Page 57

“Shut up,” I murmured, rising on my toes to kiss him, my fingers already working on his tie. “And stop calling me that when you know what it does to me.”

His laugh vibrated against my lips. “That’s precisely why I do it, Mrs. Burkhardt.”

My retort was lost as his mouth claimed mine again, the kiss deeper, hungrier than before. For all our teasing, there was nothing funny about the way his hands skimmed down my sides, bunching the fabric of my dress until he could grip my bare thighs above my stockings.

“We have seventeen minutes,” I reminded him, already breathless as he lifted me onto a stack of folded tablecloths. “Probably closer to fifteen now.”

“Then we better not waste time,” he growled, pushing my dress up to my waist.

The sound I made when his fingers found me through my underwear was embarrassingly needy, but I was past caring. He groaned against my neck when he discovered how wet I already was, the thin silk of my panties soaked through.

“Still glad you married me?” he asked, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric to stroke me.

“Ask me again in five minutes,” I gasped, fumbling with his belt.

“I’m insulted you don’t think I can last longer, darling.” He bit my earlobe as he pushed a finger inside me. I moaned against his shoulder.

“Oh I know you can, but this is more about efficiency.”

What followed was a desperate, frantic collision of hands and lips and whispered instructions.

The confined space meant we knocked over a mop and nearly toppled a shelf of paper towels, but neither of us could be bothered to care as I wrapped my legs around his waist. Callan braced one hand against the wall behind me, the other gripping my hip as he drove into me hard enough to make me bite my lip to keep from crying out.

“God, I missed you,” he panted against my neck, his rhythm building as my nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt. “Three days is too long.”

“Yes. Definitely too long.” The words dissolved into a moan as he hit that perfect spot inside me. “Oh god, right there.”

Callan’s grip on my hips tightened, his thrusts growing harder, more insistent. He held me against the cold wall of the supply closet, the contrast of heat and chill sending electric shocks through my body. My legs wrapped tighter around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, urging him on.

“Don’t hold back,” I breathed into his ear, my voice barely a whisper. “We don’t have time for gentle.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and he captured my mouth in a fierce kiss, teeth grazing my lower lip.

The shelves behind us rattled with each movement, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing in the small space.

His fingers dug into my flesh, holding me in place as he drove into me again and again.

He swore under his breath, his pace increasing until the world around us blurred. The scent of sex and sweat filled the air. My heart pounded in my chest, my breath coming in short gasps as pleasure coiled tight within me.

“Close,” I managed to choke out, my body tensing as the first waves of orgasm began to crest. “So close.”

Callan’s hand slid between us, his fingers finding my clit. He stroked me in time with his thrusts, the dual sensation pushing me over the edge. I bit down on his shoulder to muffle my cry as I came, my body convulsing around him.

“Fuck, Anica,” he groaned, his movements growing erratic as he chased his own release. His body stiffened, and he buried his face in my neck, a low groan escaping him as he climaxed.

For a moment, we stayed locked together, breathless and trembling in the aftermath. Then he raised his head to look at me, his eyes soft with a tenderness that still took me by surprise sometimes.

“I love you,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to mine. “Even in supply closets that smell like bleach.”

“How romantic,” I laughed, but my heart swelled with the same ridiculous happiness I felt every time he looked at me like that. “I love you too. Now put me down before someone comes looking for cleaning supplies and finds the CEO of Burkhardt Industries with his pants around his ankles.”

“Mm-hmm,” he agreed chuckling, making no move to pull away. “Just give me a second to recover. You wrecked me.”

I laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I think that’s my line. You’re the one who did all the work.”

He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Trust me, darling, that was anything but work.”

With a sigh, I unwound my legs from his waist, my feet touching the ground for the first time in what felt like hours. Callan stepped back, tucking himself away and straightening his clothes.

“We need to get back,” I said, checking my reflection in the compact mirror from my purse. “Mari’s going to know exactly what we were doing.”

“She already knew before we left,” Callan pointed out, fixing his tie. “Besides, it’s not like we haven’t done this before.”

“True. I suppose we’ve turned it into an expo tradition.”

“I quite enjoy this tradition.” Callan grinned at me, smoothing a strand of hair back into place. “We should make it an every event tradition.”

