Blackout

Chapter 22

Imaia Island

Max

Present

As promised, Callan was already waiting for me at the bottom of the front stairs. 

I’d been talking to Lidia about a surgical procedure we would be performing together when I caught the sight of Callan, waiting by the front door of the colonial building. His eyes had been on me before I noticed him, standing with his arms crossed and looking mouthwatering hot in his uniform. My heart started beating faster and all of my thoughts were reduced to one single name. Callan. 

After marrying, all I’d been able to think was that I’d made it. I’ve fulfilled my promise to my abuela of waiting until marriage to have s*x. I was finally married and now I could finally be his. I have already made my mind about being Callan’s the moment he returned to Imaia and saved me from falling down a cliff. Making my mind about something and actually doing it were two completely different things, though I was now excited and a little bit scared of what would end up happening between us. What if I wasn’t good enough at it? What if s*x wasn’t good enough? I started biting my lips nervously and, with a nod to Lidia, descended the stairs while taking my white coat off. Callan intercepted my landing by snatching me with one single, well practiced move. One second I was walking and the next one he had swept me off my feet, carrying me bride style in front of…the entire hospital.

“Callan put me down!” I hissed-screamed at him angrily, finding it unassuming when all the nurses passing us by giggled or started whispering my name between hushes. Callan only moved slower, a smirk in his lips.

“I thought I made it abundantly clear,” he said, amusement written in his eyes, “I can’t put anything down when you are around, beautiful.”

“Jameson!”

“Yes, that’s the surname. Speaking of which, when are you changing yours into mine?” he asked, the amusement lifting his eyes while a calculative look focused attentively on me. I rolled my eyes while we gained footing and stepped outside of the hospital. It was still very early on and the sun was slowly rising in the horizon. I squinted a bit while Callan took us fast downstairs and started moving in the direction of a military humvee parked close to the hospital.

“I’m not changing my surname,” I stated and Callan lifted an eyebrow at me.

“Why the hell not?”

“That’s an American tradition, not Cuban,” I explained to him, rolling my eyes at the entire patriarchal system that had generated laws which could strip girls from their freaking last name. It was frankly a stupid, stupid tradition and I was against the entire idea of it. Narrowing my eyes at him I said as much, “ I’m a Cruz and I will always be a Cruz.”

“You are a Jameson now and I will like it if you carry my name,” Callan said, sounding serious for a moment. I smirked, shaking my head at him.

“Good luck with that,” to my surprise, Callan gave me a small nod, his eyes shining with renewed mirth.

“I like a good challenge when I see one,” he said, reaching the car and opening the passenger-side door for me. Carefully, he sat me down, taking good care of adjusting the seat for me and locking the seat belt around my body. When he was done, he kissed my lips gently, just a pick but enough to set my heart racing. Our eyes met while his lips still hung dangerously close to my mouth, “I'm a patient man, firecracker, I can wait. I promise you that someday, somehow you will give me the honor of carrying my name and I will die a happy man.”

“You might be waiting a long time,” I warned him and he gave me a wicked, mischievous smile in response.

“Good thing we are sharing a life together,” with a wink he moved back, closing the car door and making me smile against my will. Damn it, he was good at keeping me on my toes all the time. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited until he sat and started the car. Right away he took full control of the massive vehicle, which, by the way was a stick shift and impossible to understand. He started driving us out of the camp which made me frown worriedly.

“Where are we going?”

“Out of here,” he said at once, sounding gruff, “as far as we can get and as alone as I can get you.”

I liked the sound of that, but at the same time…my arms fell over my lap and I started wiggling my fingers nervously. s**t, I wasn’t one to ever get nervous, but this was all happening too fast. I was on my way to getting into terms with the fact I was married and now Callan was taking me away to…well, make love to me. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was equally excited and terrified. To my surprise Callan took one of my hands then, caressing it with his calloused thumb. I looked up and found him staring at me, a moment passed while he waited, studying my face carefully. Finally I sighed, accepting defeat and admitting the truth, “I’m f*****g scared Callan.”

He nodded, already knowing that and then kissed my hand, the same one he was holding, “I know you are and that’s fine. That’s normal. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid,” I frowned, staring at him in disbelief.

“The man that shoots knives and jumps down a cliff just said that it was okay to be afraid?” he smiled, his thumb tracing circled around my palm.

“What I meant to say is that you can feel however you want at my side. It’s my job to make you feel better,” he turned the wheel easily, only moving one hand and directing the car in the opposite direction. I estimated I would need my two hands on the wheel and three turns to make it move as smoothly as that. Callan narrowed his eyes, studying the road while he talked, “Leave everything to me, beautiful. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

Easy to say. My entire life I’ve tried my very best to not even think about s*x and to stick to my promise to remain virgin until marriage. Now it was all I could think of. Moreover, I’ve read an extensive bibliography about s****l psychogenic disorders and about a hundred s****l transmitted diseases that I could name out of memory. Not that I feared any of those from Callan, but my medical training couldn’t help but to make an appearance in my mind. The bottomline was that we had gotten married before even seeing us fully naked. What if s*x was bad between us? What if it didn’t work? I screwed my face with a hand and looked outside the window, trying not to think about s*x and diseases for a couple of minutes.

