2
REID
Her face is a picture.
The little nurse who had such a soft touch, but a spine of steel. I like her. More than that, I’m curious about her.
She takes me in, and the new furniture I had my men bring in.
“What are you doing?” Her voice rises to a panicky height.
“I live here,” I reply blandly. Since a couple of hours after we met. It didn’t take me long to track down her house, and the young man who answered the door was remarkably cooperative. I offered him and all the other tenants a generous amount to move out—with the help of my men—immediately. They’ve all accepted. Meanwhile, Jack—my second-in-command—managed to contact the landlord and persuade him it was in his best interests to sell to me on the spot. It all went very smoothly, really, which is a miracle given the day I’ve had.
What a mess. And Callie is a bright, shining star in the middle of blood and death and darkness and loss.
“You don’t. There are no vacancies.”
“Turned out that was negotiable. We’re roommates,” I say with deliberate emphasis.
She splutters.
“In the American sense, not the British one,” I add casually, as though I don’t understand the implication I made that we’ll sleep in the same room, not just in the same house. “I guess you’d say we’re housemates, rather than roommates. I’m staying on the top floor.”
“But the trainee physios live in those rooms.” Her grip on her rucksack is white knuckle. She’s wearing jeans and a loose top, and is as cute as a… young woman I’d like to fuck until she’s wrung out from coming on my cock. I’m not sure if that’s the pinnacle of cuteness for anyone else, but Callie is for me.
That bouncy brown ponytail. The hint of curves underneath her clothes. The dark-brown of her eyes and the slash of her cheekbones—tinged pink. She’s adorable. She’s the only one to touch me in the last decade who hasn’t made me recoil, and there is literally no one else in the world that I want tending my wound.
“They moved out, and since I’m now the owner, I decided to move in.”
Stumbling forwards, she sinks into the other sofa—also newly brought from my house and much better quality than what was there before. I’ll need to do more upgrades, although hopefully that won’t be required. Callie’s a smart girl. She’ll realise her protests are useless, and agree to be kidnappedtoa place, rather thanina place.
Potatoes, potah-toes.
“I don’t understand.” She shakes her head. “Why have you moved in?”
“Yes, you do know.”
She’s leaning forwards on the sofa, not comfortable, one hand still on the rucksack she’s taken off and put at her feet. She fiddles with the toggle end of the zip.
“You want me to tend your wound and change the dressings.”
I nod.
She takes a deep breath. “And I said I’d do it for my roommate, and you took that literally.”
“Just so.”
“You did all this to get me to change your bandages?” She flits her gaze to the new sofas and the rug.
“I get what I want, Callie.” Only she will do. I’ve suffered for years with disgust at the touch of any other person, but Callie… Yes it was through gloves, but that doesn’t usually make any difference to me. Being touched by her was pleasant. And that was a significant wound. What would her hands feel like on another part of my body?
I shut the thought down. It’s not happening.
“This is unhinged.” She meets my gaze, and her expression is almost apologetic. As though she’s giving bad news to someone possibly about to burst into an emotional sob or rage.
“Mmm.” I make a neutral, calm noise of agreement. I can’t deny it’s a strange thing to do, but limits are for men who aren’t as wealthy and powerful as I am.
“I’m going to call the police.” It’s almost a question.
