She frowned at the words on the screen. Why was Caleb sending her a text like that? A few more texts popped up, asking why she hadn’t replied. Then a missed call from his number.
Judith picked up the phone and scrolled back through a series of texts that someone had sent from her phone. Because, dear sweet baby Jesus, that surely couldn’t have been her. No freaking way would she have sent Rod Stewart song lyrics to Caleb. Or told him he was hot. Or told him she’d kiss him. On the mouth. It had to be someone else. Had to.
But the insistent hot flood of embarrassment that burned through her wasn’t going away. Because it hadn’t been just any someone.
It had been her.
Chapter Four
Caleb stood in front of the door to Judith’s apartment and pressed the doorbell again. Again there was no answer. He scowled at the door. Goddammit, where was she? He’d looked up her address and come to check she that was okay as soon as he’d finished training this morning, unable to kick the worry after his calls last night had gone unanswered. Or the calls this morning.
Oh sure. Nothing to do with her texts last night, right?
He cursed under his breath.
No, he wasn’t going to think about those texts. Texts that he shouldn’t have responded to but had because it had been late and the media party he’d attended had been boring. Normally he would have entertained himself with a bit of casual flirting, but he’d found he was unexcited by the longing looks a number of the female party-goers had cast in his direction. Very unexcited.
In fact, come to think of it, he’d been supremely unexcited about the opposite sex in general since Christie and Joseph’s wedding. Since he’d danced with Judith Ashton. Which was crazy because he’d told himself over and over again nothing was going to happen with her.
You didn’t reply to those texts because you were bored, fool.
No, of course he hadn’t. He’d replied to those texts because he’d wanted to. Because he’d loved her responses. Because he wanted that acknowledgement of the chemistry that burned between them. Then she’d gone quiet. Which meant in all likelihood her battery had died, nothing more sinister. Yet he wanted to be sure. He’d never forgive himself if something had happened to her and he hadn’t checked.
Caleb leaned on the doorbell. Hard.
Five seconds later, the door opened with a jerk and Judith stood on the threshold. His mouth opened to demand answers for her previous silence, but then he took in her appearance and the words died unsaid. She wore a loose, faded T-shirt and a pair of men’s plaid flannel pajama pants. Her hair was damp and the ends were curling. Very messy and un-Judith-like. Especially the pallor of her cheeks and the dark circles under her blue eyes.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, instantly concerned. “You look terrible.”
Her gaze was wide as she took him in. Then she flushed a dull red. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
“No, you’re not. You look sick.”
“Well I’m not, okay? Not technically.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here, Caleb?”
Why was he here again? Oh yeah… “I wanted to talk about those texts you sent me last night. You went quiet.”
Her flush went an even deeper red. She leaned against the doorframe and pinched the bridge of her nose as if she had a headache. “My phone ran out of juice. Could we not do this now?”
He really didn’t like that pallor. She was starting go a tad green. “I thought you said you weren’t technically sick.”
“I’m not. I’ve just got a headache.”
“Bullshit. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m fine, I told you.” Her hand dropped. “Please go away.”
Oh no, he wasn’t going anywhere. “If you’re fine, then you won’t mind filling me in on just what you meant by kissing me, starting with my mouth.”
Judith muttered something low and particularly vile sounding. She pushed herself away from the doorframe then abruptly stilled. Her face went even whiter than it was already.
“’Scuse me,” she muttered. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she turned and dashed back into the apartment.
Not technically sick, his ass.
Caleb stepped into the apartment, kicked the door shut behind him, and followed her down the short hallway. Distinct retching sounds were coming from what surely had to be the bathroom.
He didn’t hang around outside, just pushed open the door. Sickness didn’t bother him, not after months spent looking after his mother before the cancer that had made her so ill eventually killed her. Or the years spent cleaning up after his father’s vodka binges.
Judith was already pushing herself to her feet from where she’d been crouched over the loo, chucking her guts out. “Go away, Caleb!” she groaned. “God, can’t you do what I tell you to for once in your stupid life?”
“No, honey pie, I can’t.” Keeping it business-like, he crossed over to the basin, ran some cold water over a washcloth, and brought it over to her. “Here. This’ll help.”
She didn’t argue, grabbing the cloth off him and pressing it over her face.
“You should be in bed,” he told her, absently pushing back a damp piece of black hair from her forehead.
“It’s just a hangover,” she said, her voice muffled.
Yeah, well, he’d had his suspicions. Christ knew he’d seen enough of them to know. “I thought you didn’t like drinking?”
“I don’t. And I won’t ever, ever again. Drinking sucks.”
He couldn’t help grinning. “I’ve heard that one before. What happened?”
“Marisa came over last night. We went out. I had a couple of margaritas.”
“More than a couple from the looks of things.”
“The margaritas came after the two bottles of wine.”
“Oh.” That explained a lot of things. A hard knot of disappointment pulled tight in his gut. “So were you drunk-texting me last night by any chance?”
The cloth dropped from her face. “Yes.” She groaned, white as a sheet. “Please tell me I’ll feel better soon.”
