Risqué by Elena M. Reyes
26
For the last forty-eight hours, I’ve been on edge.
Worrying. Watching the news.
And nothing.
Not a single news story has broken out, nor has there been sight of the man who helped us escape.
He’s the most predominant thought in my mind. Why did he help? Why not take it for himself?
That statue is worth a lot. By my research, more than the national debt of a small country.
So again, why help?
The only answer that makes sense is that my father hired him. Bought the soldier off to make sure we didn’t screw up.
A knock at the door pulls my attention from those thoughts and I freeze, fear taking over, until I remember that Giannis went out with his boyfriend and left the key behind. Looking through the window beside the door, I catch sight of a white shirt and dark green shorts and smile. Yup, Giannis.
“You should’ve taken the key, doofus!” I call out, bare feet padding over the few remaining steps. The heavy door has a large metal handle on this side, and after turning the lock, I pull it open. My mouth opens as the man turns around and then I’m choking, nervousness settling in deep. “Callum?”
“Aliana.”
One word, and I’m swallowing hard—chest rising rapidly while taking him in. From head to loafers, I watch him through wide eyes and trembling hands. I’m nervous, but happy, and at the same time a heated flash of fear runs down my veins and settles in my chest.
“How? What?” Not the most eloquent response, but my mind and heart have shut down. His presence hits me in the chest like a wrecking ball.
Oh, God. Does he know?
“Are you going to let me into my home, Venus?”
“Your what?” I wave a hand between us back and forth a few times before it drops, and I tilt my head to the side. I’m lost. So unsure of everything. And to make it worse, he’s looking at me as if I’m the most amusing thing he’s ever seen.
Hip jutting out, I put a hand there and narrow my eyes. Something isn’t right.
Gem-colored orbs drop from my face to my hip; he bites his bottom lip. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”
“How did you find me?” I ask instead, although my cheeks stain pink.
Callum doesn’t answer, but he does hold a finger up and turns it in a silent demand for me to twirl. When I don’t move, he gives me a little grin. “Please.”
The short, white cotton dress I’m wearing clings to me, molds to my every curve and when I turn for him, it rises just a little higher on my thighs. With a halter-style top, I didn’t bother to wear a bra. A mistake now.
My breasts spill a little over the edge while my nipples are hard, pebbled tight and pushing against the soft fabric of the dress. His hooded eyes linger there for a minute before going lower and down the flat of my stomach to the width of my hips and then bare legs.
He even watches the way my white-painted toes wiggle against the travertine flooring with hunger.
How he watches me—devours me where I stand—makes me nervous. Fills me with anxiety, but more than that, it creates a palpable need in me. Those few seconds of silence make me shiver where I stand, and the thick outline of his cock becomes more pronounced. It jerks, and his name slips through my lips on a little moan.
Callum takes another step in my direction and lifts his hand to my cheek, cupping it while his thumb rubs my cheek. “I’d like to enter my home, please.”
“Oh!” That snaps me out of it, and I scramble back, nearly tripping, and his hands shoot out to catch me. One hard yank, and I’m against his every muscle, can feel them move, holding me tight as his arm goes around my waist and I’m lifted off the ground. “What’re you—”
“Let’s head inside first.”
“Okay.” What else can I say when he’s looking at me like I’m everything? Like he revolves around me, and it’s more than likely wishful thinking on my part, but I indulge in the feeling and let him. I settle my head in the crook of his neck and breathe him in as the door closes behind us and his loafer-covered feet walk past the foyer and straight to the back deck with views of the ocean a short distance from the sliding glass door.
The view is pristine. His hold is the sweetest torture, but all I can focus on is the happiness seeing him brings.
My earlier concerns over getting caught are gone. I know he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He’ll protect us.
Callum takes a seat at the edge of a large hammock while balancing me in his hold, hoisting me a little higher on his hip so he can lay back with my body over his. It’s a little awkward at first, I’m gripping him hard and afraid we’re going to fall, but a low relax and another short shift and I find myself nestled against his warm body.
We stay like that for a while.
Lying in silence with the soft breeze off the ocean flowing around us, my body slowly gives in to the fatigue that’s been building since before this trip. I know we need to talk, all the questions I need to ask, but as his hand sweeps up and down my back and his lips press against my forehead, I close my eyes.
Each slow swing settles me. His earthy scent soothes me.
“You’re in so much trouble, love.” That’s the last thing I hear before going under, but I’m too tired to fight the heavy blanket of sleep knocking me unconscious.
I’m pulledfrom sleep by the scent of food. I don’t know what time it is or how I got on the hammock, until Callum’s low timbre greets my ears from somewhere to my left. He’s not beside me anymore and I peek out carefully, barely opening my eyes, but he sees.
Standing at the large outdoor kitchen and without a shirt is Callum with a phone between his ear and neck while holding a pair of grilling tongs. The sizzling of meat permeates the air with a delicious aroma, just like the view of him flipping what looks to be steak before stepping back.
Wide awake and biting my lip, I look away just long enough to catch the setting sun. Jesus, how long was I asleep? It was barely midday when Callum took me by surprise, but now it looks to be easily six in the evening.
“You’ve been out for a little over five hours,” he says from beside the hammock, and I jump, almost falling down. Callum rights me, gripping my arm with one hand and the fabric with the other and pulls me in close. “Careful. The dismount can be tricky for a first timer.”
“Thank you.”
