Page 91 of Wicked Duty
Everything from designer motorcycle jackets to dark jeans and graphic t-shirts. I’m trying to loosen him up a little. Who knew the sight of Callum wandering in and out of dressing rooms with that blank expression on his face, wearing clothes I chose, would bring me such unbridled joy?
When he emerges for the final time in a formfitting dark gray suit, I don’t know how to read his expression, but I sense a strange sort of calm between us. I’m also impressed I’ve gotten this far without a single complaint. He hasn’t pushed back once. Not since I grabbed his hand in the park.
He’s not resisting me anymore.
I could stay drunk on this high forever.
He raises an eyebrow. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” My stomach perks up. “But we’re not going anywhere until we buy everything you’re wearing.”
Mesmerized by the sight of his gorgeous body wrapped in an Armani suit, I cross my legs a little tighter to prevent myself from squirming.
Callum glances down at the suit, then back up at me. “This is the one?”
I nod. “Hands down the best thing you’ve put on.”
“I wear suits all the time, Marlow.”
“Not ones I’ve chosen.”
Callum meets my eyes, and the ghost of a smile passes his lips.
My pulse leaps into my throat, and it’s not long before we’re entwining our fingers and striding down the avenue, this time with a dress bag over one of Callum’s shoulders.
Alone together like this, just walking around, we’re like a real couple.
That’s not something I’ve dared to be with anyone before, and my imagination has run wild all afternoon.
Callum doesn’t release my hand. Not when we’re sharing a humongous slice of pizza. Not when I’m feeding him ice cream out of a waffle cone. Not when we’re strolling through Central Park and stopping to rest on the stairs of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
We blend in with the scores of tourists and locals milling about in every direction.It’s so, so natural. Like breathing. I could float like this forever, reclining on a cloud of Callum’s attention.
My favorite part of our afternoon is the photos.
Every chance I get, I snap candid shots of him with my camera.
The delight of capturing moments when his guard’s down could sustain me for at least a month. I’m convinced. Who needs food or water when I’ve got this?
We wander the city like vagabonds. I don’t like crowds, but even Times Square has a certain magic to it with Callum’s hand in mine.
By the time four-thirty rolls around, we’ve ambled onto a dark side street. I thought we were still traveling aimlessly, but when Callum stops, gazing up at a white stone cathedral with stunning stained glass windows, I’m not so sure.
“Do you mind if we go in?” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice.
I smile. “Let’s go.”
He leads me into a dim, cavernous Catholic church with Gothic architecture and long shadows. Tea candles flicker in the echoing silence. The place is gorgeous. I itch to take photos, but I don’t want to be disrespectful.
Callum’s the only thing more stunning than the cathedral. His entire demeanor changes the second we step through the church doors. The tension in his tight body eases away to practically nothing.
Awe fills his usually intense, razor-sharp eyes as they flit around the nave. No one spotting him here would ever guess he’s a man who rejects vulnerability. He’s especially beautiful like this, and his wonderment wrenches something loose near my lungs.
I follow a step behind him as we wander through the middle aisle.
Halfway down, Callum pauses and turns to give me the warmest smile I’ve ever seen. “Shall we sit?”
I nod, sidestepping into the closest row and lowering myself down on the pew. We sit in comfortable quiet, the sole parishioners of this simultaneously haunting and lovely place.
