Risqué by Elena M. Reyes
10
I’m in shock.
Happy.
Swooning a little bit.
Just a smidge, but there’s no stopping my reactions—the way my heart palpitates and body vibrates with excitement—with this surprise. It’s sweet and thoughtful, and Lord help me, I’m wanting to throw myself at him and kiss those lips that are spread into a boyish grin.
He knows he did good. He makes me forget the ugly. He makes me feel safe.
I know I shouldn’t be here. That he’s the type of man—powerful like my father—I told myself I’d never so much as entertain, but I’m being pulled in by an uncontrollable hurricane and stepping away feels unnatural. Every instinct in my body, my heart and mind, agree that he’s the epitome of danger, yet so much more beneath the expensive clothes and the gun he’s not concealing in his car.
What is it about you, Callum? Why can’t I say no?
Maybe it’s because there’s something special about someone taking the time to see you. To know your likes and dislikes—even if I know he’s pulled information on me, I’m still touched. Being of Spaniard heritage is the only thing I have in common with my family on my father’s side. They originally came to the US from the Northern area of Menorca. Fornells is a beautiful fishing village known for its lobster stew and glorious sunsets; I’d been a few times as a kid while my grandparents were alive, but now my father would rather focus on being seen in extravagant places—another social media attention-grabbing photo—than going to visit his parent’s grave.
I’m proud of where my family is from.
Turning, I move to stand in front of him and rise to the tips of my toes. “This is very thoughtful, Mr. Jameson.” My arms go around his neck, pulling him down just enough that I reach his chin with my lips. I breathe in his masculine scent: earthy and natural with just a hint of spice that most cedar-based colognes carry. Smells so good. “Some might even say sweet.”
“I aim to please.” His voice is husky, a low rumble that causes my walls to give an involuntary clench.
“You did.”
“Always, my…bloody fuck,” he hisses from between clenching teeth, his hands back on my hips with a tight hold. I’m biting his chin and then his jaw. “You’re dangerous.”
“I’m appreciative.”
“And I’m thankful.” Before I can nip his chin again, I’m turned to face the front of the building with his strong front against my back. His legs move mine forward, his hard length rubbing against my cheeks makes me blush.
It’s impossible not to feel him; the bulge behind that zipper is thick and long. Has been hard every time I look down.
Why doesn’t this bother me with him?
Anyone else I would’ve punched.
I have broken two noses before for much less.
“Welcome, welcome.” Chef Reyes steps aside, his thick mustache twitching beneath his smile as we pass the entrance. “We’ve set up a small tapas selection for your enjoyment while we begin to prep. Is that all right?”
“Of course. Please lead the way,” Callum answers after looking down at me and I nod. To be honest, I’m so excited about this. Paella is a dish I love but is scary to make. Especially when anything less than authentic is an insult to the country. I don’t want a derivative or a likeness, no.
His warm hand is on the small of my back urging me forward, and I follow the chef up a spiral set of stairs near the middle of the first floor. The space is light and airy, all white furniture and walls with a splash of color from the few art pieces hanging on the painted brick.
The second floor is completely different, and it takes my breath away.
This floor is open with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the lake just a little beyond the end of this lot. There’s a large terrace attached; it goes from one side to the other with one table near the center that is set for two.
“This is beautiful.” There’s no mistaking the excitement in my voice, and I turn my head toward Callum when he chuckles. “Don’t poke fun. I really love this.”
“I find you utterly adorable, Venus.”
There’s that name again.
Venus: the goddess of love, beauty, prosperity, fertility, and victory.
He’s said it a few times now and I’ve chosen to ignore it, but the questions keep mounting the more time I spend with him. Callum Jameson is an enigma of a man, and the reputation that precedes him isn’t matching up with the thoughtful and affectionate male who seems hell-bent on spending time with me.
Is that how he sees me? But more importantly, do I want him to?
“Venus?” I ask with an arched brow, trying to calm my racing heart down. How can he unnerve me so easily? My emotions are all over the place: confusion, to happiness, to unnerved, to this attraction that’s palpable and dangerous. “Or is that what you call all—”
“Don’t.” Callum’s tone is harsh, and I try to step away but he grips my hip before I can. My eyes dart around toward Chef Reyes, but he’s nowhere to be seen and I find myself a little nervous. Would he hurt me? “I’d shoot myself before I ever laid an angry hand on you.”
“What?” It leaves me on a shaky whisper and I lick my lips, but that soon turns into a low moan. His hand on my hip is squeezing gently and pulling me a little closer while the other cups my cheek softly, almost reverently, and I rub my face against his palm. This is instinctual. Everything about the way I am with him feels that way: effortless. “What is all this?”
