by Melody Grace
“Cute,” he said, crossing to look at the framed photo on the dresser of Eliza and Paige as kids, posing in their frilly polka-dot bathing suits. He offered up a takeout box. “For you.”
Eliza took it, still feeling wary. “Where did you get brownies at midnight on a Sunday?”
“Let’s just say I have my ways.” Cal gave a cautious smile. “Riley had a batch in the kitchen, fresh from the bakery. I begged some. In a manly fashion,” he added, then his expression turned serious. “I’m really sorry, Eliza,” he said, taking a step closer. “I know this house is important to you, and you’re right, I forget sometimes, not everyone is as lucky as I am. I understand why you got mad at me. I shouldn’t have been joking about this.”
Crap. Eliza felt a pang. That was a really good apology.
And he brought her peace-offering brownies, too.
Cal was looking at her with such an expression of sincere apology on his handsome face, that she had to take a bite of brownie to keep from reaching for him. “I’m sorry too,” she mumbled around a mouthful of chewy batter. She braced herself and swallowed. “I know this wasn’t about you, I just . . . needed to get angry. And you were right there.”
“But you’re right.” Cal reached out and pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “I’ve never had to worry about making the next mortgage payment, or finding rent.”
“No, but you worry about all your employees keeping a job.” Eliza felt the need to defend him. “That’s stressful in itself.” She exhaled, wishing she could explain the raw nerves she had when it came to him and his background. “I know you care, and you work hard. It’s just . . .”
“The Khaki Effect,” Cal said wryly.
Eliza broke into a smile. “The Khaki Effect,” she echoed. “Forgive me?”
Cal blinked. “That was easy,” he said. “I had a whole speech planned.”
“You don’t need speeches when you have brownies,” Eliza said lightly, and Cal laughed, pulling her into his arms. He felt solid and stable, and Eliza swayed closer, savoring the touch. He held her a moment.
“So we’re OK?” he asked against her hair.
“We’re OK.”
Eliza felt him exhale, and although she still felt guilty over making this a fight, it still warmed her to know he’d worried.
He cared.
Cal moved her hair from her shoulder and kissed the bare skin it revealed. He followed the curve of her neck, whisper soft, making her shiver, every nerve sparking to life.
“Remember my mom is down the hall,” she warned breathlessly. Cal kept on kissing.
“We’ll just have to be quiet . . .” he said, tipping her back onto the bed.
Eliza landed on the bedsheets, and Cal followed, covering her with his body and claiming her mouth again. This time, she didn’t hold back. She kissed him hard, an all-out, backseat kind of a kiss that pulled them both under and made her blood run hot. He moved against her, peeling her sweatshirt over her head, and then her tank top to follow.
His mouth found her bare breast, and Eliza shuddered. “Oh God,” she murmured, and Cal lifted his head with a wicked look in his eyes.
“Shh,” he ordered her, smirking. “You want your mom to come see what the noise is about?”
She grinned and silently shook her head.
“Good girl.” Cal lowered his mouth to her again, and Eliza bit her lips to keep from moaning. His tongue teased her nipples into stiff peaks, and his hand trailed lower, sliding under the waistband of her loose pajama pants. She giggled, thinking he was just teasing. He wasn’t going to do that here, with her mom just twenty feet away. He was polite, a gentleman—
Not that much of a gentleman.
Oooh.
Eliza gasped as his fingers brushed against her, stroking, then dipped inside. Cal chuckled, and then he began crawling down her body, dropping kisses and giving teasing bites that only wound her tighter, so by the time he helped her wriggle out of her pajamas and settled between her legs, she was already panting.
“Remember,” Cal murmured, biting softly on her inner thigh. “Quiet.”
He licked against her, and Eliza buried her face in a pillow to muffle the sound of her pleasured moan. Dear Lord, was he trying to get them caught? She flushed, writhing, captive to his wicked tongue but loving every minute of it as he curled his fingers higher and matched every stroke with a slow, lavish lick.
