Fair Trade (Bold Brew #7) - Cate Ashwood Page 0,28

actually.”

I turned to look at the portraits that took up a good chunk of the wall. They were black and white, and there was something powerful about them. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but I felt drawn into the images, like they held some power over me.

“What do you think?” Nick asked.

“They’re nice.”

Nick laughed. “Nice?”

“Aesthetically pleasing? I don’t know. I know jack all about photography or artsy shit.” I took a sip of my coffee, trying not to moan over the taste.

Nick pulled his phone out and tapped the screen a few times before handing it over to me. “The photos here are G-rated, but here’s his Insta with his other stuff.”

I glanced down, my eyes landing on the photos at the top. They’d been cut into segments, so they took up most of the screen, and I couldn’t look away. The man in the photograph was wearing a harness like the one Nick had put on me the day we’d helped him move. His head was thrown back in ecstasy, his body contorted, muscles tense. His partner’s hands were splayed across his stomach, and although there was nothing overtly graphic showing in the picture, I knew exactly what was happening.

I couldn’t tear my eyes from the image, remembering what it felt like to have the leather tightened around my chest. In the middle of a semi-crowded coffee shop, on shift and in uniform, my control was more fragile than ever.

A deep ache began in my chest, stealing my ability to breathe as I started to scroll through the rest of the photos.

One after another, each one set off an explosion in my brain, destroying all reason and laying waste to any semblance of restraint I had left.

“See something you like?” Nick echoed his words from moving day, and yet again I had no idea how to respond.

Because yes? And no?

My tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth, and I couldn’t swallow.

“They’re… interesting,” I finally managed. It was all I could manage because if I said anything else, I was going to end up begging Nick to fuck me in the bathroom.

“Interesting good?”

I ignored the question.

Nick opened his mouth to say something else, but the static of the radio cut through and dispatch was letting us know there were calls holding.

I’d never been more grateful to have a break cut short.

I handed Nick’s phone back to him, careful not to let our fingers brush as he took it.

An errant touch would be all it would take to dissolve the last of my self-control, consequences be damned.

Nick

Could a guy’s balls actually shrivel up and fall off from lack of sex? I wondered if there’d ever been a medically recorded instance of death by celibacy.

If not, I was about to be the first recorded case.

What a way to make history.

Working with Callum was driving me slowly insane. Every day I spent with him chipped away just a bit more at my sanity.

By the end of each shift, I went home exhausted and frustrated. We’d been working together for weeks. It wasn’t all bad.

Things that had been awkward at first crept closer to becoming seamless. We were in a rhythm, and I was learning how to anticipate what he needed and when he needed it.

Nothing made me feel better than to be one step ahead of him. The look of surprise on his face when I handed him equipment before he asked for it was almost satisfying. Almost.

But sitting next to Callum, close enough that I could practically hear him breathing—at least when the siren wasn’t running—made me ache to have him under me again. Or on top of me. I wasn’t picky. Really.

So far, though, he was remaining firmly committed to his promise that nothing was going to happen between us again. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. I’d used every trick in my arsenal, and no matter how hard I flirted, no matter how much temptation I dangled in front of him, his resolve was ironclad.

It was fucking annoying.

All I could do was concentrate on doing my job and not fucking up.

The entrance doors to the Red Rose Elderly Care Center slid open, the lights from the ambulance parked in the circular driveway reflecting in the side panels of glass as we walked in, our boots echoing on the tile floor as we crossed to the front desk.

We were there on a routine call. The Red Rose was one of our frequent stops, but today we