Page 38 of The Last Call Home
He doesn’t need words either.Somehow, it seems as if Cassian’s presence rearranges everything.
I try not to react, but my pulse betrays me.Thumps harder.Not faster.Just harder.
Cassian doesn’t look at me right away.He knows I’m watching, and he draws it out, eyes scanning the room like he’s assessing exits, threats, or maybe just delaying the inevitable.
When his gaze finally finds mine, I feel it everywhere.It’s a burn, slow and consuming.The kind of look that doesn’t just land—it invades, deep in my gut—and spreads like wildfire under my skin.Hot and slow, like he lit a match behind my ribs, and now he’s just watching me try not to flinch.It tingles at the back of my throat, rushes down my spine, and tightens every inch of me with want and warning.
This heat doesn’t ask for permission.Nope.
It claims.Scorches.
My fingers curl against the counter.My breath falters.I don’t blink, and neither does he.
There’s no smile.No smirk.Just that look—intense, unforgiving, and so full of things we never said that I almost forget how to breathe.
My fingers curl around the counter’s edge and I hate that my body responds before I can think.My stomach coils and my skin warms like it remembers things I never let myself admit.
Malerick clears his throat next to me.Loudly.
Cassian’s mouth curves into a smug smirk before, “Morning.Just the people I wanted to see.”
“Isn’t it too early for you to be out and about?”Malerick’s voice slices through the quiet with all the grace of a buzzsaw.Too rough.Too defensive.Too ...him.
Cass shrugs a shoulder like the effort costs him something.“Probably.But I have work to do.”
Right.Because brooding law enforcement officers on the verge of unraveling don’t get sick days.
Malerick tenses, spine locking into that military posture he hides behind when he doesn’t want anyone to notice how human he is underneath.“Is there a problem?”
“It’s more like surveillance,” Cassian cuts in, casual as hell but there’s a slant to his tone.A tightness behind his smirk.He’s hiding something.Of course he is.But I don’t have the bandwidth—or caffeine—for calling him out.
Then Cassian nods toward Malerick like this is a goddamn group therapy circle.“You two talked yet?”
“We have to talk?”Malerick frowns.
I lift a brow.“He was just telling me about Mom hexing his dick if he doesn’t make me happy, but that’s all we had time for.”
Cassian laughs.Loud.Unapologetic.I snort along with him, and for a second, the air between us lightens.
But Malerick?He just stares.Eyes narrowing.Jaw grinding.As if I had insulted his honor, his family, and the last good donut at the station.
“This isn’t funny,” he growls, low and quiet, like thunder on the horizon.
I blink at him.“We disagree.”
Cassian clears his throat and folds his arms, posture pure.‘I have information and no time for your emotional constipation.’“So, today is my night off at the bar, which means I have time to ...talk.”
He casts a glance at me like I’m a witness to his noble sacrifice.
“Oh, finally,” I say, my voice all faux excitement and inner panic.
I’m ready.Or I thought I was—until he follows it with, “Your house at seven?”
“No.”It comes out too fast, too loud.I sound like someone just asked if I wanted to pet a tarantula.
He blinks.“I think we’d be more comfortable there.”
I lift my chin.“With my mom?”