Eliza sank into the sensation, God, the pure luxury of his mouth and hands, and the relentless pleasure. It felt forbidden and naughty, like two reckless teenagers breaking curfew, but already, she wanted more. She grabbed a handful of his shirt and yanked him back up to meet her lips. “Off,” she whispered, pulling it over his head. Cal stripped quickly, and they tumbled under her covers, giggling, pausing only for her to lean out of bed and snag her purse, rummaging for her wallet until she found a condom.
“Girl scout, huh?” Cal grinned, nipping at her neck.
“I have badges and everything,” Eliza told him with a flirty grin. She rolled it onto him, pulling the covers over their heads to muffle their voices. The white linen tented over them, and for a moment, it felt like they were totally alone in the world.
Then Cal spread her thighs and pushed inside of her, and there could have been the whole town listening on the other side of her bedroom door, and Eliza wouldn’t have cared.
God, he felt so good. So right.
This was how it was supposed to be. Playful and teasing, hot and sweet. They kissed, tongues as tangled as their bodies in the sheets as her hands slid over his torso and his mouth took her to heaven and back. She was cresting, every thrust of his body taking her higher, faster, deeper, and she couldn’t get enough.
Then Cal caught her wrists and pinned them above her head. He moved into her again, torturously slow. Eliza panted, biting down on his shoulder and bucking desperately against him. She needed more. God, she was so close.
But Cal didn’t break pace. He thrust into her, deep and slow, over and over until she was almost crazy with the thick, sweet friction. She didn’t notice when she gave up fighting him and just surrendered to the pleasure, but they were moving as one now, and every stroke seemed to fill her deeper, thicker, driving her higher until she was gasping in his arms.
“Cal . . .”
“I’m here, baby,” Cal groaned softly against her. His body was slick with sweat, his breathing labored. He rose up, driving slowly into her again, and Eliza nearly lost her mind. She arched to meet him, clutching the bedsheets as Cal leaned down and licked into her mouth, so sensual, her body shook. “I’m right here.”
He caught her face in his hand, poised there above her. Eliza couldn’t look away; there was nowhere to hide, not with his body possessing her, and his blue eyes fixed, seeing everything, seeing her. She lost herself in the tenderness of his gaze, open to him, coming apart. She shattered with a cry that Cal swallowed in his kiss, as he surged into her again, and then she felt him break, and they were both falling, into each other, holding on for dear life.
It was a revelation.
Afterwards, Eliza lay breathless in his arms, reeling from the feel of him. She had only ever glimpsed it before: this sense of true connection, completely letting go. She’d never taken that step, or maybe she’d never been with a man who made her feel like he was worth the risk. But there in Cal’s arms, she was completely herself—and it was safe. He didn’t think she was too stubborn or too smart, too argumentative or too much. He was just as bad as her, only they didn’t feel like bad parts of herself with him, something to try to soften or hide.
She’d tasted what that felt like now, and she knew in her heart there was no going back or settling for second best again.
She was hooked.
16
The last place Cal wanted to be at nine a.m. on Monday morning was sitting in a conference room on the fourteenth floor, staring at a table full of Prescott board members and a platter of executive pastries. He’d had to drag himself—quietly—out
of Eliza’s bed at dawn to get on the road in time, and leaving her sleepy, smiling body under the covers alone after the night they’d shared was just about impossible.
Now, he fought to pay attention to financial reports and new business proposals when, just a hundred miles away, Eliza was still snuggled in bed without him.
And to add insult to injury, those croissants had nothing on the ones in Sweetbriar Cove.
“The next quarterly projections show some promising trends out of the Northeast.” Their numbers guy was reviewing the thick folder of data Cal was currently trying to focus on. “But with rising costs in other regions, the new revenues . . .”
Cal’s phone silently buzzed in his pocket, and he surreptitiously pulled it out, holding the handset under the table to check the message.
On a scale of 1-10, how bored are you?
He smiled, feeling a ray of sunshine despite the stuffy environment.
12, he typed back. When he looked up again, he caught his uncle glaring at him from across the table. Uh-oh.
