I need you to talk to me too,” he replies softly. “I need your brutal honesty, always. I need your body against me every day, and I need to be inside you more than I need my next breath.”
“That sounds good to me,” I whisper.
“I need music, Callie. It’s my soul. It’s been my only constant, until you.”
“You’re damn good at it,” I reply, echoing his words. “What else?”
“I need your friendship. Your patience. I need my family, even if they are a pain in my ass most of the time.” He smiles. “I need to protect you, keep you safe. And I know this is going to piss you off a little, but I need to take care of you.”
“I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I mean, I like taking care of myself because that’s all I’ve ever known, but I’m adjusting my sails, and getting used to you taking care of me.”
“Good.” He sighs, the tension finally leaving his tall, lean body. “I just need you, baby.”
“Who was she?” I ask. I need to know before I run into his arms and never let go.
“My agent. Beth. She asked for a dinner meeting.” He’s looking me right in the eyes, unwavering. “I’ll never lie to you, Callie.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me that, when you cancelled? If you’d said something, I wouldn’t have jumped to horrible conclusions!”
“Because when I’m stressed out, I pull in, I shut down, and Beth stresses me the fuck out.”
“And she’s why you had a shitty week.”
He nods.
“Okay, I need you to not shut me out, Declan. Even when you’re stressed out, just tell me so I know what’s going on.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m learning here. Can you forgive me?”
I nod, swallowing against the tears that want to flood my eyes. I’m relieved a
nd happy, and I feel so stupid for jumping to conclusions when I know in my heart that he would never lie to me.
Declan isn’t a liar.
Finally, he steps to me, so close that I can feel the heat from his body, but he doesn’t touch me. Not yet, and it’s killing me.
“I need you to understand that I will never knowingly disrespect you, Callie. Lying to you, betraying you, is disrespectful, and that’s not the kind of man that I am.”
“I know,” I reply with a whisper. “I know that.”
“You know me. You know me in ways that no one else ever has, or will, and the last few days have been an utter hell.”
“I’m sorry.”
He drags his knuckles down my cheek, and for the first time in a week, I take in a long, deep breath and close my eyes, reveling in his touch.
“Let me start over with you,” he says.
“I don’t want to start over,” I reply. “Everything we’ve had has been so great. We had a bad week, and a communication breakdown, but I don’t want to start it all over again.” I take his hand in mine and kiss it. “I just want you.”
“You have me.”
He wraps his arms around me and holds on tight, hugging me so close, I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. I love being tangled up in him. I’m not ready for him to let go when he kisses my forehead and pulls back, just a few inches, so he can look down into my eyes.
“Come home with me. Lie down with me. I want to talk about nothing with someone who means something.”
I smile and nod. He takes my hand, squeezing three times, and leads me toward the inn.
I’ll ask him what it means later.
***
I’ve learned in the past two days that makeup sex is all it’s cracked up to be. I’m pretty sure he’s fucked me against every wall, on every surface in his house, more than once.
I have muscles screaming in places that I didn’t know I had muscles.
But today, we’ve taken a break from the crazy sex, and actually put real clothes on to paint the sunroom downstairs.
The new windows are in, and I’m in love with them. They’re floor-to-ceiling, and each is split into nine panes, giving the house the original charm it would have been built with almost two hundred years ago. The hardwoods will go in after we paint, which is good because Declan is a messy painter.
“You’ve dropped more on the floor than you’ve managed to roll on the wall,” I comment lazily and continue to paint the trim around the window, my back to him.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” he says, just as lazily.
“You heard me.”
“You want to criticize my painting?” he asks. He’s closer to me now, but I resist the urge to look over my shoulder to see what he’s doing.
Bad move.
I suddenly feel two drops hit my head and I whirl around, my brush out, and paint a perfect stripe over the middle of his chest, also getting one arm marked as well.
He looks down, then up at me and cocks a brow.
I’m in trouble. Think fast.
“You dropped paint on my head.”
“You painted my chest.”
“And your arm,” I add, then bite my lip so I don’t laugh.
“This was my favorite T-shirt,” he says, stalking after me as I back away from him.
“You have a hundred black T-shirts,” I point out reasonably, but his eyes narrow, and I know that unless I think fast, I’m going to end up with paint rolled down the front of me.
So I stop backing away and stand my ground. I drop the brush on the floor and hold my hands up. “I’m not armed.”
“Have you ever looked at someone and thought, I just want to treat her like no one else ever has?” he says softly, completely throwing me for a loop.
He lowers the roller to his side, but continues to stare at me, as if he’s trying to decide what to do with me, but he doesn’t have a chance to follow through because I pull myself together and step forward, press my breasts to his chest and slide my hand under the waistband of his jeans, grinning when I cup his cock and find him already hard.
“Me painting you turns you on?” I whisper against his lips.
“You just breathing turns me on,” he replies softly, then closes his eyes as I pump him twice before unfastening his jeans and letting them drop to his ankles.
“How convenient,” I say as I squat and lick him from root to tip. “No underwear.”
