Page 88 of Stolen Hearts

Like…right now.

But he isn’t looking at me at all, let alone how he looked at me last night. He just eats his breakfast in silence—not even pointed silence meant to make a statement.

He’s completely moved on.

Last night, to him, was a mistake. Or just some fun. Or a bit of both. And now, in the cold light of day, he’s remembering how heactuallyfeels about me.

Indifferent. Like I’m just the kid sister of men he calls friends. The little playmate of the girls he calls sisters. The burden he’s stuck with for the next year. Nothing more. That’s why he’s not looking at me this morning the way he looked at me last night. Why he hasn’t even noticed that I’m—purposefully—wearing tiny little sleep shorts that may as well be panties and a too-small tank top without a bra.

It’s why pretty much the first thing he did after waking up this morning was make sure that I knew that last night was “a mistake”.

Cool. Yeah.Got it. Thanks.

After breakfast, Castle showers in our lone bathroom, and then comes out looking fuckinggood.

Really, really good.

Cillian’s uniform as leader of the Kildare family was a very Johnny Cash-inspired look—black suit with black shoes and a black dress shirt. Castle steps out in dark, almost-black charcoal gray suit pants with a matching vest and a white dress shirt slightly open at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up to just below the elbows.

I mean sweet Jesus.

If they made sexy lingerie for men, this would be it. Just…allof this business, standing right here in front of me.

Castle either doesn’t notice or pointedly ignores the way I’m staring at him as he walks back into the kitchen.

“I have some stuff I need to attend to.”

I nod, not quite capable of words yet as I walk up to him. He bristles, his eyes narrowed as if on high alert. When I reach up, his hand suddenly shoots out to grab my wrist, stopping me from touching him.

“Callie,” he growls with a warning edge to his voice. “We literally just talked—”

“Can I get thelintoff your fucking shirt?” I mumble, glaring at him as I feel my face turning red.

He scowls. But his grip drops from my wrist. I pluck the errant piece of fluff from his collar and flick it away.

“You look good.”

He jaw grinds. I roll my eyes.

“Oh myGod, Castle. I’m allowed to compliment you on your appearance on like your first real day as the boss, aren’t I?”

He looks away and then nods.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well, that was it. You look good.”

“Thanks,” he grunts.

Except, I haven’t backed away since plucking the thread from his shirt. And neither has he.

“I’ll be back late. You need to stay here for the time being.”

“Got it.”

He arches a brow. “I mean it, Callie. Please. No running off.”

“If you keep talking to me like I’m this much of a fucking idiot, you will not survive being married to me for a fucking year, I promise you,” I snap back. “I mean it, Castle,” I grunt in a tone meant to imitate his.

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