Page 52 of Stolen Hearts

The moment is shattered as Castle abruptly backs away. His eyes seem to spark a little hotter into mine. His jaw seems to grind a little harder. Then he looks away.

“That’s one floor up. I’m just down the hall here.”

I can feel his heat draining out of me, leaving me feeling cold and suddenly empty as he walks away. At the doorway, he stops and turns to level an unreadable look at me.

“Make yourself at home,” he mutters dryly.

Then he’s gone.

Welcome home, Callie.

13

CASTLE

My heart is thuddingin my chest as I close the door to my room and collapse against it. I drop my head back, nostrils flaring as I bring my hands up and rub my face furiously.

What the fuck was that? And why thehelldoes that girl pull me to her like a fucking magnet?

I want to tell myself it’s her sheer proximity. Or, hell, because I just got legally married to her, and maybe some weird hardwired part of my DNA is expecting to consummate it now that we’ve crossed the threshold as man and wife.

Yeah, no.

That won’t be happening. I willnotbe touching Calliope Drakos.

Not ever.

If it’s not the proximity, and not something evolutionarily wired into my DNA, then maybe it’s just that it’s been a while. And I do meana while.

Partly it’s because my job and my life as Cillian’s number two doesn’t leave space for relationships, even casual ones. Another part of it is the simple fact that I’m, scientifically speaking, a hot fucking mess.

Womenthinkthey want a damaged soul. They want someone to play nurse to. Tofix. To put back together.

What they’re imagining is a quarterback with a sprained ankle, a cocky grin, and a plucky attitude. What they would get with me is a soldier more broken inside than they could possibly know what to do with.

I don’t just carry physical scars of what bullets and shrapnel did to me on my body. I carry emotional wounds deep in a black soul. A soul I’ve spent a decade trying to cover with shiny white paint.

I can keep that veneer on for the family that gave me a second chance—for Cillian, and for the two girls who grew to be like sisters to me, to whom I was a hero. For them, I could be good. I could be normal, not held together with duct tape, stitches, and scar tissue.

But not for anyone else. Certainly not for a serious relationship, and not really even for the few casual ones I’ve had over the last ten years.

I’m not a pet project. I’m a fucking black hole into which their time, energy, love, affection, and ability even to smile will slowly disappear, until there’s nothing left.

And most women, once they get to know me, see that.

So yeah, it’s been aminute. And I try and tell myself that’s the reason being in the same room as the girl I just married has my blood pumping hotter, and my mind filling with a million filthy, inappropriate thoughts that have my dick swelling until it’s rock hard.

Even though she’s completely untouchable.

Again, she’s twelve years my junior. And if that wasn’t enough, she’s Eilish and Neve’s friend. You don’t fuck your kid sisters’ friends. Not unless you’re a fucking sleazeball.

And never mind all of that, at the end of the day, this isn’t a marriage. It’s not a relationship, or a partnership, or anything.

It’s a fucking job. A mission. And it’s one I will not fail.

I can hear Callie swearing and thumping as she drags one of her huge suitcases up to the floor above me. I could easily help her. But not right now.

Right now, I’m still trying to get my pulse under control after being so close to her. Right now, my cock is still throbbing against my thigh.

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