“I do what I can,” he replies and drops the roller. Paint spatters on my pants and arm, but I don’t care. “I had you an hour ago, and I want you all over again.” His voice is hard. I glance up as he buries his hand in my hair and tightens his fist, holding it firmly.
“I haven’t done this in at least a day,” I reply and take him deeply into my mouth, sinking down until the tip reaches the back of my throat, and I swallow, massaging him and making me growl in pleasure.
I grip the shaft with my lips and pull up, drag my teeth, barely touching him, over the head.
“Fuck.”
“I am,” I reply with a nod and make the motion again. I cup his balls in my other hand, massing all of him now, balls, shaft and head, and suddenly, he reaches down, pulls me to my feet and spins me around, pinning me against the wall.
His face is intense now, my playful man replaced by someone I’ve only recently found. He’s possessive. Intense.
And makes me instantly wet.
In the blink of an eye, he has my jeans unfastened and peeled off my legs, and he’s pinned my hands above my head with one of his larger ones.
“I never stop wanting you,” he says, his lips grazing over my mouth. “I want you everywhere, in any way I can have you.”
“You can have me anytime you want,” I reply and take his lip in my teeth, tugging hard.
His free hand slides between my legs. “This is mine, Calliope.” His fingers push through my wet lips and into my pussy as his thumb presses on my clit. “Mine.”
“Yours.”
“No one has ever wanted anything more than I want you,” he says and drags his lips down my jawline to my neck. My back arches as he nibbles on my sweet spot. Jesus, the things this man can do with just his hands and lips should be illegal in Louisiana.
But thank the good Lord they’re not.
“I want you just as much,” I reply, panting now as he drives me mad with that magical hand. Before I know it, I’m shattering into a million pieces, and the only thing keeping me upright is his body and hand, playing puppet with my pussy.
“Incredible,” he murmurs, nibbling at my lips. “Now it’s time to stop being lazy and get back to work.”
“You’re not going to fuck me?” I ask, surprised.
He smiles widely. “Disappointed?”
“No,” I lie, but he catches my chin in his fingers and lifts my gaze to his.
“No lying. Ever.”
“Not disappointed,” I reply. “Surprised.”
“Trust me, I’m going to fuck you later.”
***
It’s almost closing time. Adam’s out overseeing the cleanup, giving the servers direction while I sit in the office, staring at my dad’s ledgers.
I found them in a drawer that I hadn’t bothered to open before. They go all the way back to when he and Mom bought the place until the week he died. Dad always was old fashioned, so having a computer to keep these records in wouldn’t have occurred to him.
Every inventory entry is here, in his precise handwriting. As the years passed, and his drinking got worse, the entries are a little wobblier. It all seems pretty standard, except the amount of Chivas Regal Scotch he had on order every month.
A bottle will last me a month here in the bar, given how rare and expensive it is. Dad was ordering a case every month.
A mother fucking case.
I always knew that that was his drink of choice, and that he could go through quite a bit of it. I hate the smell of it. I used to have to rinse out buckets when he would throw
up into them after drinking too much of the scotch.
I’ve never been a huge fan of math, but I go through and add up what he spent on it, from the time Mom died until the day he died, and feel more than a little sick to my stomach at the total.
My God, Dad.
Declan pokes his head around the doorjamb. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah.” I frown and close the ledger, then follow him out into the bar, where I look over the place, say goodnight to Adam, and lock up.
“Did you have a good night?” Declan asks and weaves his fingers with mine, keeping me close to his side.
“Mmm hmm,” I reply with a nod.
“What’s wrong?”
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” I say and sigh. I don’t know what to say.
“No,” he says, pulling me to a stop on the sidewalk. “We are not having a repeat of last week. You told me that you need me to support you when you’ve had a rough day, and that’s what I’m trying to give you, but I need you to talk to me, sweetheart.”
“Okay.” I sigh and nod. “You’re right, but I need a minute to gather my thoughts.”
“That’s perfectly fine.” He kisses my hand and is quiet as he leads me the few blocks to my car. I’m so fucked up in the head right now. I’m so disappointed in my dad.
And I guess that’s a good place to start.
I stop us when we reach my car and face Declan. “I found my dad’s old ledgers tonight,” I begin. “I found them in a drawer I’d never bothered to look in before. I’m not sure why.” I frown at that, but shrug it off.
“He didn’t keep records on a computer?” he asks.
“No, he had hand-written ones. His records are complete, showing exactly what he ordered and when, how much he made, how much he paid his employees, everything.”
“Okay.”
“And I found out exactly how much whiskey he was drinking.” I shake my head. “My dad died of acute ethanol toxicity.”
“He killed his liver,” Declan replies with a sigh.
“He destroyed his liver. Dec, he was drinking a case a month.” I shake my head again, still not believing what I saw. “And it wasn’t the cheap stuff. No, my dad loved the Chivas Regal.”
“Jesus, he was drinking a case a month?” Declan asks, as shocked as I was.