So she probably hadn’t meant any of those things she’d sent him. Great. Freaking wonderful. He told himself to ignore the disappointment. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about it. She was sick and needed to be looked after by someone who knew the drill. And Lord, did he know this drill.
“Bed for you, sweetheart,” he said, matter-of-fact. And when she didn’t protest, he knew she really did feel rotten.
Ten minutes later, he’d tucked her up in her bed, a glass of water at her bedside. She’d fallen into sleep quickly, which was probably the best thing.
For a long moment Caleb just stood there, gazing down at her sleeping face, glossy black hair spread on the white pillow. A much prettier picture than when he’d had to clean up after the old man. No unexplained cuts or bruises. No broken furniture. No slurred litany of curses hurled in his direction.
He let out a breath and tweaked the duvet over her. She was softer asleep, young and vulnerable, the girl he remembered. The girl he’d once hurt.
There were many things he had to do today and he didn’t really have time to stay and look after her. But he couldn’t leave her. Sometimes there were complications from too much alcohol. He knew, he’d seen just about all of them. Yeah, Judith wasn’t a lousy, drunken excuse for a parent, but still. He needed to stick around to make sure she was okay when she woke up.
Decided, he turned and went back into the lounge, taking his phone out of his pocket.
He stopped in the middle of the room, looking around curiously as he dialed a few numbers. He’d never been here before and he had to say, he liked it. The warehouse-style apartment was on a tree-lined street and overlooked a park. The huge windows that ran high along one wall let in lots of light, filtered through green leaves. A series of simply mounted black and white prints adorned the walls. Landscapes. A beach during a storm. A barren mountain top. A shadowy forest.
>
Had she taken them? Surely not. Because these pictures didn’t have anything in common with the studio photos he’d seen of hers. These had a wildness to them. A sense of freedom that was most un-Judith-like.
Why were they on her wall, then? Before he could think about the question further, someone answered his call.
Five minutes later, an alternate meeting with the charity people organized, and several other business-related calls completed, he sat on the couch and turned on the TV. She had cable but not, unfortunately, the sports channel, which was a bummer. Plenty of arts, though. Damn it.
A couple of hours later, a rumpled looking Judith appeared in the lounge doorway. She blinked sleepily at him, pushing thick hair out of her eyes. “Caleb? What are you still doing here?”
He gave her a critical once-over, noting that her color seemed better and the dark circles less obvious. Good. “Watching Antiques Roadshow. What does it look like?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Well since you don’t have sports, it was either that or Oprah and I’m sorry but I just don’t like her hair.” He pressed a button on the remote and turned off the TV. “However, as much as I’m dying to see if that old china mug in Granny’s attic really is an eighteenth century chamberpot, I believe I can live without it. How are we feeling?”
“Better.” She gave him a wary look. “I still don’t know what you’re doing here.”
“You were sick. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Caleb pushed himself up off the couch. “Someone has to. Don’t you know you should always have a special hangover friend to help you recover after the night before? Especially if you’ve been chucking up in the toilet.”
She flushed. “I don’t need a special hangover friend.”
Ah yes, she must be feeling better if she could snark at him. “Sure you do, honey pie. And I am that friend whether you like it or not. Now, are you hungry?”
An expression of distaste crossed her features. “God no.”
“Excellent.” He ignored the expression, rubbing his hands together. “Because now it’s time for your extra special Caleb Steele patented hangover cure.”
Distaste gave way to outright suspicion. “What hangover cure?”
He grinned. “Show me your kitchen, my good woman, and prepare to be amazed.”
“You better not be cooking.”
But he was. Because what a really major hangover needed was a good fry-up. It was about the only thing his father had appreciated him for.
Judith protested loudly when he began pulling out the ingredients, made an even louder fuss when he began cooking. Then went silent when it became clear he was going to ignore everything she said.
“Bastard,” she muttered when he put a plate of eggs, bacon, toast, and baked beans in front of her. “This will not make me feel any better.”
“Just eat it.” He pushed over the glass of orange juice he’d filled up for her. “And don’t forget to drink this.”
“I’m not hungry. Or thirsty.”
“You need something in your stomach and you need rehydration.” He leaned his elbows on the breakfast bar and looked her in the eye. “Of course we could just talk about those texts you sent me.”
Judith murmured something that sounded extremely rude but picked up her knife and fork obediently and took a hesitant bite. Then another. Then another.
“Not so bad, huh?” he asked.
“Can’t talk. Eating.”
Ten minutes later, she wiped her plate clean with a piece of toast and put that in her mouth, too. “Don’t look so smug,” she said, pushing her plate away. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“It worked, though, right?”
“Maybe.” She picked up her glass of orange juice. Took a sip. “Had a few hangovers, have you?”
“Not so much these days. I did a lot of hangover cooking for Dad.”
She blinked a little at this. “Your dad?”
“Yeah, Mr. I’ve-Never-Met-A-Bottle-Of-Vodka-I-Didn’t-Love. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that?” Surely she must have. Joseph knew. Had covered for him enough at school the times Caleb was late, cleaning up after another binge or because he’d been all night at the hospital, taking the old man in for yet another detox.
