Page 92 of Scotch on the Rocks

“Because I’m already there, Juniper. I’m sorry if that freaks you out, but,hell– one word from you and I’ll announce it with a bell on the high street like the fucking town crier.”

“A bell?” Smiling into his T-shirt, I snuggled in a little bit more.

“Yes, a bell,” he snarled, the un-Callum-like sound reverberating in his chest as he released me only long enough to turn off the lamp. “Now go to sleep before my self-control completely shreds to pieces.”

“Yes, sir.” He slapped my arse, so I pinched his nipple, making him grunt. “Callum?”

“Aye?” His hand rubbed up and down my back.

“I like you.” I held my breath while his body pulled taut then softened beneath mine.

“I like you too, sweetheart.”

27

Callum

“It’s me!” I called. Kicking off my boots in Juniper’s hallway. I lined them neatly beside her heeled ones, as I had every day for the past two weeks since our date at the fairy pools – since we decided to take things slow – and followed the scent of burned toast until I found her in the kitchen. Her fringe fell into her eyes as she scowled at a sizzling saucepan. Condiments and open jars lined every inch of the countertop. “Everything okay?”

She looked fucking pretty today, a tight T-shirt tucked into jeans that made her legs look a mile long. Gold clips held back the top half of her hair. “I’m cooking for you.” Sauce spat and smoked. “Shit.” She whirled, flipping down the heat. Her nose wrinkled. “Attempting to, anyway – this is a bloody mess.”

If I’d thought it impossible to be any more addicted to Juniper Ross, I was wrong. After holding her in my arms almost every night for two weeks, I’d become utterly obsessed.

Consumed.

She was officially, unofficially, mine. Not that I’d ever say those words aloud to Juniper. I could wait for her to come to that conclusion all by herself. She would …eventually, and I’d be right there to comfort her then remind her how incredible we were together. Because we were fuckingincredibletogether. Cloistered away in her cottage, a perfect little bubble that threatened to burst every day we kept this from Alistair.

A weird taste filled my mouth every time I considered it.

It wasn’t guilt, the flavour was far too sweet for that. It was more like … unease.

Jealousy.

Every time he asked about her or his name appeared on her phone, it grew.

Juniper and Alistair’s history dictated he deserved to hear it from me, but Juniper held every scrap of my loyalty. Until she gave me the green light, my lips were sealed. When Alistair learned the truth, I’d take the full brunt of his anger and then happily remind him he didn’t get to have it both ways. He couldn’t break things off only to have a say who she moved on with.

Until then I’d continue to be selfish with her, seizing any scrap of time she offered.

True to my word, we’d kept things purely PG. Making out on her sofa like teenagers with Meg Ryan’s full filmography playing in the background. There was that one time I made her come on my thigh. It had been glorious and purely accidental. Juniper had been just as stunned as me as she screamed out her release. Turned on to the point of no return, I’d swiftly excused myself to stroke one out in her bathroom, surrounded by bottles of perfume and body lotion that smelled just like her.

Well aware of my crisis, Juniper had hovered outsidethe door, teasingly offering encouragement. Barely uttering the words, “Want me to choke on it, big boy?” before I exploded with a hoarse cry.

Quickly setting myself to rights, I’d wrenched open the door to find her biting her lip, a playful gleam in her eyes. “Never call mebig boyagain,” I’d growled, carrying her back to the sofa, past the tempting bed only feet away.

When things got hot between us, I didn’t stray from that sofa. If I got her beneath me on a bed, I’d be fucking done for.

Curling an arm around her waist, I glanced over her shoulder at the brown mushy concoction and asked hesitantly, “What is it?”

The spoon clattered as she threw it down. “It was supposed to be falafel.”

“It looks more like haggis.” I teased. Her scowl deepened and I eased the pan from her grip, gave it a stir before adding a little more oil. “Why the sudden urge to cook?” She’d eat cereal for every meal if she could get away with it.

“Because you’ve cooked for me every night this week.”

I set the pot back on the burner, lowering the heat. “Because I like cooking for you.”

Her hands flew to her hips. “Maybe I was enjoying cooking for you.”

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