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I didn't get to think about it too long. Callan rolled over and propped his head on his hand, watching me with a smile on his sexy full lips. "Come back to bed, April," he suggested.
His bare chest, messy dark hair, and next-day stubble were enough to send me leaping back beneath the covers. And the low morning growl in his voice had me already tingling in anticipation of his touch.
The morning slipped away on breathy moans and warm hands, low chuckles and kisses that made my soul ache at how perfect they were.
Just before noon, Callan pulled his trousers back on as I packed a little bag. There was no point in wasting the time we had left being apart. I’d stay at his house for the last few days I had left in town.
As we rode out toward the big plantation house, thick white snowflakes began to drift down around us.
"God, could anything be more perfect?" Callan asked. He flashed me a smile that sent my heart soaring again.
"I don't think so," I said, finally letting myself believe in this. In us.
We spent the day lazily in front of the fire, with hot chocolate and books and movies, tucked together on the couch. As evening fell, Callan stretched and put down his kindle. "Is my house tomorrow?"
I shook my head. "You're last. I have the Wentworth cottage tomorrow. Shouldn't take long. It's tiny."
Callan nodded. "So Tuesday, then. And I should just make myself scarce?"
"You can be here if you want, to help kind of direct the guys around. But it's not like I don't know the house at this point."
Callan grinned at that.
"If you want to stay in the shadows or go see the girls, that'd be okay, too."
He nodded. "You know I'd much rather stay out of the spotlight."
I did know that.
"And they're not going to mention whose house it is, right?"
"Your cover is safe," I promised him. "They're interested in the house, not in you."
"Thanks a lot," Callan said, pretending to be offended.
"I'm pretty interested in you," I said. "If it's any consolation."
"It is, actually," he told me, sliding closer on the couch.
My phone chimed then, and I held up a finger to Callan, asking him to pause for just a moment. But when I checked the screen, it was a text from my uncle. Shit! I’d been supposed to call him and had forgotten. "I'll just be a second," I told Callan, standing up and taking her phone to the parlor to talk while staring up at the magnificent tree.
"Hey Uncle Rob," I said when he answered her call. "Sorry I didn't call before. Got busy."
"No worries, April. You're doing a great job out there, so just keep it up."
"I'll try," I said, glowing a bit with the praise.
"So listen," he went on. "We've been talking a bit back here about a way to really make this last house a home run."
"Um. Okay." A chill went through me for no reason I could identify.
"It's the soccer star's place, right? Whitewood, from the Sharks?"
"Right," I said slowly, my stomach souring.
"Well, let's get that guy on camera then. I want him giving the tour. I've got a new contract coming from the lawyer tomorrow for him to sign."
"I don't think he'll go for that," I said, trying to sound businesslike. "He's very private and it took a lot to get him to even agree to let the cameras in."