“A man spoiling his goddess. Simple as.” Lowering his face, Callum tilts my chin up and brushes his lips across my mouth. Once. Twice. Then he bites down on the plump flesh of my bottom one before pulling back. “Can I do that, beautiful? Can I indulge you while cooking some good food and hopefully getting you a little drunk?”
I can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out at that. Cheeky bastard. “I’m not a lightweight, I’ll have you know. I’m really good friends with tequila, vodka, and rum.”
“So, what you’re saying is you’re a lush, love?” He’s fighting a smirk, and I have the sudden urge to flick his forehead. “That I’ll need to lock my liquor cabinet in the future?”
“Who says I’ll go anywhere near your cabinet?”
“You will.” With one small peck to my lips, he guides me toward the large open kitchen where an island with two high-back barstools awaits us. Callum pulls one out for me to sit, and when I do, comfortably leaning back, he places his mouth against my ear. Each exhale is warm. The feeling of him against me is divine. “I call you my Venus because I’ve never seen such an honest beauty before, Miss Rubens. You’re a little treasure. The literal definition of femininity and grace; what a man needs to conquer his demons.”
His explanation brings goose bumps to my skin, a feverish shiver that flows through every limb while my heart gives a harsh thump inside my chest. Those words. Christ, he’ll never know how much they mean to me. “Callum, I—”
“Shhh.” I’m silenced by his thumb on my lips. “Let’s shelve that conversation for later. For now, let’s cook, eat, and enjoy the day out here. Nod if you agree.” When I do as he asks, he moves back and then takes a seat next to mine. There’s a bottle of white wine there that’s chilled along with a small selection of covered tapas. “Thirsty?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” He pours me a glass first, sliding it closer, and waits for my approval. It’s light and crisp, the fruity hint of apricots and lemon simply delicious. “Do you like this one? Or would you prefer something a little bolder?”
“Bolder is best saved for the after. Don’t you think?”
“As you wish.” Pouring himself a glass, he takes a few sips before setting it down and then uncovering the plates in front of us. There’s one with what looks to be Manchego cheese and serrano ham with a few olives, the other has small meatballs, and the last is something called patatas brava, which I love. The potatoes are cut in cubes, fried, and then covered in a spicy cream sauce that I’ve tried to replicate but just can’t ever get right. “Please, dig in. We’ll be starting prep work here in the next thirty minutes or so.”
“You’re going to cut vegetables and proteins?”
Callum shrugs. “I told you before, I’m responsible for a lot of my meals.”
“You seriously cook?”
“I do.” Picking up a piece of bread, he sops up a bit of the ragu with the meatballs and pops it into his mouth. “My favorite’s Indian food. I’ve got a mate I went to school with, and his family is from Jaipur. His mum taught me a few dishes, and I’m quite good; I can even make my own naan bread.”
“Impressive.” There are small plates in front of us and I grab two, sliding one over to him. “Fill yours, and let’s sit outside. That view is spectacular, and I’m interested in hearing more about this cooking of yours. I’m a sucker for a well-made butter chicken or biryani.”
“I’m going to enjoy spoiling you, sweet girl.”
“You better.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Idiotic. Irresponsible.
Because this, whatever we are, can’t go past today. Not when I’m being forced to put my safety in danger and steal for my father’s gain. Not when my family would never accept this.
They’d rather see me miserable than in the protective arms of a man that will destroy them.
They need me to be compliant and not untouchable. Dad will go back on his word and hurt my brothers.
I know my expression changed after that, but I’m glad Callum doesn’t question it. He simply presses a button I hadn’t noticed atop the counter and two women dressed in all black, like you see at restaurants, come over and take our food outside. They disappear just as fast as they appear, not that I have time to complain as I’m being picked up and carried outside only to be situated on his lap after the slick bastard settles in a chair.
“Eat, Aliana.”
“Say please.” My voice is low but he hears, and a chuckle meets my ears a few seconds later.
“Please.”
“Thank you.” Turning my head, I kiss his cheek. We sit like that for a while quietly, eating and sipping while watching the serene lake and the few birds that fly over it. Well, I ate all the potatoes while he gave me a look that screamed, Are you seriously not going to share? I stab the last two pieces with my fork and then raise it to his lips. “Would you like a bite?”
His eyes become hooded, and the thickness beneath my ass gives a hard jerk. And I won’t deny that I gyrate just a bit, teasing him further, and the harsh hiss that escapes him is worth it.
The proof of his desire is raw and palpable.
I caused that sound. I made him throb.
For me. Because he wants me.
“Careful, sweetheart.” His voice is deeper, accent more pronounced. “I’m trying to behave, but you’re making it very hard on this hungry chap. Don’t complain after if I bite.”
