Chapter 71
Elena's POV
I froze for three seconds. Maybe four. My brain had completely short-circuited.
Caleb stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. But his eyes weren't lazy. They were sharp. Dangerous. The kind of look a predator gave before it pounced.
"So?" His voice was soft. Almost gentle. That made it worse. "Do we have a deal?"
Just a kiss. It's just one kiss.
A voice deep inside urged me closer. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought he could probably hear it.
I swallowed. Took a breath. "Just... just one."
"One," he agreed.
I stepped forward. My legs felt shaky, like I'd forgotten how to walk. Caleb didn't move. Didn't even blink. Just watched me with that unreadable expression that made me want to scream.
I stopped in front of him. Tilted my head back. He was so damn tall—6'3" to my 5'5". I rose onto my tiptoes, stretched my neck, braced one hand on the doorframe for balance.
My lips were still a good four inches short of his.
I wobbled. He didn't move. Didn't lean down. Didn't do a single thing to help me.
Heat flooded my face. "Could you... maybe... cooperate a little?"
His mouth twitched. Almost a smirk. "The condition was 'you initiate.' I don't recall anything about me bending down to make it easier."
I stared at him. "You're serious."
"Dead serious."
My jaw clenched. "You're an asshole."
"I know." He tilted his head slightly, eyes dropping to my mouth. "But you're the one who wants me to make that phone call."
I wanted to punch him. Or maybe kiss him just to wipe that smug look off his face. But before I could decide, he moved.
In one smooth motion, Caleb's hands were on my waist. He lifted me like I weighed nothing—because to him, I probably didn't—and set me on the low wooden cabinet beside the study door. The one he used for displaying art pieces or expensive whiskey bottles.
Now I was sitting at just the right height. Level with him.
He stepped closer. His hands braced on either side of me, caging me in. He was standing right between my legs, and I instinctively tried to close them, but he was in the way.
"This—" My voice came out high and strangled. "This position is—"
"Perfect," he said calmly. His eyes were level with mine now. Amber and gold, utterly focused. "Now you can finish what you started."
My face was on fire. My heart was trying to claw its way out of my chest. His scent wrapped around me like a drug.
Just do it. Get it over with. Fast.
I closed my eyes. Leaned down. Pressed my lips to his.
And the second I did, his hand shot up to cup the back of my head.
He didn't let me pull away. His mouth moved against mine, coaxing my lips apart. His tongue swept inside, deep and claiming, and I made a sound I didn't recognize. My hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging into hard muscle.
His other hand slid from the cabinet to my waist, then lower, pulling me closer until there was no space between us. I could feel the heat of him, the tension in his body, the way his heart was pounding just as hard as mine.
I was drowning. Burning. Floating. I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Didn't want to.
When he finally pulled back, I gasped for air. But he didn't let me go. His lips moved to the corner of my mouth. My cheek. The line of my jaw. Soft, teasing kisses that made my skin burn.
"Enough," I whispered. My voice shook. "That's... that's enough."
He lifted his head just enough to meet my eyes. "You think so?"
"You said one kiss."
"I did." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "One very long, very deep kiss."
I shoved at his chest. It was like pushing a wall. "You're twisting the rules."
"You didn't specify." His voice was rough. Low. He was still so close I could feel his breath on my skin. "And you didn't stop me."
Because I couldn't. Because some part of me—the part I'd been trying to ignore for weeks—didn't want to stop.
I buried my face against his shoulder. "I think... I don't feel like myself right now."
He went still. Then his hand came up to lift my chin, forcing me to look at him. "To me, you're still you."
His fingers traced down my spine. Slowly. Deliberately. The touch was light, but it sent a shiver through my whole body. There was a promise in that touch. A warning.
He leaned close to my ear. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Want to try... something else...?"
The heat in his tone snapped me back to reality. My eyes flew open. I shoved at him harder. "Enough! You—you need to make that call. Now."
For a moment, he didn't move. Just stared at me with those burning eyes. I could see the restraint in the set of his jaw.
He was holding himself back. Barely.
Finally, he let out a slow breath and stepped away. Lifted me off the cabinet and set me on the floor like I was made of glass.
"Fine." His voice was flat again. Controlled. He walked to his desk, picked up his phone, and dialed without looking at me.
The line rang twice before someone picked up.
"How is he?" Caleb's tone was cold. Clinical. Like he was asking about the weather.
There was a pause. Then a tired male voice—Marcus. "The treatment was... partially successful. They managed to reverse the lower body transformation. But his condition is not optimistic. He needs observation. Rest."
"Got it." Caleb's face didn't change. Didn't show a flicker of emotion. "Thanks."
He hung up.
I stared at him. "That's it?"
He glanced over. "What else did you want me to say? 'Take your meds'? 'Drink plenty of chicken soup'?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. He was mocking the kind of empty concern people threw around when they didn't actually care.
And he was right. They hadn't cared about him for years. Why should he pretend to care now?