Page 17 of His Red Carnation

“Sloane, you’re amazing,” he whispered, sitting close, though he wasn’t touching me.

My cheeks flushed as I looked down at the keys.

I shrugged. “I play occasionally. When I feel like it.”

He chuckled softly. “The Beatles are my absolute favorite. But the way you just sang it—that’s my favorite version now.”

Tears pricked at my eyes. It was the best compliment I’d ever received. I wanted to kiss him so badly, and it broke my heart that I couldn’t—not here, not now.

“Come on. My room.” I stood quickly and headed down the hallway.

“Sloane,” he called, still rooted to the seat as I glanced over my shoulder.

I stopped and sighed, walking back toward him. “Please. I just want your company. I won’t try to make a move on you. I promise,” I whispered, hoping he’d believe me.

He looked conflicted, glancing down the hallway before letting out a heavy sigh. Finally, he nodded and stood up slowly. “Okay.”

He followed me into my room, and I made sure to lock the door behind us. The space was fairly neat, with touches of my personality scattered throughout—framed photos of old movie stars on the walls, a desk overflowing with journals and books, and several plants hanging by the window. Callan kept his hands in his pockets, glancing around until he stopped at my bookshelf.

“Birthday Girl?” he asked, scanning my smut collection. Of course, he’d pick the age gap and forbidden romance shelf.

“Yeah, I…uh, like romance. Spicy romance.” I laughed, kicking off my Converse and sitting on the bed.

He turned to me, eyebrows raised. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

I smiled and rolled my eyes, glancing out the window at the light rain drizzling down.

Changing the subject quickly, he moved to sit in the chair at the far end of the room—putting as much distance between us as possible. “So, how long have you been playing piano?” he asked, crossing his legs and revealing a pair of argyle socks under his black suit. Seeing him like that only made me want him more.

“I don’t know. Ten years?” I guessed. “I taught myself when I was younger.”

Callan looked genuinely surprised. “That’s impressive. You continue to surprise me.” He smiled, his gaze lingering on me.

My cheeks heated up again, his compliments making me feel dizzy with pride.

“What about you? Do you play any instruments?” I leaned back on the bed, letting my legs dangle as I watched him.

“Some guitar. Not very well, though—mostly just for fun.” He shrugged. “I spend most of my time working on my ‘69 Mustang and my motorcycle.”

Why did the fact that he had a motorcycle and a classic car turn me on?

“Well, you’re obviously good with your hands.”

I hoped he’d catch the double meaning, and by the way he narrowed his eyes and flashed a sly smile, I knew he did.

“It’s raining out. You want to watch a rainy-day movie?” I asked casually, though my real hope was to get closer to him, craving the warmth of being near him again.

He was quiet for a moment, staring down at the floor.

“What movie do you have in mind?”

I grabbed my laptop off the nightstand and opened it. “Come help me pick one,” I said with a smile, eager to draw him closer.

Callan didn’t move. I glanced over at him and patted the bed beside me. “I won’t touch you. I swear.”

He let out a heavy sigh—the kind I was starting to expect whenever he felt the need to argue. Slowly, he got up, slipping off his suit jacket and draping it over the chair. He took his time walking to the bed, pausing to look out the window before his gaze finally landed on me.

“Okay. But no romance flicks.”

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