“We go to at least a hundred events each year.”

“Exactly.” He winked at me.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said as I smacked him on the chest, but I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face.

“That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago,” he teased, capturing my hand and bringing it to his lips. “In fact, I distinctly remember you calling me a ‘god’ at one point.”

“Temporary insanity,” I replied, checking my watch. “We’ve been gone twenty-four minutes. Mari’s going to be?—”

A piercing alarm cut through the air, making us both jump.

“What the hell is that?” Callan asked, wincing at the sound.

“Fire alarm.” I grabbed my purse and yanked open the door. “We need to go. Now.”

We hurried through the corridors, joining the stream of confused vendors and attendees heading toward the exits. The smell of smoke grew stronger as we approached the main exhibition hall.

“It’s coming from our section,” I realized with growing horror, quickening my pace.

“I’m sure it’s nothing—” Callan began, but stopped short as we rounded the corner into the hall.

Both our booth and Mr. Gable’s were partially engulfed in flames.

Fire extinguisher foam covered what wasn’t burning, creating white mountains across the displays.

In the center of this apocalyptic tableau stood Mari and Mr. Gable, both covered in foam and what appeared to be gold glitter, locked in what could only be described as a wrestling match.

Mr. Gable had Mari in a headlock while she seemed to be attempting to bite his forearm, both of them shouting incoherently as security guards tried to separate them.

I gaped at them. “What the actual?—”

“Fuck.” Callan finished for me. He recovered faster. “Well,” he said with inappropriate cheerfulness, “at least we know it wasn’t our fault.”

I shot him a glare before rushing forward, my wedding planner crisis mode activating instantly. “Mari! What happened?”

At the sound of my voice, Mari stopped trying to bite Hudson and looked up, her expression morphing from rage to casual greeting so quickly it was almost comical.

“Oh, hey! You’re back.” She shook her foam-covered hair out of her eyes. “How was your ‘inventory check’?”

“What. Happened.” I repeated through clenched teeth.

“This psychopath set our booth on fire!” Mari twisted in Mr. Gable’s grip, still trying to bite him. “He sabotaged us!”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Mr. Gable snapped, though his cool demeanor from earlier had clearly cracked.

His perfect hair stood on end, covered in white foam and what looked like ash and gold glitter.

His immaculate suit was torn at the shoulder, and a scratch ran down one cheek.

“This woman is deranged. She attacked me with a cake serving knife!”

“It was a spatula, you dramatic asshole!” Mari shot back. “And you started the fire when you planted those trick candles in our display that wouldn’t blow out!”

“I did no such thing,” Mr. Gable replied, his voice cold but his eyes blazing. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised your tacky decorations went up in flames. That much polyester in one place was practically begging for combustion.”

“Oh, so now you’re a fashion critic and an arsonist?”

“I am a professional wedding planner with standards, not a circus ringleader with a glue gun and a death wish!”

I stared at them in disbelief. “You’ve known each other for two hours .”

“Two hours too long,” they said in unison, then glared at each other with renewed hatred.

Security finally managed to separate them completely, though both looked ready to lunge again given the slightest opportunity. A small crowd had gathered, several people filming on their phones despite the expo staff’s attempts to move everyone along.

“This is completely unacceptable,” a security guard growled, keeping a firm grip on Mr. Gable’s arm. “Both of you are facing removal from the premises and possible legal action for damages.”

I stepped forward, slipping into the calm, reasonable persona that had defused countless wedding disasters. “I understand this looks... bad,” I began.

“They set two booths on fire and destroyed a third with the sprinkler system,” the guard said flatly.

I glanced at the adjacent booth, now soaked beyond recognition. “We will, of course, cover all damages,” I assured him, silently thanking the wedding gods that I’d married a man with a good lawyer. “This was clearly an unfortunate accident?—”

“She’s the accident. A walking breathing accident,” Mr. Gable interrupted, attempting to straighten his ruined suit with his free hand. “I want her arrested for assault and arson!”

“That is my best friend you’re insulting, Mr. Gable.” I lifted my chin, narrowing my eyes. “Be careful what you say.”

He opened his mouth and closed it, wisely choosing not to respond.