The sun was gentle and bright by the time we turned right and started driving by a road delineated by plantain trees. The road had been built by packing white gravel and flattening it over and over with a road roller machine. I’ve seen men making new roads after the hurricane passed. I remember it clearly, since it shocked me that nobody used proper safety equipment and nobody seemed to care that workers had no boots or helmets. The road in question was rudimentary and as removed from the roads I’ve been used to seeing in the States as possible. Callan drove us easily, passing the trees fast and guiding us to a beautiful white house with wooden windows and a red tile roof. The wooden carpentry gave it an old ranch air, the kind of ranch one would expect to see in Texas back in the fifties or around the lower cities in New Mexico. 

I loved it there. The air was fresh and perfumed like petrichor. There were some wild roosters and chickens roaming free by the rock fence that protected the back of the house and large almond trees that surrounded the house, providing a nice shadow to take a break from the heat of the day. I waited until Callan opened the door for me to look around the rest of the property and smile in pleasant surprise.

“What is this place?” I asked while Callan extracted a military backpack from the car and closed the door after him. He took my hand, walking me slowly by the large stone path that led to the front doors of the house. Above us the sun was starting to get stronger, it will be impossible hot outside in just a couple of minutes.

“This is what we call a safe house. Diplomatic, neutral zones. If we need to protect important people we take them here, where it is easy to keep an eye on them,” he explained, his long eyebrows arching in the middle while he inspected our surroundings. At times I wondered what type of threats he could be checking on whenever he studied places like that. I tried following his gaze and understanding what he was looking for but I could only see trees, fences and roosters. We reached the beautiful entrance, a porch adorned with pot flowers and green ferns. In silence Callan opened the front doors and walked first in. His movements were well rehearsed, easy, feline. I saw him inspect every single corner of the house before turning to me and guiding me down the hall, to a wooden door that had been beautifully carved in a pattern of roses. He opened the door and the smell of sandalwood seemed to float out of the magic bedroom in front of us.

It was a humble bedroom, nothing out of the ordinary but I’ve seen this type of design in the old pictures that my grandmother had shown me from the colonial era in Cuba. The queen bed was always placed in the middle, between the set of wooden windows that overlooked the back patio. There was a large closet made of black mahogany by the side and a beautiful vanity table with matching mirror that faced the bed. I walked inside, loving the smell of wood and clean linen that hung strongly by the middle of the room. In silence I caressed the white cover of the bed. Crochet, handmade and old. The vintage crochet lace bedspread was always passed down generations in Latin families. My grandmother had inherited the bedspread her mother had inherited from her own grandmother. It was made so it lasted a long time and I couldn’t even believe Callan had managed to find a place that treasured so many resemblances with my own culture.

I looked at him over my shoulder while he analyzed everything I did, from the way I was caressing the bedspread to the way I was staring at the room in awe, “This place is amazing Callan.”

He rested a shoulder against the door, folding his large arms and giving me a small nod, “I’m glad you like it.”

“How did you find this place?” I asked, walking to the closet and studying the rose carving that patterned the doors.

“When we first arrived at Imaia I inspected all the safe houses to keep them up to date in case we needed them. When I saw this house I thought about you,” he said walking to me, stopping by my back and talking close, not quite touching me, but letting me get used to his body heat, “I thought about the little firecracker I’ve met back in Miami and imagined you would like a place like this.”

“What made you think I would like it?” I asked with a frown, turning around and facing him.

“It’s a place that tells a story,” he said at once, not missing a beat. Gently he caressed my face, cupping my chin and then placing a hand over my neck. His eyes were green in the morning light, tracing hungry paths from my eyes to my mouth, “It’s a place to respect and honor. A home. Exactly what I see when I look at you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. He kissed me then, covering my lips with his and guiding the rhythm of our kiss until I was dizzy and couldn’t tell up from down. Callan guided my hands up, so they were firmly placed on his shoulders. The feeling of his tight muscles under my fingers was like a bomb. My entire body tensed with need. Our kiss deepened, extracting a moan from my throat while I followed the maddening strokes of his tongue and my hands held on tight to his uniform. I was the first one to come out for air, panting and looking down shyly. My breathing sounded nervous to my own ears. It was his effect on me and I had no way of understanding how I could be up to par with the strong sensual trance he casted on me. Slowly, he let me go, opening a side door and showing me a colonial bathroom that didn’t seem to be as new as the rest of the house.

It had a pitcher pump, the kind that seemed older than both of us. I saw a bidet and a toilet at the back but no shower. It took me a moment to understand the only way we could bathe was by using the old porcelain pitchers that were carefully placed around a large square drain covered in beautiful versailles colonial tiles. It was like traveling back in time to when things were a lot simpler and easier. I risked a look up and Callan looked seriously at me. He seemed grave, a lot graver than I’ve ever seen him before.

“Why don’t you take a bath first and then I can feed you some breakfast,” he kissed my forehead and moved back, giving me the space I didn’t know I needed. In silence, he covered me with one last hungry look and left me alone, closing the door of the room after him like a gentleman. I sighed, brushing my hair back with a trembling hand.

In what kind of trouble exactly I've stepped in?