And he wasn't the only one.
When the conversation ended, Stella tugged her earbuds loose and stuck her phone in her pocket before looking up at me. My eyes landed on her dimples first, and then those perfect heart-shaped lips.
Under normal circumstances, I would have said hello and asked if this restaurant sounded good to her, and maybe asked about her call.
But these were no normal circumstances and I did none of that. I cupped her face, drove my fingers through her silky hair, and brought her lips to mine.
This was no simple chemical reaction. This wasn't a basic attraction. There was a string tied between us, a fine thread drawing us together. It reminded me of the old transatlantic telegraph cables, the ones originally laid in 1858. They ran from Valentina Island in western Ireland to Heart's Content, Newfoundland. Those cables reduced the travel time of communication from ten days via steamship to minutes. Those cables shrunk the world. They changed everything.
That was how I felt right now. Like I was connected to Stella in ways I couldn't see and barely understood but I knew it changed everything.
My hands moved down her back to her waist. Her coat was knotted too damn tight for my tastes. "Stella," I whispered against her mouth.
"Whatever you need to tell me," she started, her teeth scraping over my jaw until lust was chasing heat down my spine, "it needs to involve a burger and a truckload of fries unless you want me yelling at another client."
I brought my hands back to her face, gazing into her eyes before I spoke. "Yes, we're going to eat. But then," I said, pausing to breathe. "Then I want to take you home with me. I want to see you in a place that's just ours. I don't want anyone else around."
Stella's fingers trailed up and down my chest, over my tie, and she smiled. "I have a question for you."
Yes, I'll marry you tonight.
Yes, you can name our babies whatever you want. But not Melvin, please.
Yes, I'm feeling a bit snarly about you handling pro male athletes all day—actual specimens of human excellence—but more than that, it impresses the hell out of me.
Yes, your ass is a deity in my world.
Yes, I'm disease-free and can name my sexual partners on my fingers.
No, I don't think any of this is moving too quickly.
My thoughts flew back to those transatlantic cables, the protection of which featured in several Ranger school drills. The original cables only lasted three weeks before the hostile environment of the North Atlantic destroyed them.
I blinked, forcing that thought away. "Anything," I whispered against her jaw.
"What if I want to take you home with me?" she asked.
10
Stella
"What if Iwant to take you home with me?" I asked.
Yeah, it was bold. It was brazen. It was even a bit ballsy.
But that was how I was feeling today. I'd started the day by narrowly avoiding death by raccoonasaurus, followed that up with the most intense, panty-melting cup of coffee this side of Ryan Reynolds, and then I kicked some ass at the office.
I'd earned some bold, brazen, and ballsy. It was mine and I was keeping it. Even if I'd never invited a man to my home before. Never once. It seemed I was crossing a lot of nevers off my list today.
Lust-fueled hunger washed over Cal's face and his lips parted with an eager breath. "Anything, Stella," he said, his grip on my waist impossibly tight and his erection nudging my leg. That was a lie. It wasn't in nudge territory anymore. It was straight-up knocking on my leg, impatiently waiting for me to open the door and invite him inside. "Anything."
He looked up and around, as if seriously considering some biblical acts right here, a block from Tremont Street and the Common. His hazel eyes moved quickly, assessing everything around us. Looking for a dark alleyway, no doubt. Eventually, his gaze tracked down to my level and he offered a wobbly smile. "Would it be too forward to ask to go there now?"
My stomach rumbled in response, long and loud as if I had some sort of unpleasant gastric situation, and we shared an uncomfortable laugh at that.
"I'm fine. I swear," I said, gesturing to my torso. "There's not a lot of things I take more seriously than food and I've been thinking about this meal all day," I said, drinking up the sight of Cal in a suit.
Oof.This man knew how to wear the shit out of track pants but the expertly tailored suit was an entirely different level. Working with athletes, I'd often run across big guys who wore suits like straightjackets—stiff, forced, uncomfortable—but Cal wasn't one of them. There was a thick cloud of strength and power around this man-brick, and I'd spotted it from two blocks away. That and a cloud of testosterone that seemed to beam off his tanned skin.
