Page 38 of Last Resort

That’s my first thought when I stumble out of bed.

Callahan.

He’s my second.

Last night was . . . frustrating, sexy, unexpected . . . empowering. Sure, I stuck to my word and held tight to it, but my dreams let me know exactly what I was missing by walking away. Boy, did they.

And now I must get coffee before I head out to the office they’ve assigned me and “officially” start my time here at Ocean’s Edge.

The question is, what is the right answer?

What is it that Callahan can offer me that will be enough for me to risk everything I have going for me?

Or maybe it’s more an exercise for him to think more of me than the one-night stand girl. We will be working with each other after all, and I need him to respect me and think of me as an equal. You can’t exactly do that when the first time you meet, you drop your skirt without a second thought and then cave again soon after that.

I’m not an idiot in thinking our time spent will be anything more than wild monkey sex as Lizzy called it, but if he has to earn it, then maybe he’ll be less likely to be careless about keeping what’s happening a secret.

Because it does have to remain a secret or Roz would have me out on my ass in seconds for risking any future work with Sharpe International.

Roz.

Jesus.

She’d kill me for any and all of this. What happened to me? Why am I even risking this for sex?

I guess I’ll have time to figure out the answer to that while he figures out his answer to me.

Besides, it might be fun in the meantime. A little flirting. A lot of wanting and not getting. Hell, we jumped right to the endgame. Maybe a little cat and mouse will be good for a bit.

Will wanting and not having be hard? Hell, yes.

But I also think it’ll be worth it.

How will Callahan be toward me today after I threw him for a loop and literally left him hanging last night? I bet that’s never happened before.

Even worse, how hard will it be for me to concentrate with him near?

I rub the sleep from my eyes as I shuffle out of the bedroom and then jolt to a stop when I hear the sound of a spoon stirring against the ceramic of a coffee cup.

And there, in the kitchen of my villa, is Callahan. With nothing on but a pair of workout shorts and running shoes. His hair is wet with waves of it going every which way, and the muscles in his back ripple as he doctors the cup of coffee in front of him.

“Um . . . What are you still doing here?”

Unfazed by the sound of my voice, Callahan watches the creamer as he pours it into his cup. “Making coffee. There’s more than enough left in the pot if you want some,” he says as casual as can be.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Callahan turns and looks at me for the first time. Jesus. Seriously? After a long, restless night of no sleep, thinking about him, this is how he greets me?

His cheeks are flushed from what I assume was a run or some other form of exercise. And that assumption is based off the V of sweat that darkens the front of his shorts. Said shorts that unknowingly might or might not currently be showcasing the ridge of the head of his cock.

“I’m sorry. I was distracted.” He flashes a grin that tells me he knows exactly what distracted me and it was on purpose. “What did you ask, Sutton?”

“This is my room. Villa. Whatever you want to call it.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Clearly.”