“What’s that smell?” Holly took in a lung full of the stench wafting through the darkened room and coughed. “It stinks worse than you after Mexican food.”
“Funny,” Callum said. He breathed in the fetid air. “Sulphur. Which means it’s a demon. Unless it’s eggs. Or egg farts. Or an egg farting demon. Maybe that’s its evil power. Egg farts.”
She laughed and whacked him on the arm. “Idiot. Let’s get this done and go home.”
“Whatever you say, birthday girl.”
Callum sat on the sofa. Bare chested. His t-shirt was in his hand, bunched-up and pressed against his leg. His jeans were torn where he’d slid along a gravel driveway, and an angry wound oozed through the hole in the denim.
Holly knelt on the floor in front of him. “Take your pants off too,” she said.
He pushed himself up, dropped his jeans and stepped out of them. “If you wanted me naked, Holly, you just needed to say the word. Anyway, shouldn’t you be the one in your birthday suit?”
Holly ignored him. Or at least tried to. It wasn’t easy with Callum standing right in front of her, his tight, black boxer briefs practically at eye level.
“I don’t think it needs stitching,” she said, distracting herself by prodding at his leg.
“Stop being a baby.”
“Hey. I didn’t ask to get tossed out the door by a goddamn demon.”
“Then you should’ve moved faster.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
He laughed and bent forward, cupping her chin in his hand as he crushed his lips to hers.
She shimmied up his lean body and pressed into the warmth of his bare chest, her mouth still glued to his. When he gently pulled away, she almost squeaked in disappointment.
“I got you messy,” he said, his voice little more than a growl.
“You sure did,” Holly said, her heart racing. Then she followed his gaze to her shirt. “Oh. The blood.”
“Well, hopefully both. But how about I look after my leg and you go clean up. I gotta surprise for you.”
Holly scooped her wet hair into a messy bun and opened Callum’s dresser. She slipped on a pair of his boxer briefs, teamed with the crystal earrings he gave her for Christmas, and nothing else. He wanted birthday suit, he was getting birthday suit.
“Don’t come in the kitchen,” he called as she walked down the hall.
She perched on a dining chair, sucking in everything that might roll.
He hobbled into the room, wearing a thick bandage around his knee and a World’s Sexiest Cook apron around his waist, his eyes down as he concentrated on carrying a birthday cake ablaze with candles.
“Happy birthday to…” he looked up and froze. A crooked grin spread across his face. “Are those the earrings I gave you?”
Holly burst out laughing. “That’s what you’re noticing?”
“Also,” He placed the cake on the table and turned around. “Great minds.”
Holly’s gaze locked on a firm, naked ass. “Is this my surprise?”
“Technically it was the cake, but…”
“Very nice butt.”
“Do you wanna piece?”
“Of the cake, or you?”
“I’m voting me.” He grabbed the waistband of her boxers and guided her into his arms. “This puts a whole new take on getting into my pants.”
She reached around him and undid his apron ties. It fluttered to the floor. “I’m going to blow…”
Callum’s eyebrows shot up.
“…those candles out,” she said, turning and puffing out the flames.
He threw his head back and laughed, then gazed down at her, his green eyes sparkling. “I love you, Holly Daniels, you know that?”
She smiled, stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. She did know that.
©Amy Hutton 2021