Page 23 of Backed By You (Montgomery Brothers of Montana #3)

Beau

After the driver drops Callie’s friend off at her condo, he takes us to what has to be the fanciest hotel I’ve ever seen.

Palm trees line the entire place and a red carpet leads to massive glass doors held open by men in crisp uniforms. Callie doesn’t bat an eye when one takes our luggage and we’re ushered through a grand lobby with marble floors and crystal chandeliers.

“Miss Ryan, welcome back,” the concierge greets as we approach the front desk. “We’ve prepared the Presidential Suite as requested.”

Presidential Suite? How successful is this movie?

I shift my weight, my knee beginning to throb after the flight and drive. I’ve been trying not to favor it, but Callie notices. She slips her hand into mine, a gentle squeeze that asks if I’m okay without words. I return the pressure, letting her know I’m fine.

“Your luggage has already been taken up,” the concierge continues, passing Callie a key card. “And the packages from Miss Shea Winton arrived this morning."

“Thank you,” she says with a warm smile—the kind that makes men trip over themselves to help her.

Her porch swing and brand-new stove come to mind.

We’re escorted to a private elevator that whisks us to the top floor.

The doors open directly into the suite, and I freeze in the entryway.

The place is bigger than two of my larger cabins put together.

Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase a panoramic view of Los Angeles, the ocean a distant blue line on the horizon.

Everything is white marble, glass, and gold fixtures.

I search for the right word to describe the culture shock and end up with, “Christ.”

Callie laughs, slipping off her shoes. “Welcome to Hollywood. The studio insists on it. Part of the premiere package.”

I follow her through the living room, past a dining area that could seat twelve, and into the master bedroom.

A massive bed dominates the space, draped in pristine white linens.

Several garment bags hang on a rack by the wall, alongside stacks of boxes with names I vaguely recognize from magazines and commercials.

“Those are for you,” she says, nodding toward three of the garment bags. “And those boxes should have shoes, accessories, all that.”

I approach cautiously. Unzipping the first bag reveals a tuxedo that probably costs more than my mountainside property. I check the label: Armani . There’s another bag with what looks like a more casual suit, and a third with various shirts and pants.

“How much did all of this cost?” I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice. Too fuckin’ much for clothes , is what I’m guessing.

She wraps her arms around my waist from behind. “It’s part of the deal. The designers loan clothes in exchange for the publicity of having someone wear them on the red carpet.”

“But I’m just security.”

She rests her cheek against my back. “You’re with me. That’s enough for them.”

I turn in her arms, studying her face. There’s a tension around her eyes that wasn’t there on the way here. “You doing okay?”

“Tired,” she says. “And missing Hulk already.”

“He’s probably getting spoiled by my niece as we speak.”

Her smile is small but genuine. “I hope so.”

I brush a strand of hair from her face and lean in for a kiss.

Her lips part under mine, soft and yielding.

The familiar taste of her grounds me, reminding me that despite the unfamiliar surroundings, some things remain constant—the way she sighs into my mouth, the gentle press of her body against mine. Her .

She steps back, glancing toward an open door leading to what appears to be the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower, wash off the travel.”

I nod, letting her slip out of my arms and stare uncomfortably at the items before me. Not sure what to do with myself. Behind me, the bathroom door closes, then opens again.

“Beau?”

I glance over my shoulder. Callie’s standing in the doorway, an invitation in her eyes. “This shower is pretty big,” she says. A smile plays on her fuck-me lips. “I might need someone to watch my back…”

My cock thickens at the very thought of her asking me—wanting me . Three weeks we’ve been together, and my desire for her hasn’t diminished at all. If anything, it’s grown stronger with every second I’m with her.

I cross the room in a few strides, following her into a bathroom that’s as big as her living room in Whitetail. White marble everywhere, a shower enclosure to fit five people with two showerheads, and a tub that could classify as a small pool.

