hallway in silence. Surprised, too. Hook isn’t one to hold back in victory. He gloats, without an ounce of remorse.
Turn after turn, he leads me back the way I came. Neither one of us speak. We don’t look at each other. I wonder why he’s so silent, but in the same hand, I’m wondering what the hell I was thinking. I mean, really—what the hell was I thinking? These decadent places my mind keeps wandering to, places where he’s at the center, bringing me to my knees, they’re everything I should avoid.
I shouldn’t be getting closer to him.
I should be pushing him away, focusing on myself, on keeping myself calm. Grounded. Soaking in what little time I have left.
“This way,” he states, wrapping a gentle hand around my arm.
His touch zaps me back into reality, eyes blinking past the daze. I note we’re seconds away from pushing out the double French doors that lead to the garden and it doesn’t elude me that I made it down the stairs without tripping over my feet.
The night is rather cool, the sky clear, stars littered for miles. I can sense he wants to say something, but we continue walking the stoned path between aisles of perfectly trimmed bushes and pristinely-kept flower beds in silence. Their scent tied in with the warm saltiness of the ocean comforts me, relaxing my tensed body as we tread further into the garden.
“Ever played chess?” he finally breaks the on-going lull, voice light, playful.
I nod. “With my mother. She’s quite good.”
“Not better than me, I bet.”
His grin is beyond the depths of simply palpable, bouncing my shoulders as I laugh quietly. “Are you always so cocky?”
“When I know I’m damn good at something? Yes.”
“And let me guess? That would be everything, correct?”
“Not everything, no. I surely can’t dance like you,” he quips, shooting my gaze up to his strikingly handsome face.
“You remember that?” I ask, awed, both at his concession and how gorgeous he really is.
“Of course. Always the best one on stage. So poised, so elegant. Riveting.”
There go my cheeks heating again.
“God, it’s been…” I smooth a hand through my hair, looking off into the distance as I swallow past the memory of my last so-called performance. “It’s been years.”
Does he know?
“Not too many, but yes, a few.”
I’m agreeing with a bob of my head, my sights trained on how the moon reflects over the water, when his hand engulfs my own. “Play with me?” he questions softly.
That warmth, the way it sears my palm has me cutting my stare between us. “Play what?”
“Chess.”
“How are we going to—” I spot the table as I drag my focus upward.
Made of what appears to be glass, it sits between two extra wide armchairs, beneath a grand sycamore tree.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he starts, pulling me toward the secluded little area.
“What kind of deal?”
“Sit, and I’ll tell you.”
I do as he asks, dropping into the snug seat across from him as he does the same.
He slides in so comfortably, so confidently, reclining back, arms falling to the rests, his legs spread.
So unlike Peter.
I know I gasp at the fleeting thought. Whether audible or not, I don’t know, but Callan seems indifferent, pointing to the board.
“Whoever calls ‘checkmate’ first gets their way.”
And just like that, I push Peter out of my mind, just like he did to me. This man right here has my attention, all of it. What exactly does he mean by “get my way?”
“What’s the catch?” I toss back at him, crossing one leg over the other.
He does that grin, that forced scoff grin, flicking his sights away and back in a snap. “If I call it, you’ll feed.”
I don’t even have the chance to utter the first half of “what?” Hook already has a hand up, silencing me. “Let me finish. Nothing but a few drops. I just want you to taste it.”
I nearly die, right there.
The infamous Captain Hook wants me to savor his blood.
Oh my God.
My heart can’t so much as race. It shoots upward and lodges right in my throat, constricting my airway.
And those clear-cut blues boring into me, they seal the deal.
I swallow “How would I do that?”
Okay, I lied. This is where he kills me.
Pointing to his neck, he lifts that flawlessly defined jaw. “Right from the tap.”
Again, I can’t react and he doesn’t miss a beat, somehow knowing what my next move is before I do.
“Shhh. Just listen…” he coaxes. “If you call it, I’ll end my feat to