“And how often do you bite?” I ask, because curiosity is a nagging whore. I’ve thought about it, how often he gets around, and the idea of him with another woman doesn’t sit well with me. And while I’m not a virgin, self-love and a one-time mistake makes me a little self-conscious. “Because I’m squeaky clean and a solo type of gal. Have been for a while.”
“Not as often as you might think, and I’ve had months with the company of my hand.” He shrugs. “This type of life isn’t easy, Aliana. Most women see me as a conquest with a thick wallet.”
“I could care less about your money.”
“I know. It’s one of the things I enjoy about you.”
“That I’m cheap?”
“No.” A bark of laughter escapes him, shakes his shoulders. “It’s how at ease I am with you. There are no pretenses with you.”
“Well, a little nibble never hurt anyone. Just for future reference.” Again, the words spill out before I can stop them.
“You’re trouble, my Venus.”
Every cell in my body vibrates when he calls me that, but this time, the meaning behind it sets my heart into a palpitating cadence I can’t control. Then, there’s the goose bumps and the embarrassing sigh that wants to escape, and almost does when a throat clears, and we both look toward the intruder.
“We’re ready to begin when you are, Mr. Jameson,” Chef Reyes says, staring straight ahead instead, giving us privacy. “Everything has been set out per your wishes, and your aprons are at each station.”
“Cheers.”
When the chef walks away after nodding, I flick my eyes back to Callum who’s busy staring at me. Heat blooms across my cheeks, but I ignore it and raise a brow. “Cheers?”
“It’s a universal answer, love. It can mean just about anything.”
“Good to know.”
“Why?”
“Mind your business, Mr. Jameson. A woman has to have some secrets.” Jumping off his lap, I fix my top a bit and walk inside, his heavy footfalls following close behind. Almost touching. The heat from his body licks at mine. I’m playing with fire. So stupid. “Now, where do you want me?”
He sidles up next to me, his arm brushing against mine. I shiver, and he smirks. “That’s a bloody dangerous question.”
“Am I at the veggie station or the protein?” It comes out a little breathless, and I cross my arms to cover up the way my nipples pebbled—how tight each bud is. “By the way, can I—”
“Vegetables, and yes.” Voice gruff, he leans over and picks up the hoodie he’s brought for me from a little further down the counter. The other people, the chef and now one assistant, are not far from us, waiting. Both males. Undoing the zipper, Callum walks behind me and places the sweater over my shoulders, turning me around to face him so I can slip an arm into each sleeve. Eyes hungry, he looks at each hard tip and then swipes his tongue over his bottom lip. “No one sees those but me.”
“Very possessive of you, don’t you think?”
“You have no idea.” Before I can protest, he dips down and steals a harsh, yet quick kiss before pulling the zipper halfway up. “You look simply mouthwatering in my clothes.”
I laugh at that. Dear God, I’m swimming in his hooded sweatshirt. Looks more like a no-shape dress, almost a winter-style muumuu on me. “I’m sure I look smashing.”
“More than.” Callum stands to his full height and places a hand on my shoulder, turning me around to face the others. “We’re ready to begin.”
And that’s what we do. For the next thirty minutes, we watch and then follow instructions, each working with one of the cooks. I’m with Chef Reyes, while Callum works with a guy who seems scared of his own shadow. It’s quite amusing, really.
“Good job, Miss Rubens. You’re a natural in the kitchen.” We finished prepping the vegetables, bringing them over to the large paellera where Callum was busily browning the rabbit and chicken, all the seafood set aside for now.
At the chef’s praise, I smile. “My abuela taught me everything I know. Best cook in the area she lived in while alive.”
“Really? Que parte de España?” he asks, his Spanish accent becoming thicker, smile widening. “I’m from Valencia myself.”
“Fornell’s in Menorca.”
“What a small world.”
“It is.” We stop near the hot pan, placing the tray down with all our diced vegetables. “You ready to get out of my way, Mr. Jameson? You’re taking too long.”
“Brat.” One by one, he pulls out the meat and places it in a large glass dish while handing over a metal spoon the likes of which I’ve seen before. My paternal grandmother had a few and never used anything else while cooking. This was her all-in-one kitchen multi-tool. “Now I’m hungry. Hurry up and feed me, woman.”
His playfulness makes me laugh while the other two men hide their chuckles behind a sip of wine. We’ve gone through a few bottles now and I’m a tiny bit tipsy, but I’ve never had so much fun.
No pretenses. No pushiness.
And while the chef instructs, I take over the cooking and put the rest of the dish together with Callum at my side. Handing me items. Giving me a sip or three from his own glass. By the time we finish, I am relaxed, hungry, and more than ready to be alone with him.