Page 99 of Stolen Voices

twenty-three

Callie

Thestrokeofwarmfingertips across my forehead pulls me from sleep and dreams of the man with mismatched eyes who visits me nightly to whisper sweet nothings in my ear as he worships my body.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”That voice.

The rough voice calls me again, and even though I don’t want to wake up, my body responds, forcing my eyelids to flutter open.

I’ve never been more grateful to wake up to such a sight. Sitting above me is the owner of the mismatched irises I love to stare at and of the deep voice my body craves to obey.

Elijiah.

“There you are,” he says with an affectionate smile. He cups my cheek and places a quick kiss on the apple. “Good morning.”

“Mmm. Morning.” I could wake up looking into his entrancing eyes every day. I stretch my arms overhead with a yawn and work out the kinks in my back. This bed is the best I’ve ever slept in. “What time is it?”

“After ten,” he says, running a hand through his thick brown hair that swoops back and to the side in that sexy way that looks both purposeful and natural. “You needed the rest.”

“I did,” I admit. While I never sleep in this late, Eli’s right. The last few days are an instant reminder of everything my body has been through.

I sit up, thankful that some of the pain in my lower back and butt is absent. Taking a better look at Eli, I notice his hair is still damp from the shower. He smells faintly of the ocean and woods, and his scruff looks freshly trimmed around his glorious soft, pink lips.

Lips I kissed last night. Or did he kiss me? I don’t know or care. All I know is I could just scream. Hands down, it was the best kiss I’ve ever had. It was electric and sweet. Sensual and tender.

My cheeks heat thinking about how much I want him to kiss me again.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, searching my face for any discomfort.

“Yes, I feel much better. Still sore, but…” I twist my head side to side and stretch my legs, taking stock of my aches and pains. “It’s nothing compared to yesterday.”

“That’s good.” Eli looks away and fidgets with the collar of his shirt. The light-blue dress shirt that brings out the blue in his eyes.

I follow the path down his neck to the rest of his clothes. Eli is wearing a light charcoal gray suit, no tie—a piece of his ensemble he doesn’t wear often—and his Italian leather brogue boots.

“Are you going somewhere?” I ask as a sinkhole of disappointment settles in my stomach.

“Get cleaned up, and then we can talk.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Ignoring me, Eli stands from the bed, fists clenched, as he strides toward the bedroom door. He turns back to look at me as if in pain. “If you need me, just shout. I’ll be in the living room waiting for you.”

“I won’t,” I snap, unable to hide my irritation.

Swinging my feet over the side of the bed, I place them on the warm rug and stand. I hold my breath as I find my balance before carefully storming off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and flipping the lock.

He kisses me, and now he’s leaving me here alone to do what? What the hell is wrong with him? Did last night mean nothing to him? Did he kiss me because he felt bad for me?

I’m not some pathetic damsel in distress who needs a pity kiss. Who the hell does Elijiah Miller think he is? God’s gift?

As. Freaking. If.

While stewing in anger, I do my business and wash my hands before placing them on the counter. I stare into the mirror at my reflection, taking in the slight bags under my wide eyes and my tangled hair from going to bed with it wet.

If he wants to leave, then fine. Fuck him.

But he’s going to wait, because there is no way in hell I am going to face him looking like a hot mess.