“Would you agree we need to shift resources to these new markets?” Arthur spoke up, interrupting. “Cost-cutting in the Midwest, for example.”
“I thought we were tabling that idea,” Cal said evenly.
“He just said the projections are way below where we need,” his uncle replied.
“They’re still just projections. The factory could turn things around.”
Arthur gave an indulgent smile. “ ‘Could’ isn’t a sound strategy. What do the numbers say, Leonard? Closing the factory entirely would solve the problem, wouldn’t it?”
The numbers guy paused and shot Cal a nervous look. “Well, it’s not as simple as that . . .”
“We’re running a loss. Killing the factory would remove that loss.” Arthur shrugged. “Seems pretty simple to me.”
Cal tried to keep his temper. He should have known Arthur would use the meeting to ambush him. Aside from Cal and Tish, the rest of the board were all older Prescott relatives or corporate representatives. They were there to rubberstamp leadership decisions—and cash their dividend checks.
“Well, that’s an interesting idea, Arthur,” Cal said evenly, as if they’d never discussed it before. “We’ll table it until we can run some more specific models. What’s next on the agenda?”
“The gala next week,” Tish piped up. Cal shot her a look of relief. “The publicity plans are all in place, and with our permit application still pending on the South Bay development, it will be perfect timing to show city council what a philanthropic organization we are.” Tish nodded to her assistant, who began passing out yet another binder. “I’ve put together the main talking points on the project and how it will revitalize the neighborhood . . .”
Tish launched into her PR overview, and the rest of the meeting thankfully passed without any more argument before they broke for lunch. Cal made sure to see everyone out, chatting and shaking hands with every last member until finally, the room emptied. He sank into the chair at the head of the table and exhaled. Through the open doors, he could see Uncle Arthur huddled with a few people by the elevator. He could only imagine what kind of mass layoffs they were discussing.
“You’ve got to stop fighting Dad in the open like this.” Tish followed Cal’s gaze. “You know he just digs his heels in, especially for a crowd.”
“So what do you suggest?” Cal asked, feeling like he’d just run a marathon, not sat through a simple corporate get-together. “I just give in, and let him cut his way through our workforce?”
Tish sighed. “No, dummy. You fight him on the details.”
“How?” Cal looked back at her, confused.
“He wants to cut costs, so find some to cut. Ones that don’t involve people’s wages.” Tish gave a brisk shrug. “There’s always fat in the budget, you just need to get creative, that’s all.”
“I already told them operating expenses are way too high,” Cal replied. “They came down five percent, but it’s nowhere near enough.”
“Do they know the whole factory is on the line?” Tish retorted.
Cal made a face. He hadn’t wanted to make threats like that, not when people needed stability.
Tish sighed again. “Look, you can try being warm and fuzzy, but sometimes that does more harm than good. Go down there, meet face to face, and get real about the situation. Tell them you’re fighting for them, but they need to get in the ring, too. You’d be surprised how people can go that extra mile when they know the stakes.”
It made sense, however much he wanted to avoid bringing the hammer down. “You’re right,” Cal said reluctantly. “Of course you’re right.”
“Obviously.” Tish grinned. “Come on, we’ll be late for lunch with Mom. Do you want your club sandwich with a side of lecturing or fake concern?”
“Don’t even joke.” Cal laughed, following her out of the room. “You know they’ll pull the double act.”
* * *
Sure enough, when they arrived back at Tish’s parents’ house, his aunt Sylvie greeted him like he’d been wandering the desert. “Look at you,” she cried, smothering him with a hug. “You’ve been gone so long, I was getting worried.”
“It’s Cape Cod,” he reminded her lightly. “Not the mountains of Nepal.”
“But still, you missed my arts tea and the annual Groundhog Day trip. Come, I had the chef make his chowder, I know it’s your favorite.” Sylvie led him through the house and out to the huge glass conservatory, where the table was set for lunch amongst her prize orchids and tropical foliage. Arthur had beaten them home and was already at the table, but he barely glanced up from his phone as Cal and Tish took their seats.
