Rage (Benson Security 3)

“Oh, right.” Now she felt like her IQ needed questioning.

“Anyway, the guy fleeced you, but he was happy to rectify his mistake.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a huge wad of cash and tossed it to her. Isobel caught it reflexively. It was heavy and didn’t quite feel real. She stared at the bundle. She’d never seen so much money in her life.

“How much is here?” Her voice was a silly croak.

“Three thousand pounds.”

Isobel actually felt faint. Three thousand. It was nowhere near enough to pay off the loan shark. But it was more than enough for them to get from Arness and start somewhere else. She was looking at petrol money, the deposit on another rented house and food money for a couple of weeks until she found another job. He’d just handed her the chance to start again. And he’d done it as though it was nothing.

“I don’t know what to say.” She stumbled over the words as she tucked the money into the front pocket of her jeans and made a mental note to find somewhere more secure to stash it.

“Don’t say anything.”

“Okay.”

But seeing as she still wanted to say thank you, she did it the way she’d been wanting to do all through dinner—with a kiss.

With no warning, she launched herself at Callum, and he caught her easily, his strong arms tightening around her as she assaulted him with her mouth. There was no hesitation on his part. As soon as their lips met, it was electric. Never in her life had she felt the way she did when she was touching Callum. Everything else fled her mind. Nothing else mattered other than touching this man.

They kissed with a desperation that bordered on pain. Tongues, lips, teeth. Isobel couldn’t get enough. He was her addiction. She felt herself falling forward, and it barely registered that Callum had sat back on the sofa, with her straddling his lap. His mouth never left hers as his hands slid under her T-shirt and his palms covered her breasts. She moaned into his mouth, circling her hips and grinding herself against his hard length. More. She needed more.

As if reading her mind, Callum tugged the neck of her shirt down over her breasts and bent his head to suckle her nipple through her bra. She hated that bra. It needed to go. Now.

“Mum.”

The small voice vaguely registered for Isobel—she was still deep in a fog of need—but Callum stopped instantly.

With his hands firmly on her hips, he lifted her off him and put her on her feet. Isobel was shaking like a junkie needing her fix.

“Mum.” Sophie’s voice penetrated Isobel’s daze, and she realised her daughter was calling for her.

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sp; “I’m coming,” Isobel shouted. She cleared her throat and looked down at Callum.

His hair was tousled, his eyes were dark and his lips were swollen. She saw the same desperate need in his eyes as she felt burning inside her.

“Woman,” he said in that husky voice of his, “you don’t have any sense.”

Isobel couldn’t agree more. When it came to Callum, all sense and logic flew out the window. Without another word, she tugged her shirt back into place and, even though every cell of her body wanted to be back on the couch with Callum, made herself walk out of the room and upstairs to her daughter.

Callum stayed seated on Isobel’s deeply uncomfortable sofa and wondered, yet again, what had just happened. There was no middle ground with her. Either they were keeping their distance from each other or they were all over each other like a poison ivy rash. She was the itch he continually wanted to scratch, and he was going insane with it.

But he wasn’t there to get physical with Isobel Sinclair. He was there to protect her. It worried him that there had been people snooping around the other houses on the bluff. It was too much of a coincidence to dismiss. Which meant there were people out looking for the body. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out that the houses overlooking the cove were the most likely place to find it. And even if the body didn’t turn up in one of them, Arness was tiny, and they were bound to find it if they kept on looking.

Callum picked up the remote and flicked through channels on Isobel’s tiny TV. It looked to be about a million years old and only had the free-to-air programmes. Which meant there was nothing on that he wanted to see. If he’d been back at his house, he could have watched a football game while he waited the night out. But no, he’d been leery about letting them invade his space, worried Isobel might take it the wrong way and think he was looking for a relationship. Now he wished he’d stopped being a coward and taken them home. At least there he could protect them properly, and he had the sports channels.

“I’m going to bed,” Isobel said from the doorway.

He almost laughed at the sight of her nervously keeping her distance. He could have told her it didn’t matter. He’d spent months getting hot just from the glimpses he’d seen of her through his kitchen window.

She seemed to be waiting for a response, so he said, “Okay.”

“There are snacks and coffee in the kitchen. Help yourself.” She shuffled from foot to foot. “If you’re cold, you can put on the fire.” She pointed to the ancient gas heater with the bottle poking out the back. “Or I can get you an extra blanket if you’d like.”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t about to tell her that since losing his legs, he never felt cold. It had something to do with heat trying to disperse over less surface area. All he knew was that he didn’t need any sweaters.