When she finally looked up, she found him sliding into his coat. “I won’t be gone long. The wood’s already cut, we’re only piling it up and lighting it. You’re welcome to come.”
Yeah. That wasn’t happening. She needed time to let all the blood in her face return to circulation. “Ah, no. Thanks, though. Beau and I will hold down the fort.” Beau answered by making an oof sound as he rolled on his back.
Hand on the doorknob, he paused. His dark eyes studied her as if looking for something.
“What?” She regretted asking it the minute the word came out. His answer could be anything.
“Your words and actions aren’t jibing at all, which wouldn’t be a big deal to me if it were intentional or a game.” Taylor opened the door and some snowflakes drifted in, melting immediately on the wood floor. “Not a criticism. Just an observation.”
What was she supposed to say to that? Thank you very much, Dr. Freud? Fortunately, she didn’t have to say anything at all, because he stepped out and closed the door behind him.
She stared at the door for long moments, playing his words through her head, absently rubbing Beau’s belly. “Well, Beau, your words and actions jibe.” Yeah, because he didn’t say no belly rubs before rolling onto his back for belly rubs like she did.
Shit.
She knew the hands-off policy was wise. It had been a logical, responsible decision.
Beau made a happy grunting sound and rolled to his side and stretched. Taylor was right, though; her words didn’t fit with her actions. Threading her fingers though Beau’s dense hair, she heaved a sigh.
Even in her sleep, her body went rogue. And it wasn’t just her body. Her emotions fought her logic as well.
Maybe it wasn’t logic. Maybe it was fear.
“Fear of what?” she asked Beau, who answered with a yawn. She couldn’t possibly be afraid of losing her heart again. She’d only known the guy for a couple of days. And it wasn’t a fear of commitment. He was leaving.
It’s like you’re punishing yourself for making a mistake. Jane’s words echoed through her head and she covered her ears to block them out like she used to do when she was a little girl and someone told her something she didn’t like. Dropping her hands, she stared at the closed door. Jane was right. She had sworn off dating, not so much to protect herself, but as some sort of self-imposed punishment. She was afraid of having fun because somewhere deep down, she’d bought into Gary’s crap about being unworthy.
The “look, don’t touch” self-denial wasn’t to keep her from breaking something, like when she’d been that little girl in the store, it was to keep her from enjoying something. From enjoying anything.
“Close your eyes, take a breath, and trust him. Have some fun,” Grams had told Caitlin before she slid down the hill. Maybe it was time to take that advice. Let go of silly limits she didn’t want to follow and have some no-strings-attached, just-for-the-hell-of-it fun. Maybe this time, she could look and touch.
Chapter Sixteen
Taylor barely heard his mother’s voice as he glanced over at Caitlin sitting on the log next to him. Beau was curled at her feet. The gold and orange light from the campfire danced across her face, making her look magical and dreamlike—sort of like waking up with her hand on his dick had been. Taylor speared another two marshmallows on the end of his wire coat hanger and thrust them over the flames. He’d been stunned to wake up and find her stroking him in her sleep.
“After the second to last goldfish died,” his mother said, “Taylor put his R2D2 and Princess Leia figures in with the remaining one so he wouldn’t be lonely.” She laughed. “That fish lived forever.”
“Because the Force was with him,” Taylor said, pulling his marshmallows off the wire and smashing them between layers of chocolate and graham crackers.
“Well, that’s it for me,” Attie said. “I’m turning in. You are too, old man.”
Rock grinned, stood, and took her hand. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We should all call it a night,” Dad said. “Long drive tomorrow.”
“But it’s my last time to hang with Caitlin before we leave,” Bethany whined.
“We’ll have plenty of opportunities to see her.” Grams pushed to her feet. “I’m sure Taylor will bring her with him to family dinners.”
Taylor’s mom put an arm around Bethany’s shoulders. “You can see her again and say goodbye in the morning. And besides, there’s the wedding planning. I’m sure you’ll get to be in the wedding.”
