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“One pull and you’d be down here with me, kitten. One time. Just once.”
Holy shit.
Callen’s grip on me tightens. “It would be so easy to give in.”
Ummm . . . what?
This time when I kick him, it’s hard.
“Oww.” He wraps a hand around my ankle, and a shiver runs up my spine. “Kitten has claws. That wasn’t very nice, Caitie.”
“Jesus Christ, Callen.” I pull my leg away from him and yank my hand free. “Get up, and I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”
In a move that shouldn’t be sexy but really... really is, Callen stands and somehow picks me up with him, then leans me against the wall. My breath catches in my throat as he strokes a hand over my hair. “That’s an urban legend.”
“What?” I ask, completely confused. What the hell is happening right now?
Callen drops my feet to the floor, then wobbles a little, and I grab the front of his shirt to steady him. “Coffee doesn’t sober up a drunk. It just gives you a wide-awake drunk.”
“I don’t think that’s what urban legend means, Sinclair.” That sloppy grin from moments ago turns wicked, and I can’t stop my body from taking notice. And based on the way Callen is looking at me, my reaction isn’t lost on him. “What’s going on, Callen? This isn’t like you.”
His smile vanishes, and he takes a step back out of reach, then turns away from me and walks away.
What the actual hell?
“Callen,” I call out and follow him down the hall and into his room, like one of the dogs. “What are you doing?”
He strips out of his shirt and tosses it on the bed. “I’m taking a shower. Wanna join me?”
I mean... the logical answer is yes. Butyesisn’t an option. Not now.
What did he say this morning about taking advantage?
Concern creeps it’s way in... I’ve watched this man for years, and this isn’t like him.
“You gonna stand there gawking, kitten? Or are you gonna join me?”
He shoves his shorts down his legs, thankfully leaving his boxers on. But oh my, I now know why every woman in a fifty-mile radius wants to fuck Callen Sinclair. And his tight black boxers do very little to hide the very big reason. His shorts get tangled around his ankles, and I see it all happening in slow-motion before either of us hits the bed.
Callen stumbles, trying to step out of his shorts, and I reach for him, trying to steady him again. But this time, instead of staying put on his feet, he tumbles backward onto his bed, taking me with him, and I land with anoomphon his chest. And instead of either of us moving, we both lie frozen in place, holding our breath.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Caitlin,” he whispers as his fingers play with the long strands of my hair hitting his face, and I could cry. I’ve spent so many years wanting to hear those words from this man. But not like this. Not after last night and this morning.
Is this because of that?
Did I do this?
Without giving myself time to overthink it, I push up out of his arms. “All right, Romeo. No shower for you. I think it’s bedtime.”
I pull his shorts off his ankles, yank his comforter down, and move his legs under it. But it’s like trying to move dead weight. “Help me here, Sinclair.”
Callen blinks, and his eyes clear. “Stay with me, Cait.”
“What? You can’t be serious.” My heart cracks, and I want to scream.
Where has this Callen been for years, and why the hell does it only come out when one of us is drunk?
“It’s been a shit day.” He swallows, and his green eyes plead. “I don’t want to be alone.”
