on her heels and headed for the garage. Tonight, she was driving herself. Micah would be following at a discreet distance, but at least she’d have the illusion of freedom.
Callie grabbed the first keys her hand touched, and rolled her eyes when the Cadillac chirped in response. She’d prefer something a little subtler, but in the grand scheme of things, her vehicle choice didn’t matter a damn bit. Besides, with the bulletproof glass and reinforced body, this SUV was really more of a tank. If they were truly going to war with the Hallorans, she couldn’t have picked anything safer to drive.
The drive to the restaurant was blissfully uneventful, and it didn’t hit her until she was walking through the front doors that she’d voluntarily agreed to meet Teague alone. Trepidation rose, but she shoved it back. She was more than capable of having a conversation with a man in public without fearing for her safety. But her body wasn’t listening to reason, her skin breaking out in goose bumps and her throat closing. Despite the open floor plan of the restaurant and the low light from candles and conveniently placed lamps, the walls seemed to be inching closer, until she hunched her shoulders in response.
“Callista?”
She jumped, tripping over her heels, and would have gone down if a hand didn’t grab her upper arm and haul her to her feet. She found herself looking up into Teague’s dark eyes. Had she thought them cold? They were dark fire, so deep and soulful that they should belong to a poet instead of an O’Malley who may or may not be the enemy.
He gentled his grip. “Are you okay? You look spooked.”
If he only knew. She’d never been a victim of panic attacks before. But then, she’d never killed anyone before, either. A hysterical laugh tried to muscle its way out of her mouth, but she clamped her teeth together until the urge passed. “I’m fine.”
“If you’re sure…”
“I am.” She couldn’t quite banish the tension from her shoulders, but she managed a half smile.
Teague looked unconvinced. “Our table is this way. I thought some privacy would be our best option.”
Some, but not too much. She took a shaky breath and tried to steel herself. Panicking like this wasn’t an option. Panicking at all wasn’t an option. How was she supposed to lead her people into the future if she couldn’t even hold herself together?
Because this is exactly the sort of thing I want to avoid. Murder isn’t supposed to be an option.
The table he led her to was situated on the other side of a half wall, and lit by two small candles. She slid into the chair that gave her a view of most of the rest of the room, and Teague took the one directly to her right, also putting his back to the wall. They shared a humorless smile. Old habits died hard, apparently.
The waitress appeared and took their drink orders. Once Callie had her wine in hand, she shifted in her seat to look fully at him. “You have me here. What is it you plan to do with me?” The words came out low and flirty, as if inviting him to think dark thoughts. Which wasn’t what she’d intended…even if she was suddenly thinking exactly those types of thoughts. It was all too easy to step back into that alley and remember the feel of his hard muscles beneath her hands and how he’d taken her mouth as if he had every right to it.
Teague leaned back, his tumbler of whiskey hanging loosely in his hand. “I could think of a few things.”
Focus. You’re here to figure out how to solve a problem. Not to flirt.
She couldn’t quite manage to tear her gaze away from the curve of his lips. Everything else about him was so hard and rough, as if carved from stone. But those lips? They were sensual and full and promised the kind of pleasures she could only dream of. She shook her head. “I imagine so.”
“Tell me something.”
She tensed. He was going to ask her about the bruises again. She was sure of it. “What would you like to know?”
“Were you and Brendan together?”
Callie laughed, the sound broken. “No. I’d never met him when my father decided that we should be married.”
“Hmm.” He nodded, as if confirming something to himself. His face gave away nothing of his thoughts, though those dark eyes drank her in as if he couldn’t make himself look away.