She’s already turning on the shower, steam beginning to rise. She turns to me, fingers slipping under the straps of her dress and shimmying it down her chest, waist, hips, thighs—before pooling at her feet. She steps out of it, wearing only a thin scrap of fabric between her thighs. Fuck .

My mouth goes dry at the sight of her naked, surrounded by this amount of luxury. The late afternoon California sun streams through frosted windows and catches her hair in a honey glow.

“You’re overdressed,” she points out with a smile, sliding her panties down her legs.

My cock weeps as she steps backward into the shower and the water that falls over her breasts, causing her nipples to perk.

I don’t need to be told twice. I strip quickly, my clothes falling to the floor as I follow her under the spray. The water pressure is perfect, hot streams hitting my shoulders and easing the tension in my knee from the flight.

Callie presses against me, her skin slick and warm. “Hi,” she says, looking up at me with those eyes that see right through me.

“Hi yourself,” I murmur, before capturing her mouth with mine.

The kiss deepens immediately, urgent and hungry. She slides her hands up my chest and into my hair, pulling me closer. I press her against the cool tile wall, one hand braced above her head, the other trailing down her side to grip her hip.

“I missed you,” she whispers against my lips.

“I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“No, but since we landed, you’ve been…” She looks away briefly, her cheeks turning a shade of pink. “Present but distant. Like you’re on duty.”

She’s not wrong. I’ve been in assessment mode since we touched down.

Knowing she wants me here as a means of protection—backup, as she calls it—has me scanning for threats, cataloging exits.

She may have invited me to keep her safe, but every bone in me would have told me to do so regardless.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” I say, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’m with you.”

Her fingers trace the scar on my shoulder, then lower to wrap around my already hard cock. “I can tell,” she says with a wicked smile.

My breath catches when she strokes me, her grip firm and sure. Then she sinks to her knees on the tile floor, looking up at me through wet lashes. “Callie—” I start, but the words die in my throat as her tongue laps at the head of my cock and her lips close around me.

The sight of her on her knees, taking me into her mouth, nearly undoes me. I keep one hand braced against the wall, the other tangling in her wet hair. She works me with her tongue, swirling around the head before she sucks me deeper, hollowing her cheeks with each slow, torturous pull.

When she looks up at me, holding my gaze as she takes me to the back of her throat, I have to grit my teeth to maintain control.

Her hands aren’t idle either—one grips the base of my shaft, working in tandem with her mouth, while the other cups and gently squeezes my balls, adding a layer of sensation that makes my thighs tense and a moan rip from my throat.

“Fuuuck,” I groan as she takes me deeper. The hot water streams down my back while her mouth creates a different kind of heat altogether.

She pulls back slightly. “That’s the idea,” she says, breathless, verging on a moan of her own. “I want you to fuck me, Beau. Hard and fast.”

The raw need in her voice tells me all I need to know. I haul her up and off the floor, pinning her against the wall. Her legs wrap around my waist and I can feel how wet she is against my stomach—her pussy dragging against me.

“Like this?” I ask, lowering her into position, lining the head of my cock at her entrance.

“Yes,” she gasps. “Please.”

I push into her in one smooth thrust and waste no time in pulling out, only to slam back into her.

The angle is perfect, allowing me to go deep while supporting her weight against the wall.

Her nails dig into my shoulders as I grip her hips.

I set a pounding rhythm that’s exactly what she asked for: hard and fast.

“God, yes,” she moans, her head falling back against the tile.

The wet slap of our bodies coming together echoes around us. I drive into her, my grip on her thighs tight enough to leave marks. The thought sends a possessive pulse through my cock. “Look at me,” I demand, needing to see her eyes.

She does, her gaze locking with mine as I thrust into her. The connection is electric, intimate. She starts to tighten around me, her breath becoming erratic. “Beau,” she whimpers, her thighs trembling, her walls pulsing.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve always got you.”

She cries out, her body clenching around mine as her orgasm hits. The feel of her coating my cock pushes me over the edge, and I follow her, burying my face in her neck as my release tears through me. God, so fucking good .