He nods, bending a bit at the knees once he’s sure I won’t fall. “Let me help you out.”
“Please.” Not because I can’t get out by myself, but I want his touch. Crave it.
“Arm over my shoulder, love.” I do as he asks and strong hands lift me out, turning with me in his hold to walk back toward the outdoor kitchen/dining area. The table there is set for two—plates and silverware with a small crystal vase holding a delicate white flower inside. I’ve seen that flower around the property; his garden is full of them.
His garden. His house.
He has to know.
“Thank you for letting me sleep for so long. I’ve been exhausted.”
“I bet.” There’s a slight hardening to his eyes, but it doesn’t last long and he doesn’t elaborate. And I’m glad. I’m not ready to have the who, what, when, and how the hell conversation. “There’s also a bit of selfishness in why I let you sleep for so long.”
“There is?” I squeak a bit and he laughs, full on and loud before settling back with that smirk that does things to me. “Why?”
“Because I want you well rested tonight.” The implication is there while the heat of his stare holds me captive, and all I can do is let out a shuddering breath. There’s no fear or nerves, more of a building anticipation of what’s to come, and for now, I’m pushing away all thoughts of the reasons we’re both here.
I know we’ll discuss it. That he’s going to be mad.
But for now, I want to enjoy this because he might leave after knowing what I did.
Or did he send the man there to protect me?That thought strikes me like a lightning bolt where I sit and my head tilts, analyzing him from head to bare feet.
Would he do that? Does he care enough to?
Or, more importantly, how did he know? Because he does, of that I have no doubt now.
“How did—”
“Hungry?” he interrupts, and as if on cue, my stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, too nervous to do so. “I made a mixed grill churrasco for tonight with picanha, and some chicken in case you prefer that. The sides aren’t extravagant: salad, sweet potato fries, fried banana, and cheese bread I picked up while you slept. There’s a lady in a market a mile down the road that makes the best I’ve had.”
“You went through a lot of trouble.”
“I’m spoiling you tonight.” Tonight. Tomorrow, I’m screwed. “Do I bring everything to the table, or do you prefer I serve you just what you want?”
“Let’s bring it all over.” Standing from the seat he placed me on, I walk over. My hands are shaking. My stomach is in knots. Callum notices right away and brings me in close with an arm around my waist when I reach the extravagant kitchen. It has everything from a grill to burners to a roaster, and that’s just to cook; the fridge alone is larger than the one I have at home.
“Relax.”
“I am.” Lies.
“Aliana,” he says lowly, an angry tinge to his tone that makes me freeze, “don’t make a habit of lying to me. That’s one of two offenses I won’t forgive. You already used your freebie here, love. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” He kisses the crown of my head and then down to my temple, exhaling roughly against my skin. “Lying and cheating are my limits. I’d hate to look at you differently one day, when I know you are neither of those things. I’m not mad at you right now, but we will discuss why we’re both in Brazil and it’s not because we took a holiday.”
“Okay.”
I’m still tense and he loosens his hold, moving his face back so he can meet my eyes. “I’d never hurt you, nor will I take my anger at the situation out on you. This isn’t your fault, but in the future, trust is key. You getting hurt is unacceptable to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” His expression relaxes, and so do I. “Now, let’s eat. I’m not a fan of cold food.”
“That makes two of us.” And because karma deems this the perfect time to embarrass me, my stomach grumbles once again, causing him to let out a loud laugh. Like this, carefree and calm, he’s simply the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
“I can’t eat another bite,”I moan, pushing my plate away before picking up the glass of red wine he brought out with the bread. The taste is drier than something I’d pick for myself, but paired with the meal, it balances and leaves the pleasant taste of fruit and spice after each sip. “This was amazing.”
“Glad you approve.” Callum eats the last bite of fried banana and mimics my pose, relaxing in his seat. He’s across from me, watching with a grin that hints at a sinful promise, and I squirm. Between the full stomach and three glasses of wine, I’m relaxed and aware.
Of his every inhale.
Of the way his fingers twitch atop the table.
“Dessert will have to wait, though.”
“Who said anything about dessert?”
“I did.” I remember the sweet treat on the kitchen island, waiting to be eaten. “I’m a huge sucker for a well-made flan.”
“That’s mine.”
“You mean ours.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“So bratty,” he grumbles, the mock glare only serving to make me laugh. However, that laugh turns into a shriek when he stands abruptly, chair flying back, and lunges in my direction.
I’m out of my seat just as fast and running, heart thumping harshly inside my chest with a devilish Brit at my heels.
The beach isn’t far off the large deck, and I take the small staircase down, my feet sinking a bit when I hit the sand. At first I wobble, squeaking a bit, but right myself before he can touch me.
His fingers barely skim the back of my arm.
His breath warms the back of my neck.
“No!”
“Run, love.” That hungry timbre causes my walls to clench, and my nipples to throb. “I love a good chase.”
“Have fun trying!” I yell back, pushing my legs to go faster. My eyes are fixed on the water's edge; I’m going to dive in and swim a bit out but stop when my feet touch something soft.
Looking down, I’m standing on a large blanket surrounded by lit torches and a small speaker. The notes coming through it are soft, sounds like Bossa Nova, and I’m gasping—not understanding.
“Told you I’d catch you,” Callum croons low, his arms wrapping around me from behind. “Now, I think you owe me a reward.”
“Callum, what’s—”
“Dance with me.”