Bethany’s face grew brighter than the fire, while Taylor’s mood darkened. He shoved the remaining chunk of s’more in his mouth. This was more complicated than he’d imagined. Now he’d have to come up with a way to untangle this charade without hurting his little sister.
“Oh, my gosh! Really?” Bethany squealed. “Can I be a bridesmaid, Caitlin?”
Taylor was certain his “fiancée” wanted to skewer him, but she speared her marshmallow instead and thrust it over the fire before smiling at Bethany. “You’re the groom’s sister. Of course you’d be in his wedding.”
Taylor’s breath caught. A quick glance at his mom and dad and Bethany gave him some relief, though. All smiles, they clearly hadn’t caught her slip. Grams wasn’t smiling, though. She was studying him, face grim. Dammit.
Mom, Dad, and Grams headed toward their cabins, and a reluctant Bethany followed, leaving him alone with Caitlin. For a long time, she didn’t move or speak, and Taylor waited, not wanting to push her after what had happened in the cabin.
She pulled a graham cracker out of the cellophane sleeve on the log between them and broke it in half. “I really like Bethany.”
“She likes you too.” He loved that his little sister adored Caitlin. Hell, his whole family adored her. Something in his chest tightened uncomfortably. He adored her.
Sandwiching the marshmallow between the cracker halves, she slid it off the end of the wire, then pushed a square of chocolate inside.
“This is hard,” she said with a sigh.
It was. Somehow, in a short span of time, she’d managed to fit into his life to a degree that shocked him. His family had folded her in as if she’d always been there. His little sister was clearly entranced. And so was he.
His timing sucked. Why now? Why, when for years he’d not been interested in anyone in particular, had fate thrown this at him right when he was leaving?
Still holding the untouched s’more, she stared at the fire as she spoke. “I’ve been thinking about what you said in the cabin—about how my words and actions are conflicted.”
So had he. He held his breath, hoping she’d go on without prompting.
Her eyes reflected the vivid oranges and blues of the dwindling fire, and she blinked rapidly before taking a deep breath. “I think I need to pick a side.”
It took everything in Taylor to not open his mouth, but he did it, remaining silent while she worked things through.
“Do you want this?” she asked, offering him her s’more.
“No. I want you,” he blurted out, wanting to kick himself the minute the words left his lips.
To his amazement, she didn’t flinch or scoot away or tell him to fuck off. After pitching the s’more into the flames, she met his gaze with leveled calm. “I want you, too. More than anyone I’ve ever been around.”
Well, that didn’t say much for her ex…or maybe it said a whole hell of a lot for him. And it struck him that more than anything, he hoped it was the latter. He wanted her to feel about him the same way he felt about her—that this link between them was somehow special and different.
A log shifted in the fire, sending a column of smoke and smoldering cinders into the air. “So where does that put us?” he asked.
“You tell me,” she said, eyes searching his face.
It took him a moment to respond, wishing things were different. “I’m leaving for Boston.”
“I know. But you’re not leaving tonight.”
Taylor’s heart kicked up to
a million miles a minute when she scooted closer.
She placed a gloved palm on his thigh and grinned. “And we have tomorrow morning, too.”
She closed the distance and their lips met, sending shocks of adrenaline through him like wildfire. Wrapping his arms around her, he deepened the kiss, and she groaned into his mouth. She felt so damned good pulled tight against his body, even bundled up and wearing gloves. But before they really got started up good, she pulled away. Taylor could only stare in astonishment as she stood and struck out away from the fire, shooting a sexy, what-are-you-waiting-for grin over her shoulder.
What was he waiting for? Not a damned thing. With a grin of his own, he followed her toward the cabin.
Chapter Seventeen
Before they’d even reached the cabin, Caitlin had ripped off her gloves and unbuttoned her coat. Not wanting to waste a second of the time they had left, she was overcome by an overbearing sense of urgency so intense, she felt like she didn’t have enough oxygen—which was probably a good thing, because oxygen was flammable, and at the moment, she was on fire.
