Page 41 of Callen's Captive
And now she was insulting him outright.
“If you’re not scared, then it must be your age. How old are you anyway, like ninety?”
“Thirty-one, wise-ass, and that last insult’s gonna cost you when I get up there.”
“You meanifyou get up here,” she said, barely containing her laughter.
“This backpack’s weighing me down. What do you have in it beside the laptop?”
“Two extra battery packs for my laptop, two chargers, a few tools, protein bars, tampons—”
“Forget I asked. Just get moving.” He grabbed hold of the planks and started climbing. “Or I’ll have to give you a boost from below, and you may not like where I put my hands.”
He had to laugh as she scurried up the rest of the way. A second later she leaned over the opening to the treehouse. “This place is huge up here. Bigger than my place.”
He’d seen the rat-infested, storage area type of places she called home. Anything was an upgrade in comparison.
“Bears belong in trees, not wolves,” he said as he reached the top of the ladder, that growl still present in his tone. His wolf thought being in a tree was undignified at best, but the truth was Callen was still upset about the motel incident, namely that he’d left her, trusted that she’d be fine, when he knew better than to trust humans with someone so precious as his Kate.
Hell.HisKate. She wasn’t his and likely never would be. She didn’t want him; she made that clear often enough. At first he thought it was because he was a shifter, but he was starting to think there was more to it. She treated him like everyone else, well, not everyone else, not the way she’d kissed him, twice now. He’d never really considered having a human as a mate, but he didn’t see her as human anymore. She was simply Kate.HisKate.
She was currently running her hands over the furnishings in the treehouse, her face bright and excited as if the space was a palace. A kids’ treehouse, for fuck’s sake. A rich kid, with top quality furnishings from the look of it, but still a treehouse, not a home. At least it wouldn’t have rats.
A full-sized bed fit snugly into the corner, a stash of dried snacks and drinks lay neatly stacked in their own cubbies in the mini kitchen, and there was an assortment of blankets and pillows in the dresser. Hell, it was a palace.
He eyed the string of LED lights adorning the walls. There was very little moonlight given the storm, and they couldn’t afford to turn the lights on, not that she was trying to. She’d already removed her wet t-shirt and jeans and hung them over the back of a chair to dry. She was wearing the green button-down shirt he’d stolen yesterday from a clothesline after killing the two snipers.
Seeing her prancing around in his shirt, the hem of which only hit her mid-thigh, stirred his blood. His jeans were past the point of being comfortable and being up here in a tree-house alone with her was giving him ideas he shouldn’t be having. Removing his jeans would be a bad idea, an extremely bad idea. He should sleep outside, in the rain, let the cold air drive all thoughts of touching her from his head. The way that button-down shirt rode high as she reached for an upper shelf in the kitchen had him wondering just how sturdy that counter was if he were to lift her and settled her ass there, with him between her legs.
“I hope you don’t mind using your hands,” she said as slathered peanut butter and jelly on bread.
“Hands, fingers, mouth. I’m all in.”Hell, hell, hell.
He dipped one large finger into the peanut butter jar. That would glue his mouth shut for a bit. Then she swatted his hand, giving him other ideas. His cock was definitely paying attention.
“I couldn’t wait to taste the local cuisine,” he said, as he licked his finger clean.
“It’s only peanut butter. Nothing special about it.”
“Depends where you put it.” He dabbed a spot on the side of her neck and then proceeded to lick it off of her. Her moan coiled around his cock and held onto him as his tongue dipped lower to the hollow of her throat. She tipped her head back, baring her lovely neck and the ultimate sign of submission. She didn’t know what she was doing to him. His cock was rock hard, and offering her neck to him was as good as offering her body. He pressed his hard length into her backside.
The knife fell to the counter with a definite clank. Kate had stopped moving, and her breathing had picked up. His timing was bad. She had just been attacked by that asshole at the motel and here he was pressing his cock against her ass. He rested his forehead against the back of her head as he calmed his racing blood.
“I’ll let you finish the sandwiches.”
She never turned or said a word as he pulled away. Her carefree behavior of earlier had disappeared. Slowly, she resumed preparing the food, clanking the knife against the jar of grape jelly, capping the peanut butter, opening several cabinets, looking for something or maybe just trying to stay busy. She still hadn’t turned around to face him.
“How’s your wrist?” he asked.
“Fine.”
She moved as if she were used to such injuries. Her damn foster parents had abused her, and here he had to go and beat the asshole clerk in front of her. The sound of his fists making contact with the clerk’s head, the smell of blood, watching the guy thrash about helpless. . .Fuck!He’d probably traumatized her more than that asshole. How the hell was he going to tell her he was an enforcer?
“Dinner,” Kate announced as she placed the sandwiches on the low table by the window. Her voice brimmed with pride, as if she’d made a feast for them. Maybe to her it was. Hell, her whole life she had lived little better than a rat, always running from those who’d abused her, struggling to survive on whatever she could find, never having a place to truly call her own. Millions of dollars she’d stolen from the WSSO and she’d kept none of it for herself, except to buy her damn laptops and supplies all geared toward taking the WSSO down. This wasn’t a life.
“No plates, so we’ll have to rough it.” Her smile filled him with light.
They sat on the floor, their sandwiches sitting on a coffee table made of teak as they watched the rain fall. “You want to talk about it?” he asked after a few bites. He was starved.