“Arthur, honey, not at the table.”
“Just a moment.”
Sylvie rolled her eyes indulgently. “The whole point of getting together after the board meeting is so you’ve already dealt with work.” She turned to Tish, beaming. “How are the gala plans coming along? What are the flowers?”
“You’d have to ask the event planner,” Tish replied, reaching for a roll. “I think they said something about roses? Or gardenias?” She shrugged.
“Well, do you know what you’re wearing yet?”
“A dress?” Tish saw her mother’s disappointment, and grinned. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely. I had my personal shopper pick something out. You know I’m too busy to worry about that stuff.”
“I know, but you need to take a break, enjoy yourself. Date,” Sylvie added meaningfully, and Cal had to smile. Eliza’s mom would approve. But Tish caught Cal’s look from across the table and smirked.
“You know who’s dating? Is there something you want to share, Cal?”
Sylvie gasped. “You are? Don’t tell me, is it the Vanderwhalen girl? I know you two hit it off at the Christmas party.”
“No, Sylvie, it’s not Luce.” Cal shot daggers at Tish, but she only stuck her tongue out at him. “I’ve been seeing someone. It’s still early, but . . . I think it could be serious.”
Sylvie clapped her hands together in joy. “When can we meet her? You must invite her to dinner. Or a party. I’ve been wanting to host, when the weather’s warmer, and we can do it outside. Just a small gathering, a hundred people, maybe. I could do a sit-down dinner, and then dancing—”
“Sylvie!” Cal interrupted, before she could go wild and book a full orchestra. “Relax. Like I said, it’s still early days.”
“Well, tell us about her,” his aunt insisted, beaming. “What does she do?”
Cal cleared his throat. “She’s a writer,” he said, shooting a cautious look at his uncle. “She’s visiting her mother on the Cape at the moment. We met out there.”
“Oh.” Sylvie gave a knowing smile. “Now it makes sense. I’ve been wondering why you’ve stayed out there so long. I’m so glad. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“That might be a while,” Cal said, thinking fast for an excuse. “I mean, our schedules, work . . .”
“Don’t be s
illy, Cal,” Tish’s voice piped up again. “You can bring her to the gala next week.”
Cal glared again, but it was too late, the damage was done.
“Perfect!” Sylvie declared.
“I don’t know if she can make it . . .” Cal hedged, but his aunt wasn’t hearing it.
“Why not?” Sylvie talked over him. For a petite woman, she could have all the force of a bulldozer. “I’m sure she’ll want to support you and meet everyone. It’s settled. Arthur?”
“Hmm, what?” his uncle looked up, still distracted.
“Cal’s new girlfriend,” Sylvie beamed. “We’re all meeting her at the gala next week.”
“Excuse me,” Cal said, bolting up from his seat. “I just remembered, I need to make a call. Boise,” he added to Arthur, then slipped out before they could object.
Cal escaped back into the house. He had calls to make and could have used the time to get through some of them, but instead, Cal found himself texting Eliza again.
When can I see you? he asked, already imagining the feel of her body against him.
When will you be back?
I have some things to take care of at the office, but I can be home by 6.
Then that’s when you’ll see me :)
Cal smiled. He could make it through lunch, and an afternoon of meetings, if he knew Eliza was waiting at the end of it.
He lingered there in the hallway for as long as was polite, then reluctantly headed back through the house. He wondered what Eliza would make of this place—full of formal rooms decorated with antiques and magazine-ready furniture. Arthur had always been the stuffy traditionalist, even back when his parents were alive, and he could only imagine the fights he and Eliza would get into if they got talking about, well, anything.
Note to self, he would need to keep them a ballroom apart next week.
“Calvin.”
He was passing his uncle’s study when Arthur’s voice summoned him. Cal braced himself and stepped into the room. It was lined with full-length bookcases; his uncle sat behind a heavy, antique desk. Arthur looked up from some papers, but Cal decided to pre-empt him.
