Page 83 of Boiling Point
“Go slip into that stunning brown leather jacket, darling,” he murmured in my ear. “And let’s take the bike out before we lose the light.”
Chapter 29
Callum
The sky burned low over Lake Rayburn, streaked in rippled gold and bruised purple. I tightened my grip on Gabrielle’s hand as we wandered the winding path back to the main resort.
The days here had melted into something feverish and unreal—an endless rush of bare skin, tangled sheets, and empty wine bottles scattered across the floor. We devoured each other in the dark, in the sunlight, in every stolen moment we could wrest from the clock. There were nights I didn’t know where I ended and she began—nights I would’ve sworn I could taste her name on my tongue like it was stitched into my blood.
We laughed until our bodies ached. We kissed until the rest of the world slipped off the edge of the map.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so recklessly alive.
Or so terrifyingly at peace.
Gabrielle swung our joined hands between us, humming softly, carefree and sweet. Her golden hair tumbled wild in the lake breeze, her cheeks pink from the chill. She looked so devastatingly free, it punched the breath out of my lungs.
I wanted to stay here forever.
God help me, I never wanted to let this reverie go.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Her honeyed voice brought me back.
“I’m afraid they’re not worth that much.”
“There you go putting yourself down again.” She nudged me with her hip.
I smiled, but the weight of what I wanted—everything I hadn’t said yet—coiled in my chest, pulling tighter with every step.
The wind kicked up, tossing her hair across her face. She laughed, tucking it behind her ear, and for a moment, I just stood there—admiring this brilliant, maddening, beautiful woman who had somehow become my gravity.
I squeezed her hand. “When’s your lease up?”
She shot me a sideways look, sharp and knowing. “End of July. Why?”
I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance, but my voice gave me away—too steady, too deliberate. “Just thinking ahead.”
She slowed, pulling us both to a stop beneath a stretch of trees heavy with budding spring leaves. “Thinking about what exactly?” she asked, the teasing edge in her voice soft, careful.
I turned to face her fully. The dying light framed her like something I wasn’t meant to touch but had somehow been allowed to hold anyway. “Thinking I’m tired of dropping you off at night,” I said quietly. “Of texting you goodnight rather than kissing you. Of waking up and realizing you’re not there. Of pretending I’m content with fragments when what I really want is…all of you. Every day.”
Her lips parted as if she might speak, but no sound followed. The air between us thickened, charged with everything we hadn’t dared say yet. Not properly anyway.
I brushed my thumb along the back of her hand. “I want you to come home to me, Gabrielle. Not just sometimes. Always.”
Her eyes shone in the fading light, and for one breathless second, I wondered if I’d pushed too far. Moved too fast.
Then she stepped closer to me, her free hand resting flat against my chest. “You have me,” she said simply. “You already do.”
The silence was charged. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”
She sank onto a bench beside the path. “But…how would that work? We already have to be so careful to keep this under wraps. Living together? That’s asking for trouble. There’s no way we could keep it secret. And then you’ll lose your job.”
I sat beside her, our knees brushing. Close enough to feel the tremble in her body, the war between wanting and fearing.
“I know,” I said quietly. “I’ve thought about that too.”
She looked at me, searching my face, waiting for the rest.
