Page 3 of Stolen Hearts

I gulp, focusing on him and the moment, plastering a hopefully not-too-giddy smile on my face.

“I think you missed dinner.”

He smirks, which is so fucking completely unfair, because this man has a Brando smirk. And if you know…you know.

“Yup, seems that way.” His brow furrows. “Seriously, get off the edge, Callie. You’re too close.”

I roll my eyes. “You’d have had an aneurism ten years ago, when Hades and I used to docartwheelson the edge when Ya-ya wasn’t looking.”

Ya-ya, as in my grandmother.

“Yeah, well, when you were ten—”

For some reason, the age thing makes me flinch. He already probably looks at me like I’m this fucking kid. Ten years ago, I literallywas. Whereas with him, ten years ago, he was still older than I am now. An Army Ranger doing God-knows-what, out God-knows-where in the world.

And here I am talking about doing fucking cartwheels.

Jesus Christ, am I pathetic, or am I pathetic.

“I don’t think you weredrinking.” His gorgeous blue eyes land darkly on the empty glass in my hand.

“Grape juice.”

He allows a tiny lift in one corner of his lips.

“I’m not going to rat you out, relax.”

Another nod to my age—as in he won’t rat me out to Ares, who seems to have a stick up his ass about me drinking before the age of twenty-one. The irony of him being the leader of a literal criminal empire and worrying about that seems to be lost on him.

“But Idoneed you to get off the ledge.”

I grin again. “Okay, fine.”

I hop off it and onto the grass, letting my bare feet curl into it. I love this spot on the roof because it really feels like you’re on the edge of the world. I can still see the lights of the main house glittering in the pool. But this spot is mostly obscured by trees and rose bushes.

My heart thuds a little louder in my ears.

I’m suddenly aware that, number one, I am drunker than I thought I was. And number two, I’m alone in a secluded rose garden on the edge of the world with the man who’s had my heart in his hands for over a year.

The early fall air pricks my skin again, and I am suddenly reminded of one last detail: I’ve come out here directly after my post-dinner shower, in nothing more than a robe and panties.

Just Castle and me.

Alone.

At the edge of the world.

“How was it?”

I blink, ripped from my floaty, swirly thoughts. “Hmm?”

I’m staring right at him, my eyes absolutely locked with his. Like I’m rooted to the spot and unable to look away, even if I wanted to.

“Dinner,” he growls quietly. “How was it? I had some shit for Cillian I had to wrap up.”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, it was good.”

He nods, bringing up a muscled arm and sipping what looks like whiskey—neat—from the glass in his hand.

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