A Dog and a Diamond (10 page)

Despite his declaration that he wasn't looking for a relationship, Callum didn't rush things. He treated her as if she were a princess, seducing her slowly but at the same time with an urgency that sent her blood racing through her veins. As he dropped kisses along her jawline and down her neck, he moved his hands to her jacket and gently eased it off her. As it thumped onto the floor, he moved his head lower, pressing his lips against the exposed strip of skin just above her cleavage. Her breasts swelled at his proximity and he cupped one in his hand, testing its weight and teasing her nipple through the fabric of her dress. She arched against him, feeling like a wanton hussy but unable to care about anything but acting on the feelings pulsing through her.

“Take my dress off,” she whispered and, without a word, he slipped his hand around her back and obeyed. She shivered as the zipper came down and his fingers brushed against her bare skin. He didn't wait for an invitation to remove her bra and she sucked in her breath as he lowered his mouth around one exposed nipple. He circled it with his tongue and desire tugged deep in her core. Need burned there; if he didn't remove her panties next she might actually combust.

Totally attuned to her needs, he eased one hand inside her panties and her knees almost buckled as his fingers touched her in the most intimate place.

“Oh God,” she panted as he stroked her toward further insanity. “Bedroom. Now.”

“Invitation accepted,” he said, his voice a low growl that only made her more desperate. Then he picked her up and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him as he carried her down the hallway and shut her bedroom door.

* * *

Callum knew two seconds after he lost himself inside of Chelsea that once was never going to be enough. He just wasn't sure how to broach the subject of wanting more—he'd meant it when he said he wasn't in the market for a relationship right now. Everything he had to give needed to go into reviving the business and he wasn't about to neglect another woman the way he had Bailey. Then again, Chelsea had been the one to suggest only one night—she'd made it perfectly clear that was all she wanted from him—so maybe she'd be amenable to just a little bit more.

“Can I get you a drink or something?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts as she spoke for the first time since they'd tumbled into her bed. She now lay in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, her fingers trailing across his bare chest, and he didn't want to let her go just yet. He could do with a postcoital bourbon though and hopefully one drink would lead to another and then... And then he remembered she didn't drink alcohol so she wouldn't have any in her house.

“What are you offering?” he asked, his tone a lot more provocative than he'd intended.

“I make a mean hot chocolate. I'll even share my marshmallows with you.” And that sounded provocative also, whether she meant it to or not.

He dipped his head and captured her mouth again, kissing her hard. The kiss wasn't the only thing that was hard. A torturous moan escaped her lips as his erection pressed into her stomach and then, instead of going for a drink, she reached down between their naked bodies and curled her fingers around his hard-on.

Just once
turned very quickly into twice, which was just as explosive as the first time. If not more so. Chelsea took the lead and he watched, mesmerized, as she rode him. It had to be
the
single most erotic thing he'd ever seen. Their gazes glued to each other, they came together in perfect harmony, the sex totally blowing his mind. Callum tried to tell himself this was because he hadn't had any in a while, but that wasn't true. He and Bailey had done the deed on a fairly regular basis, ticking it off on their weekly to-do lists. He hadn't realized that sex had been so perfunctory for them, that their love life had become routine like everything else. But being with Chelsea made him realize just what had been lacking from his previous relationship.

As she collapsed on top of him, her heart racing against his, the heat of their skin slick against each other, he hugged her close and banished all thoughts of his ex from his mind. When they finally recovered from round two, he still didn't want to let Chelsea go. The thought of crawling out of bed and going on his way, never to return, left his heart cold, frozen.

“How about that drink?” he asked, when she finally pushed herself up off him and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Her breasts hung naked a few inches from his face and desire reared again inside him. He itched to touch and taste some more, but he didn't want to cause Chelsea discomfort.

“The hot chocolate?” She cocked her head to one side and her golden hair fell across her chest. She was prettier than a painting. Her nakedness was far more appealing than anything the pages of a dirty magazine could offer.

“Yes, please.” He pinned his hands beneath his thighs to stop from pulling her back down.

“Coming right up.” With those words, she rolled over and slid out of bed. He watched as she picked up a robe that was hanging on the end of the bed and tugged it around herself. All very well, but he'd seen every last inch of her buck naked and the image was imprinted on his mind.

“Need any help?”

She smiled over at him and shook her head, peeling a rubber band off her wrist and then capturing her hair into a ponytail. “Nope. I'll be right back.”

Good
, Callum thought as Chelsea opened the door and Muffin rushed in; she didn't seem in a hurry to throw Callum out and he decided he'd hang around as long as she let him. Who needed sleep anyhow?

As she headed down the hall into the kitchen, Muffin launched himself onto the bed and attempted to lick Callum's face. He wrestled the dog into obedience, and then rubbed his tummy as they both waited for Chelsea's return.

She came back into the bedroom a few minutes later and smiled at the sight of them in bed together. “Doesn't look like there's much room for me anymore.”

“Shove over, buddy,” Callum said, nudging the dog to the bottom of the bed and then patting the empty space on the mattress beside him. Chelsea laughed and stepped toward him, two steaming mugs of delicious-smelling hot chocolate in her hands. She stopped at the bed and passed one to him, putting the other down on her bedside table as she climbed back into bed. In a divine act of God, her robe gaped open, giving him the perfect view of her breasts as she settled beside him.

He took a sip, trying to be on his best behavior, when what he really wanted was to kick Muffin out and go for round three. “Hmm, this is delicious. How'd you make it?”

Her eyes sparkled as she wriggled her eyebrows at him and stretched over to get her own mug. “That is my secret, but I'm glad you like.”

“Oh, I like very, very much,” he said, taking another sip.