For a moment, we stay locked together, until I finally ease her down, making sure she’s steady before reaching for the hotel-provided soap, one hand never leaving the curve of her hip.

Wild dogs couldn’t tear me away from her.

She looks up at me, her expression dazed and soft. I pull her close, water streaming over us. We’re silent as we wash each other slowly, taking our time. When we finally step out of the shower, it’s nearing dinner and I’m starving.

Say what you will about sushi and the price of it, the shit isn’t filling in the slightest.

I expect Callie to want to go out on the town, maybe catch dinner at another fancy restaurant, but she doesn’t.

And given what I know about her, I kick myself for not knowing better.

We opt to order room service and she giggles incessantly at my massive order of steak and several sides we plan to share.

When it arrives, we lie in bed in our underwear and watch the first short horror film she ever made, Blood Camp: S’mores and Slaughter , on her laptop.

“You weren’t kidding about the blood,” I say around a mouthful of perfectly cooked ribeye. The screen shows a teenage counselor getting decapitated with what looks like fishing line, blood spraying in an improbable arc. “Is that corn syrup?”

“Corn syrup, food coloring, and chocolate sauce,” she confirms, stealing a roasted potato from my plate. “My special recipe. We shot this senior year on a budget of exactly seventy-five dollars.”

I’m impressed. “It looks professional.”

“Thank you,” she says, beaming with pride. “I was lucky enough to find actors willing to work for pizza and Pop Rocks.”

As the movie plays, I study her more than the screen.

She’s relaxed in a way I haven’t seen since the first night we spent together talking on her couch.

Curled beside me in nothing but panties and my T-shirt, her hair still damp from our shower, this is the Callie I know—the one who’d rather watch horror movies in bed than parade around at fancy events and restaurants.

I’m starting to see the conflict of interest here with her career.

She loves what she does.

But she doesn’t love everything that comes with it.

“Did you act in any of your films?” I ask as the credits roll, showing a surprisingly short list of names for the twenty-three-minute movie.

She wrinkles her nose. “A few. I was usually behind the camera, but sometimes we’d run out of actors or someone would bail, and I’d have to step in.”

“I want to see those,” I say, setting my empty plate on the nightstand.

Her cheeks flush. “Oh, god no. They’re embarrassing.”

“All the more reason.” I reach for the laptop, pulling it closer. “Come on, show me. I want to see everything you’ve made before you made it big.”

She smiles, unable to hide her pleasure at my interest. “Fine. But you don’t get to laugh at my terrible acting.”

“No promises.”

Her laugh has me grinning.

“After this, we should watch the first two in the trilogy,” she says. “I’d hate to spoil the ending for you at the premiere. Oh, and I did play one of the early victims in the first movie.”

I raise a brow. “You starred in one of your blockbusters?”

“It was fifteen minutes max,” she says smoothly while pulling up another video, this one titled: Nightmare Office: Deadline . “In this one, I play the secretary who gets possessed by the ghost living in the copy machine.”

“Naturally.” I chuckle, bringing her against my side.

As the film begins, I’m struck by the strange twist of fate that brought us together—a stray bullet and a strong determination to keep the world at arm’s length.

Now, I’m falling. Hard. Fast. With no end in sight.

“You’re staring at me instead of the movie,” she murmurs without looking away from the screen.

“Better view,” I reply.

She turns to me then, her expression soft in the blue light of the laptop. “Thank you for coming with me,” she says quietly. “I know this isn’t your scene at all.”

I brush my thumb across her cheek. “I’d follow you anywhere, sweetheart. Even into a ghost-possessed copy machine.”

She laughs, the sound captivating. “Good to know you don’t have limits.”

I pull her closer for a kiss, the movie forgotten. This might be another world, full of expectations I can’t begin to understand, but she’s still the same woman who stole my heart in my hometown.

And for the next two weeks, I’ll make damn sure nothing and no one hurts her.