She left the door open, flinging her coat, hat, and gloves in the general direction of the coatrack, barely missing Beau as he headed to the rug in front of the fireplace.
Taylor stepped inside and closed the door behind them, locking it with a sharp click followed by a low, sexy chuckle of genuine amusement. “You in a hurry?” he asked. There were little smile crinkles at the corners of his eyes that made him even more handsome.
She ripped her shirt off over her head and his smile transitioned to a look so heated she almost fanned herself. Taylor Blankenship hit all the right checkboxes. He made her feel sexy and smart, and oddly, he made her feel like she had control. Not being in charge of him, necessarily, but having a say. Like he valued what she thought and wanted. And she liked it. A lot.
Yawning, Beau stretched and then curled up on the rug.
With what appeared to be great concentration and self control, Taylor leaned back against the door and folded his arms over his chest, which she noticed was rising and falling quickly, rather than in his usual slow, relaxed rhythm. Good. So she wasn’t the only one fired up.
When she unbuttoned the top of her pants, the zipper stuck. Dammit. So much for feeling in control. She tugged futilely and groaned with frustration.
He came close and squatted down in front of her, studying the zipper. “There’s fabric stuck in it. Want help?”
She nodded, afraid that as horny as she was, her voice would come out two-packs-a-day deep and husky. Well, that or like a dog squeaky toy, which wouldn’t do at all.
After a few tries, he freed the fabric and looked up at her, question clear in his eyes.
“Yes.” And of course, her voice came out two-packs-a-day-husky, just like she’d feared. He didn’t seem to mind it, though, because he made a deep, happy noise as he unzipped her pants in one smooth motion…with his teeth.
Damn.
She had to get out of her clothes. Her sense of urgency was ridiculous, like getting naked was a life-saving strategy. And based on how hard her heart was beating since he’d unzipped her pants, it very well might be.
She reached down and hooked her thumbs in her waistband and shoved her pants down, smacking her forehead into his in the process.
“Ouch, shit,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
He placed his big hands on either side of her, bracing his thumbs over her hip bones. “Be still.”
Right. Be still while he slid her pants below her knees, rubbing his hands in their wake and making her knees softer than the roasted marshmallows from earlier.
“Step out,” he said, eyes on her face and not on her new black satin revenge thong she’d bought online during her last pity party. But he’d noticed it. She’d seen his pupils expand in his dark eyes when he’d unzipped her.
“I can’t.”
His brow furrowed, then relaxed. “Okay.”
He sat back on his heels, hands on his knees, staring up at her.
Her voice came out small and strained. “Boots. My pants are stuck on my boots.”
“Ha.” He barked a laugh. “I thought you’d changed your mind.”
“No. Not even a little bit. Help a girl out, maybe?” She was pretty sure she’d fall over if she leaned down, as giddy as she felt. Giddy and turned on. This moment had been two days in the making and she planned to make the most of it. Of him.
As if she weighed nothing, he scooped her up in his arms and sat her on the edge of the bed with her pants still wrapped around her ankles. Then, as if she weren’t only covered in a black lace bra and satin panties from the ankles up, he casually walked to the dresser and took off his gloves, scarf, coat, and knit cap, hanging them leisurely on the hooks while she practically panted in anticipation. She couldn’t wait to see him like he’d looked the first time she’d ever seen him, clad only in a bath towel—all hard muscles and golden skin. Only this time, there would be no towel. And the “look, don’t touch” rule was totally toast. She wanted to touch. Everything.
She almost growled in frustration when he crossed to her, still fully clothed.
“First things first,” he said, this time scanning her from head to tangled pants at her ankles, back up to her face. And when he smiled, she couldn’t help the little groan that bubbled up. God, he made her hot.
He kneeled at her feet and she almost sighed with relief when he placed his hands on her knees. She wanted his hands on her body. No, she needed his hands on her body. But first, she needed the boots off.