“Oh, yes. I just…forgot.”
An awkward silence fell.
Caleb shifted against the bench, annoyed with himself for even mentioning his father. It wasn’t as if the old man’s drinking was a great conversation starter. “Anyway,” he went on, “I hope you realize I’m not just a pretty face.”
She gave him a dark look. “Not even that, some would say.”
“No.” Then, unable to resist the temptation, he added, “Apparently some would say I’m hot and sexy.”
Her mouth tightened. “I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“So you’re saying you would have sent those replies to any guy who happened to text you last night?”
“Probably.”
If that was truly the case then why was she blushing? Okay, to hell with it. This probably wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had but he wanted her to say it.
He rested his elbows on the counter again. “You know what I think?”
“No, not particularly.”
“I think you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
Oh yes she was. He knew that look. He’d seen women give it to him before. When they were turned on and pissed off about it.
“You think I’m hot,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “You think I’m sexy.”
“I do not.”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”
“Methinks the gentleman should stop talking right now.”
For a minute they stared at each other and something changed in the air between them, a charge of electricity building. The blue spark in her eyes glowed and he found he was holding his breath, waiting.
Tell me you want me, Jude. Say it.
She looked away from him abruptly, finishing her glass of orange juice, putting it down with a click on the dark granite countertop. “Well, thanks for breakfast,” she said, her tone brisk.
Annoyance, combined with a healthy amount of disappointment, twisted hard in his chest.
“Scared, baby girl?” he drawled softly.
Color burned on her cheeks. “Scared? Please, what would I be scared of? Oh, and if you call me that again, I’ll kill you.”
“It would be worth it.”
She slid off the chair. “Go home, Caleb.”
He wanted, very much, to make her stay. To make her acknowledge their attraction, the attraction she was so intent on avoiding. But she still wasn’t well and he wasn’t that much of a bastard. Not yet anyway.
“I still need that picture you promised me.”
“I’ll email it to you.”
“What about that kiss you also promised me?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll send it as an attachment.”
He laughed. “Man, that’s harsh. After I postponed an important meeting to look after you this afternoon.”
Judith, halfway toward the doorway, turned, a look of surprise on her face. “You did?”
“Yeah.” He straightened. “I did.”
“Why, though?”
There were traces of her late night under her eyes and her face was still a little pale. She looked tired and vulnerable and he wanted to wrap her up in a blanket and take care of her.
But he couldn’t. Because that kind of game was dangerous for both of them. If he wasn’t careful one spark could make it all blow up in his face.
Distance. That’s what he should be thinking about now. That’s what he had to maintain. He didn’t want to screw up the few tentative steps they’d made toward at least a more cordial relationship or mess with the bonds of friendship he had with Joseph. He’d already done it once, he didn’t want to do it again.
Besides,
even if Joseph hadn’t been a factor, it wasn’t as if he could give her anything more than a few nights in the sack. And she deserved better than that. Deserved better than him. She’d been clear in the studio that she wanted more than casual and he was so not a relationship kind of guy.
Caleb let out a breath. Dropped the charm. “Because you needed someone and I was here.”
Her brows descended but for a change she didn’t scowl. “I didn’t need someone but…thank you.” She bit her lip then added, rather stiffly, “I appreciate it.”
“Anytime, Jude. Anytime.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “It’s not always any time is it, Caleb?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, ‘any time’ is just any time you happen to be around. Or whenever you happen to feel like it. It’s not actually ‘any time’.”
A tightness gathered in his chest. “I do what I can, Jude.”
“Yeah, well, sometimes that’s not enough.” She hesitated then said, “Just for future reference, I want a guy who’s always going to be there for me. Not just when he feels like or when he’s around or when it’s convenient. I want someone I can count on no matter what.”
He should say something here. Something teasing or funny. But he didn’t. The funny had suddenly all drained out of him. “Okay, got it.”
“Not that we’re going to be having a relationship or anything since this has to be strictly professional. Right?”
“Right.”
If she wanted professional then that’s what he’d give her.
Professional, at least, he could do.
…
A couple of days after her epic night with Marisa, Judith sat cross-legged on her couch, setting up her laptop for the Skype conversation she’d planned with her brother. She’d made sure to send him a few reminder texts so he remembered but sometimes, even with those, he got distracted.
A small voice in the back of her mind kept niggling at her that calling him on his honeymoon wasn’t exactly the best idea but she pushed that voice to one side. It wouldn’t be a long conversation. She just wanted to make sure he was okay and coping, looking out for him just as she’d always done.
Judith looked down at his Skype profile and the little photo beside it. And sighed. Ah, who was she kidding? This call wasn’t for Joseph’s benefit, this call was for her. She missed him. It was weird not having him around to keep on-track. It was weird not calling him or emailing him or texting him. She’d thought she’d got used to the fact that Christie was now his focus, the person who kept him going, but she hadn’t. Not really.
Talking Dirty With the Player Page 6
