Page 85 of Stolen Hearts

…So why would I do it a hundred times over?

As my mind wakes a little more, I remember that I eventually carried her, still sleeping, into her room, to her own bed.

Which Idid notshare with her.

What happened, happened. But I can’t make this more than it is, because that is not what we are. I might want Callie, in a carnal sense. I mean just fucking look at her. I might also care for her more than I should.

But it’s obvious from the way she looks at me that this marriage isn’t fake for her. Or at least, it’s not as fake as itshouldbe for her.

I’m not who she wants. Not really. She might think I am, but if she knew who and what I really am, this little crush of hers would’ve gone up in smoke a year ago.

No, I’m not what Callie really wants, or needs.

Not after Kabul.

In a year, when this is over and done with, she deserves to find someone real; someone who’s truly capable of what she deserves in life. Not a shell of a man like me.

I flinch, suddenly ripped from the remaining fog of sleep by a clatter of metal. And when I do fully wake, my nose sniffs and my brow furrows.

Why do I smell bacon.

Frowning, I sit up and peer over the back of the couch toward the kitchen area. Instantly, my eyes are met by a grinning Callie.

“Morning,” she chirps, turning to flip the bacon on the stove before moving the pan off the heat. “Coffee’s ready.”

I stand from the couch, just in my boxers. Callie blushes, her lip catching between her teeth as her eyes sweep over my bare chest. I turn away, pull jeans and a t-shirt out of my small suitcase, and slip them on.

As usual, Callie’s pouring her disturbing amount of oat milk and a lethal amount of sugar into her coffee as I step into the kitchen. I bite back a smirk, remembering the time at the Drakos house a few months ago when Callie offered me the rest of her Starbucks cup when I mentioned being exhausted.

I remember the way she giggled and howled with laughter when I almost spit it out again, telling her it tasted like diabetes in a cup.

I pour a cup of coffee for myself—black, no sugar, thank you very much. When I turn, my pulse thuds as Callie moves toward me.

“Hang on,” I growl, tryingveryhard not to let my eyes linger on the little sleep shorts that cling to her ass and the way-too-small tank top, obviously without a bra underneath it.

I grit my teeth as I shake my head.

I’m not going to relish this. But wehaveto agree that this—whatever “this” is—can’t happen anymore. Even if I’m relatively sure I’ll die before I ever lose the memory of Callie on her knees looking up at me as she swirled her tongue around my swollen cock.

Ever.

She frowns as she stops a foot away from me. “What?”

She’s trying to look nonchalant, because that’s Callie. Because that’s her defense mechanism, her armor—always be aloof, sarcastic, easy-going, and then you can’t be hurt.

She’s not pulling it off quite as well as usual this morning, though.

“We need to talk about what happened last night.”

“Okay?”

I frown. “So, maybe you should start—”

“The fuck. You’re the one who wanted to talk about it.”

I exhale slowly, shoving my fingers through my hair. “Callie—”

“I know this is fake, Castle,” she says evenly.

---