“I really want to touch you, Caitlin,” he whispered in her ear, leaning close.
“Then do it.” Her voice was strained, like her body. “Do it. All of it.”
Pulling back, he arched an eyebrow, but remained still, kneeling in front of her.
What was he waiting for? A freaking engraved invitation. “God. Taylor. Touch me. Anywhere. With any part of you. Just touch me.”
“Now who’s giving orders?” he said.
The tension in her body broke apart in a laugh. “Please. Pretty, pretty please.”
With her still seated on the edge of the bed, he gently guided her to lie back on the mattress, hovering over her just long enough to fan her hair out on the quilt. Then he dropped back to his knees at her feet, but rather than pull off her boots and pants, he trailed his fingers up her thighs, leaving a trail of goose bumps. His fingers, feather light, ran up her sides, stopping just under the swells of her breasts, before sliding down her heaving ribs and over her belly. With one finger, he traced the triangle of silk covering her, and she gasped.
“Pretty.” The way he looked at her made her feel pretty, and she melted a little more. He met her eyes again. “May I—”
“Yes! Yes to it all.”
He ran a finger over the center silk, tracing her and no doubt finding her wet. This obviously made him happy, because he made one of his yummy noises like he’d made when they were kissing. It drove her wild, and she squirmed.
“Be patient,” he said, slipping his fingers under the strings at her hips and pulling the thong down to her ankles to join her pants and boots.
“Off,” she said.
“Bossy.” Hands on her waist, he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed, where her butt cheeks hung off and she lifted her head to see what he was up to, right as he pushed her knees wide, ankles still bound by her pants.
“So pretty,” he said.
This is awkward, she thought as he ran his hands up her body. Awkward and exciting. When he cupped her breasts over her bra, she let out a little gasp, but he didn’t linger. Instead, he took her bound ankles and lifted them up, ducking under to where her legs were on either side of his head, knees over his shoulders. She could feel his breath fanning across her most intimate parts and she moaned.
“I like the sounds you make.” When he spoke, she could feel the vibration of his voice through the backs of her knees down to her bare calves over his back as he kneeled at
the foot of the bed between her legs. She propped up on her elbows to watch him.
He met her eyes and gave her the sexiest smile she’d ever seen. She needed him to touch her. Needed his mouth on her. Soon. Like, yesterday.
“Taylor.”
“I know.” Pulling his gaze from hers, he slipped his hands under her knees, pushing them forward and wide, bound ankles rising to rest on the back of his neck as he studied her body. Such close scrutiny should have made her self-conscious. But the look on his face was one of absolute appreciation, so instead, his focus on her made her hot. All over. Like blow the lid off the kettle kind of hot.
And then he finally touched her, using his thumbs to spread her folds before lowering his head to slide his tongue over the single most sensitive part of her, causing her to cry out. And to her delight, he did it again, and again, eventually placing his mouth over her to stroke her with his talented tongue until she was panting his name. Almost mindless, she whimpered when he pulled back, but groaned with relief as he slid a finger inside her.
“God, Taylor. Yes.”
“Yes,” he repeated. “Legs wider.”
She relaxed, letting her legs fall open, sighing as his tongue stroked her in the rhythm of his finger inside her. Or rather, fingers… She could feel him stretching and stroking, taking her right to the edge before slowing, forcing her fall back again.
Never had she felt like this. Boneless, weightless, and completely turned on with no reservations. Maybe it was because she’d never had no-strings sex before—or because this was a one-nighter and she didn’t have to worry about consequences. Or maybe it was him.
He increased his pace and pressure and she lay back, enfolding herself in the sensation, allowing herself to lose touch with everything around her, focusing on his mouth and fingers and breathing. On the tightness of her leg muscles and the sweet restriction of movement at her ankles. Of him. And this time he didn’t slow down and pull her back when she got to the edge. This time, she leapt from that edge, splintering into a million pieces as she cried his name.
Three Day Fiancee Page 11