She licked her lips. “Tell me about Sophie,” she said, leaning back against the headboard. “Why did she wink at you when she went to meet her girlfriend?”

He chuckled at the recollection. “I told you our mom is a mad-keen matchmaker. She won't rest until all her babies are happily married off and having babies of their own, but for some reason she thinks Sophie is a lesbian. Of course Sophie thinks this is hilarious and has decided to play along.”

“Ah I see. So Storie isn't her girlfriend?”

“No. I don't know where Sophie picked her up but I think their act was pretty damn convincing, don't you?”

Chelsea nodded and then met his gaze. “As convincing as ours?”

“Probably not quite,” he said, reaching out and wiping away a little chocolate smudge on her top lip. She rubbed her lips together and the heat between them flared again. Maybe now was the time to broach... What exactly did he want to ask of her? A fling or an affair sounded salacious and he didn't want to cheapen her in any way, but neither could he bear the thought of walking away. Of never having her legs wrapped around him again.

“What happened with your parents?” he asked, biding his time and also hoping he didn't scare her off.

She took her time replying, as if deliberating whether or not to do so at all. “What do you mean?” she asked eventually.

“You said you lived with your grandfather starting when you were fifteen. I assumed you meant on your own or did your parents live with you, as well?”

She shook her head and stared sadly into her mug. For a moment he regretted prying, not wanting to cause her any pain. “They died. In a car accident when I was eleven. My father was driving and he'd also been drinking, as he usually was. I was only lucky I wasn't in the car, I guess. It was a total wreck, they both died on impact.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, reaching out to place his hand against her thigh; this time to offer comfort not sex.

She shrugged. “These things happen.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, “but they still suck. Who'd you live with between when they died and when you moved in with your grandfather?”

“Who
didn't
I live with, more like. I was shipped from relative to relative, but no one really wanted me. I think the only reason they didn't give me to Granddad in the first place was that he was almost as much of a drunk as my parents, although he was a happy drunk, unlike my mom and dad who were violent with each other and whoever was around after a few drinks.”

Oh God.
His heart went out to her. She spoke with such detachment but he could see through her bravado to the hurting little girl inside. His family might have its faults, but he'd never been made to feel like a burden on any of them. Sure his dad had pushed him to achieve his best, but he'd always known this was down to love and wanting the world for his kids.

“No wonder you don't drink,” he said.

“Yes.” She sighed. “Although your family appear to be able to have a few drinks without yelling and screaming at each other.”

“We have plenty of screaming matches, don't you worry,” Callum said, “but we respect whiskey too much to abuse it. My dad taught us all that whiskey, any alcohol really, should be drunk and appreciated with good friends. Drinking should be a social event, not something you come to rely on.”

She nodded. “You must miss your father a lot.”

“It's complicated,” he admitted. “Of course I'm devastated that he's gone—so many times I think of things I want to tell him and then realize I can't—but I have to admit, it feels good to be able to follow my ideas and dreams for the distillery. Dad didn't see that if we are to survive, we need to expand and move with the times. He thought making good whiskey was enough.”

“And Quinn agreed with him, is that right? I sensed a little tension between the two of you about the distillery today.”

“There's always been tension between us. Of course I love him as I do the others, but we've always rubbed each other the wrong way and I don't think he has the same passion about distilling that Blair, Sophie and I have. It's like he's doing it because he doesn't know what else he wants to do with his life.”

“What's his job again?”

“He manages the warehouse, fills orders from suppliers. Most of my ideas will have no effect on his role whatsoever, except that we'll hopefully turn over more whiskey, which in turn means he might earn a better living. I think he objects simply because he can. Anyway, enough about Quinn. I don't want to bore you.”

“You're not. Honestly. I must admit, I find big families fascinating. I'd also like to hear your ideas for the distillery.”

“Really?”

When she nodded, Callum didn't hold back. He told her about his thoughts for expanding the simple café they currently had into a restaurant, about wanting to have more McKinnel merchandise for sale, about the possibility of introducing a white-dog label and also how he'd recently spoken to an agent about buying some nearby land and actually starting to grow their own grain.

“Do you know anything about farming?” she asked.

He smiled. “Not the first little thing, but I am an expert at delegating. I'd hire someone to oversee that side of things.”

“Pity,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes as she smiled back at him, “I think you'd totally rock a flannel shirt, a pair of denim overalls and a big floppy straw hat.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I think you're confusing farmer with scarecrow.”

She laughed. “Maybe.” Then she said, “Have you thought about hosting events at the distillery? Like weddings, birthday celebrations and such. You've got the room for it and your surroundings are so beautiful that I'm sure it could become a very popular venue option in Jewell Rock.”

“No, I haven't,” he said, the idea already taking root. “What an awesome suggestion.” He leaned over and kissed her on the lips to show exactly how much he appreciated it.

“If that's what I get for making suggestions,” she said when they finally broke apart, “I'll keep them coming.”

“Please do.”

They spent the next hour or so—Callum lost track of time—talking and fooling around. He'd never been one to chat much postsex, but sitting in bed doing so with Chelsea seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He enjoyed her company as much as he did her body, and that was saying something.

When Muffin roused at their feet and scooted toward the bedroom door, their bubble of bliss broke. “Dammit,” Chelsea said, scrambling after him, “I haven't taken him out for his evening wee.”

Callum glanced at his watch as the girl and her dog hurried out of the room. It was much later than he'd imagined—early hours of the morning later—and he should make a move. He didn't want to overstay his welcome, and spending the night had certain connotations. Reluctantly, he climbed out of bed and dressed again.

He found Chelsea outside, standing on the porch, shivering in her robe while Muffin did his business on the grass in front. Every cell in his body wanted to step right up to her and pull her into his embrace to warm her, but he resisted, because if he did so, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to leave.