Page 25

Sloane’s gaze flitted across Callum’s kitchen, her lips quirking with determination as she pulled open the next cabinet. Inside, neatly lined jars of spices stared back at her, their pristine labels a testament to his orderliness.

She grinned to herself. Of course Callum’s spices were alphabetized.

Shutting the cabinet, she crossed to the fridge. The cool air brushed her face as she surveyed its contents. Chicken breasts, fresh vegetables, and a carton of eggs. All things he’d bought while they were at the store in Oak Creek yesterday. Simple, but workable.

Her fingers tightened on the fridge door handle. She hadn’t really cooked in years. She’d done it all the time when her mother had been alive because there hadn’t been any other choice. If Sloane hadn’t cooked, they wouldn’t have eaten most days, especially when her mother’s depression had been at its worst.

But once she’d come to live with the Gettys, they’d had her use their cook for her meals. They’d charged her for the service— it had come out of her weekly paycheck, despite Sloane wanting to do it herself to save money.

Was her family looking for her? Would they discover she was here and tell Callum she was a criminal before she had a chance to explain things to him herself?

She had to force those thoughts out of her mind. If she didn’t, they would pull her under. Tonight wasn’t about her. It was about doing something for Callum.

He’d done so much for her, first in Moldova and now since she’d arrived here in Oak Creek. He was always taking care of her. Tonight was about her taking care of him.

She grabbed the ingredients and set them on the counter. She opened the laptop Callum had given her access to, searching “easy chicken recipes.” Her brow furrowed in concentration as she scanned the results. Lemon garlic chicken. That sounded perfect.

She skimmed through the recipe, muttering to herself. “Preheat the oven to 400 degrees, season the chicken…” Her movements quickened as she gathered the tools she needed.

Time was slipping away too fast, and she knew Callum would be home in less than an hour now.

She seasoned the chicken breasts, her confidence growing with each step. When she turned to slice the lemon, her hand slipped. The knife nicked her finger.

“Damn it,” she hissed, sticking her finger in her mouth to stop the sting. Shaking it off, she pressed on, determined.

By the time she placed the chicken in the oven, the scents of garlic and rosemary were already filling the air. She turned her attention to the vegetables, slicing them swiftly but carefully. A splash of olive oil, a sprinkle of salt and pepper, and they were ready for the roasting pan.

The timer on the oven beeped just as she slid the vegetables in. She opened the door, feeling the blast of heat, and frowned. Something was wrong. The chicken was too dark.

Her stomach sank. She grabbed a fork to check it and realized, to her horror, that the chicken had burned on one side. The pan was too small; the juices had dried up.

“No, no, no,” she muttered, trying to salvage it. But as she moved the pan, the edge tipped, and a drop of hot oil splattered onto the heating element.

Flames flared to life.

“Oh my God!” she yelped, backing up.

What should she do? Was there a fire extinguisher around somewhere? Knowing Callum, undoubtedly there was, but she didn’t know where and didn’t want the house to burn down while she tried to find it.

The smoke detector began to scream. She grabbed the kitchen towel, waving it frantically at the alarm. Black smoke poured out of the oven, curling upward in ominous waves.

The front door burst open.

“Sloane!” Callum’s deep voice cut through the chaos. His gaze swept the room, taking in the smoke, the fire, and her panicked expression.

“I’m okay,” she blurted, her voice breaking as tears spilled over. “I was trying to make dinner.”

She grabbed a cup of water to throw into the oven, but he stopped her. “Believe it or not, that can spread the flames. Let’s just close this door, and it will burn itself out.”

Sure enough, not thirty seconds after the door was closed, the fire was gone. Callum calmly walked over to the still-blaring smoke detector, reached up, and held a button on it. A moment later, there was blessed silence.

He turned to her with a smile. “Crisis averted.”

Except for the fact that dinner was completely ruined. Sloane slumped against the counter, tears leaking. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, but I ruined everything.”

In two strides, he was at her side, pulling her into his arms. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

She shook her head, burying her face in his chest. “No, but the food… I messed it all up. I couldn’t even do one thing right. I wanted to do something for you since you’ve done so much for me.”

“Hey,” he murmured, stroking her back. “It’s okay. It’s just dinner. We’ll order pizza, all right? Or…” He pulled back slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Or I’ve got some frozen chicken nuggets we can microwave. You’d be surprised at the versatility of barbecue sauce.”

She choked out a laugh despite herself, her tears still falling. “You’re too good at this.”

“What, firefighting or cheering you up?” His smile softened as he cupped her cheek. “Angel, no one’s ever tried to cook me a meal in this house before. The fact that you even wanted to means everything to me.”

Her tears slowed, his words soothing the sting of failure. “You mean that?”

“Every word.”

She shook her head.

“What?” he asked.

“You come in from a hard day’s work, the house is half on fire and the alarm is shrieking, and you so calmly handle it all. You were like that in Moldova too. How are you always so confident?”

“Is that what you think? Come with me. I’ve got something to show you outside.” He tugged her gently toward the front door.

