Page 53 of Promise Me This

Bad decision. Very, very bad decision.

“Don’t know,” he replies, his voice rough like he’s been gargling gravel. There’s an unmistakable ridge pressing into his dark chinos. I force my gaze upward, but I’m salivating. “Felt like something was missing.”

His gaze tracks my hand tucking my hair behind my ear, and then he reaches for me and my heartbeat stutters. I feel the warmth of his fingertips on the shell of my ear, where my cartilage piercing loops through. When we lock eyes, there are wildfires in that forest of green.

His words, and his obvious desire, fill me with a sense of bravery I don’t normally feel. I straighten my spine. I let him see me, without folding in on myself, and wear the depth of my longing for him on my sleeve. It’s the least I can do. The most honest I can be.

“Ask me how I slept.”

The man actually gulps, swaying away from the wall like I’ve knocked him unsteady. “How did you sleep?”

This bold version of me reaches for him, touches the scalding skin of his arm and travels upward, taking note of the way his breath hitches when I dig my nails into his shoulder and pull myself onto my tiptoes.

My lips find his ear, the way his did mine last night, and I decide it’s time to return the favor. To torture him the way he tortured me.

“Soundly,” I whisper, letting my breath drift down his neck. “I dreamed of you.”

Then I slip away and through the door, mostly because I’m truly a coward, but also because that responding flare of heat in his eyes makes me feel a little bit like prey.

And as the predator, he gives chase.

Just as I’ve let the door fall closed behind me and Padraig’s gaze has cut to me from across the room where he’s loading his plate, Callum clambers into the kitchen. I force myself not to look over my shoulder at him, but from the way Padraig and Siobhan’s eyes go wide, I know he must look absolutely feral.

There are two seats left at the table. I sit with my back to the door, and yet I could tell you every movement Callum makes to take his place opposite me; I’m that attuned to his body. I’m that on edge.

It’s my first time joining them for a Sunday dinner, what with the storm last week and my arrival canceling it the week before. The latter I was informed of later, by a very tipsy Padraig at Dermot’s pub.

“Quiet night at the inn?” Padraig asks, choking a bit on the forced pleasantry.

“Only a handful of guests, and most are out to dinner,” Siobhan replies, stabbing at a potato with her fork.

Callum hasn’t moved a muscle since he sat down. His plate is still empty, and his gaze tracks every move I make to fill mine. There’s a promise in his eyes. A promise that while he does intend to take things slow, as he said, when the time comes, he’ll be ready to devour me.

“Ahem,” Siobhan says, not clearing her throat so much as snapping the taut line anchoring Callum to me. “I already prepared the food. Any more steam between you two and it’ll be overcooked.”

Padraig bursts into laughter, and Niamh follows suit, not wanting to be left out even as she’s glancing around in confusion. A giggle bubbles up my throat next, and then it blooms into full-blown belly laughs. Siobhan snickers at her own joke, and dawn breaks over Callum’s face as a smile lights up his features.

Just like that, the trembling energy between us dissolves. Not gone but tucked away. For now.

We eat our dinner in between bouts of laughter, whether it’s a clever innuendo from Padraig or Siobhan or a hilarious joke from Niamh. When we finish, my belly and heart are equally full, and it’s a sensation so intensely lovely that it nearly brings me to tears. Padraig challenges Niamh to a round of checkers in front of the fireplace, which she accepts with a gleaming grin.

“Take it easy on him,” Callum cautions, smoothing a hand over her hair. Her braid has nearly come completely undone, so much so that I only know it was originally a braid because it’s her go-to style. She and Padraig race down the hall, and Siobhan encourages us to go be spectators while she cleans up the meal.

“You cooked; I can clean!” I argue, but she’s already shaking her head.

“You clean everything else in this house,” she says. “Let me do this. It does my heart good.”

I press my lips together, determined to disagree, but she makes a shooing motion at me. Callum grips my elbow and tugs me toward the door with a wink. “Come on; they need an audience.”

I let myself be dragged away, too distracted by the feeling of his firm hand to put up much of a fight.

I’m trying to remember how to have a normal conversation. How to do anything but drool over his strong, capable hands. Scrambling until we’re halfway down the hall, and I spew the first thing that comes to mind. “Why do you continue to braid Niamh’s hair if you’re so bad at it?”

Oh perfect, an insult. What’s wrong with me?

To his credit, Callum just laughs, taking it in stride. “I know they aren’t the prettiest plaits in the world, but they make her happy. Believe it or not, they used to be a lot worse. But she saw them on a lady in a store one day and couldn’t stop talking about them. I started watching video tutorials online to figure them out.”

I hum amusement, ducking under his arm as he holds the door open for me. I catch a whiff of his deodorant, and it feels oddly intimate, like I’ve caught him fresh out of a shower.

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