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“God, I want to taste you,” he growls, anger lacing his words. His hand grips my chin, and he stares at me. “I won’t, but when I do, I will savour you for as long as the night lasts. Get some rest.” He stands fluidly, and I watch him with my mouth parted. What in the holy hotness just happened? “Goodnight, Zara.”
“Goodnight, Callan.”
He winks silently, wishing me sweet dreams. I have the strangest notion to tell him I’m flying out of the country in two weeks, but I don't. I wish I were going tomorrow. I need a few days to really come to terms with whatever this thing is with Callan. I try not to dwell on the fact that Mr Dark and Deadly ran me a bath hours earlier and escorted me home and put me to bed. I certainly don’t want to focus on how human it made him seem. I need to keep my wits about me. I have to. Men like Callan attack at the most unlikely moments. At least a few days away out of London will give me a moment to breathe. I need to clear my headspace. I'm craving it. I can't wait to be on the other side of the world, alone, and to relax once I've finished my shoot. I’m wishing the weeks away just to give myself time to think.
As expected, Oscar calls me early, and I’m cruising through London until I’m parking outside a block of flats. I send him a quick text to let him know I’m out the front and five minutes later he emerges looking less put together than me and thoroughly ruffled. I suppress my smile and unlock the door for him to get in.
“Morning, there is a jacket in the back for you and some different shoes. We’re going shopping,” I tell him.
Oscar’s head hits the seat rest with a loud thud.
“Z, I am hanging. I need food before I even think about entering any stores,” he whines, rubbing his forehead. “God, I feel rough.” He looks peaky as hell. More fool him, I think, giving him a raised brow. I have no sympathy.
“I knew you were going to say that, so I made you a hot sarnie and in the glove compartment are some painkillers.” I reach behind his seat and hand him some water and his sandwich.
“And the award for the most amazing friend goes to Zara Reid.” He takes a hearty bite and groans. “Wow,” he says with a mouth full, his eyes rolling all over the place. “I could do with a shower.” He grimaces.
“What’s wrong with hers?” I nod towards the flats as I pull into the road and flick the radio on. He’s done it before—why not today?
“Her name is Chloe. I think I might actually see her again,” he comments, side-eyeing me.
“What, really? Oscar, that’s great.” I grin. This is such good news. He never sticks it out with a woman—it’s always one-night-stand after another. It can’t be good for him.
“Yeah, we really hit it off, and the sex was pretty damn good too.” He chuckles, sinking his teeth into bread and sighing heartedly.
He looks a right state, hair messed, clothes shrivelled and smelling less than clean. I wrinkle my nose playfully, and he makes a middle finger around his sandwich.
“I’m so happy for you. If you really want a shower, we can swing by yours first?” He shakes his head and shrugs. He probably doesn’t want to deal with his mother whilst he is in such a fragile state.
“So what are we shopping for?” he asks after he has swallowed his food.
“I need makeup, as I’m almost out of all my favourites. I’ve been sent samples, but honestly, I don’t like them.”
“In all fairness, what you have works for you. Your skin looks flawless,” he comments around bites.
We hit the stores and spend most of the day looking at various cosmetic counters. I mill about, trying some new lipsticks, and I pick up a new highlighter. Once we have exhausted the makeupcounters, we move over to the perfume section.
“Fancy getting some dinner?” Oscar asks. Placing a few glass bottles back, he picks up an aftershave and gives himself a quick spray, sniffing with satisfaction.
I begin pulling aftershave after aftershave down and sniffing at them. I don’t want to admit why I’m doing it, and I’m grateful Oscar is too hungover to notice, but I really want to know what aftershave Callan wears. He always smells so good. I place lid after lid on each bottle,trying to find the right one. I almost give up when I see a green Armani bottle, and as soon as I press the lid to my nose, I’m assaulted with Callan. Eau de cedre. It’s a scent I have become secretly obsessed with. I have no reason to buy this, but I have every intention of doing so.
“Sure, let me just pay for these.”
The next week is a rush of shoots, castings, and gigs, all due to Miranda’s organising, and I’m waiting on Georgie to send me the final draft video before we can release my perfume to retail. I’m not sure why I care so much because this life is a farce, but this is the first thing I have created myself, and I really want it to be perfect. I’m staring at my necklace in the mirror, my fingers twisting it around and around, and for a moment, I’m not Zara. I’m a twelve-year-old girl, innocent, naïve, and foolishly trusting. When my eyes open, tears threaten to fall. I won’t let them. I never do. How can I cry over a life that I never truly knew or understood?
I have the strongest urge to create my own jewellery. It’s the one thing, the only thing other than my own flesh and blood, that connects me to my true self. To him. I stare at my eyes. This necklace and my eyes are all I have of him. I want to make that count. Maybe I can make personal pieces that mean something to others like this necklace does for me? I’d trade it in a heartbeat to have my father back, but I know that will never be possible, and this is the next best thing. Before I can even allow my mind to run with it, I stop. I need to see my perfume through to the end, and once I have that in the bag, I will look into jewellery.
Chapter Nine
Pushing away from my dressing table, I tighten the tie on my wrap dress and slip my slippers on before heading downstairs. Some odd underlying sense that has recently developed due to a certain, big, imposing man being around ripples over me. He is here. My eyes dart quickly into the living room as I pass, but it’s empty. He certainly wasn’t upstairs. I move further into the house. Callan is sitting at the breakfast bar, and for the first time, I show no shock, nor do I pay him much mind. I eye him half-heartedly before grabbing a bowl and some ingredients to make myself some breakfast. For someone who confessed my house was far too Hollywood for his tastes, he sure as hell likes it here. I move about, adding things to a pan and chopping fruit to top my porridge with. I silently work, aware that I’m being watched—assessed.
“Not going to offer me any?” Callan’s deep drawl breaks the silence. I restrain a smile as I put everything together and smack it down in front of Callan. The bowl cracks loudly against the marble worktop, and my aggressive attitude seems to amuse him somewhat. Those lush lips twist, his dark eyes sparkle, and it infuriates me to no end.
“Here you go, dear.” Sarcasm rolls around my tongue and slips out in the most satisfying way when his eyes widen at my endearment.
He is green around the gills.
“Less of that.” He adjusts his collar, and I almost laugh,knowing I’ve made him uncomfortable. Inside, I’m celebrating. “What is this you’re eating?” he asks quickly. The spoon drops in the bowl with a plop, and he looks disgusted by the contents. Picky sod.