She frowned, confused. “What is it?”

“Just trust me.”

They stepped onto the porch. The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet. Callum pointed to his car parked in front of the house.

“I sat there for five minutes before coming inside,” he said, his voice low. “Just staring at this porch. Thinking about what it could be. Embarrassed at what it wasn’t.”

Sloane looked around, puzzled. There was nothing wrong with the porch. It was solidly built, sturdy. “What do you mean?”

“I imagined a swing right here.” He gestured to the left. “And some flowers, you know, in railing planters all along here.” He pointed to both sides. “Painted shutters, like I’ve always planned to get around to but haven’t yet. Maybe even a little fire pit.”

She could see it in her mind. “That would be beautiful.”

He let out a sigh. “I know. And I could’ve done any of that in the past seven years since I moved in, but I haven’t. Because I didn’t care. I didn’t see it that way. Not until you were here. I wanted a homey porch that felt like you.”

Her breath caught. “Callum…”

He stepped down the stairs, leading her to the side of the house where a bouquet of flowers lay on the ground, petals scattered.

“You say I never panic? I bought these for you on my way home, but then when I started thinking about the state of the porch, I freaked out and tossed them to the side so I could throw them away later.”

She reached down and picked up the bouquet, wiping away the dirt, cradling it against her chest as tears welled again. “Why did you freak out? Because you didn’t want me to have them?”

“No. The opposite.” He grabbed her upper arms gently. “Because you deserve so much more than flowers from someone like me who hasn’t done romance in so long that he can’t even remember how to do it properly.” He shook his head. “And whose porch is woefully under decorated.”

She made a face. “Yeah, well, maybe you deserve someone who doesn’t nearly burn that under decorated porch down.”

He laughed, and she loved the sound. “How about we call it even?”

She smiled up at him. “If I can keep these. No one’s ever brought me flowers before.”

His eyes darkened with something she couldn’t quite name. “Then I’ll have to make sure it happens more often. How about if we order that pizza or make those chicken nuggets?”

She rose on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his. “How about if we let that wait for a little while and do something else instead?”

He threaded his hands into her hair. “Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?”

“Something I wanted to do in Moldova but didn’t get a chance.”

“Oh yeah?” He wrapped his arms around her hips, strong and steady as he lifted her effortlessly. Her legs instinctively circled his waist, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, bouquet still in her hands. He carried her back up the porch steps and inside.

His steps quickened as she nipped along his neck and jaw. “I want to feel you in my mouth.”

His guttural groan brought a smile to her lips. That’s what she wanted. He’d always been so careful and considerate with her.

Tonight, she wanted him to lose control.

Even the chaos of the kitchen couldn’t force her attention away from what she had planned. Cleanup would have to wait. She wanted this man too much.

When he dropped her on the bed, she immediately peeled off her shirt then reached for his and did the same.

“These have to go.” She grabbed for his belt and unbuckled it, pulling down his pants and boxers at the same time. Then she got off the bed and spun him around until he was sitting and she could kneel between his legs.

He threaded his fingers through her hair. “Angel, you don’t have to do this. As sure as I am that your hot little mouth will have me coming apart in an embarrassingly short amount of time, I don’t want you to feel like I expect it.”

She licked her lips, a smile of feminine confidence lighting her features. “I want to do this. You’ve tasted me multiple times. Now, I want to taste you.”

She loved the groan that fell from his lips as she wrapped her hand around him. Loved the feel of the silky length of him.

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. The only thing I’m not sure of is if I will do it right.”

He let out a strangled chuckle. “Just save your teeth for your smile. Beyond that, there’s not much wrong you can do. Explore away.”

That was all the encouragement she needed. She darted her tongue out to lick around his head, exploring, learning, playing. Every groan was an incentive. She wrapped her hand around the base of him and licked him like he was her favorite-flavored lollipop.

“Fuck, Sloane.” She loved how he gently fisted his fingers in her hair. “I’m not going to last long if you continue this.”

“Good. I don’t want you to. I want you to lose control like you make me do all the time.”

She wrapped her lips around him and moved her head up and down, taking him as deep as she could into her mouth. Soon, his encouraging words stopped, but she knew it wasn’t because she was doing anything wrong. His breath was sawing in and out of his chest, and both hands were in her hair now, guiding her head up and down.

She peeked up at him and loved what she saw—his head thrown back, completely caught up in this moment with her.

She felt like the most powerful woman in the world.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

She didn’t, letting her tongue glide against him as she moved her head up and down. Within just a few moments, he was shouting her name and exploding into her mouth. She swallowed every drop before slowly releasing him and easing her head down to rest against his thigh.

His hand was still wrapped in her hair, and he began to gently stroke it. “That was amazing.”

She thought so too. Loved that she’d reduced this alpha warrior to a quivering mass. “I liked doing that. I want to do it more often.”

“I’m not going to say no to that, that’s for damn sure.” He reached down and scooped her up into his lap. “But now, it’s your turn. And I didn’t have any dinner, so I’m starving.”

All she could do was feel as he made a meal of her.