After she’d finished her tea and toast he’d put her to bed, assuring her he would leave as promised. Instead, he’d slept on her couch to make sure she was okay.
It took seven more steps to reach him. She sat down on the coffee table, staring down at his face as he slept.
His hair was rumpled against the sofa cushion, and his skin looked paler than usual in the dim light of the snowstorm. His jaw was stubbled, but the lines of it—and the lines of his mouth—were softer in sleep than when he was awake.
She reached out a hand and cupped the side of his face.
It happened so suddenly she didn’t even have time to gasp. Caleb surged up to a sitting position and grabbed her wrist so hard it hurt, staring at her with wide eyes.
Everything stopped, including her breath.
Feeling and sensation swept through her. Her whole body felt like a frozen limb coming back to life, the blood tingling and smarting as it returned.
Longing and desire were a sudden fever inside her. She felt so alive it hurt, a glorious agony of being, of wanting.
Of wanting Caleb.
Every lustful thought she’d pushed deep into her subconscious came rushing to the surface, every wave of desire, every tremble, every quiver she’d ever felt when he flashed his lazy grin or tugged on her braid.
Her heart was pounding so hard it shook her body.
She had to get away. But the moment she tried to break his hold, he grabbed her other wrist just as hard.
His hands were like iron. What was happening? Caleb, always so calm and imperturbable, looked like he was in the grip of something he couldn’t handle. Something stronger than he was.
She hadn’t known anything was stronger than he was.
Seeing the maelstrom in his eyes was more terrifying than feeling it herself.
She tried to pull away again, but she might as well have tried to break handcuffs.
Neither of them spoke. They were surrounded by silence, three-in-the-morning silence and snow-falling-on-snow silence, and the only people in the whole world were her and Caleb.
She’d never realized how much his eyes concealed. She knew it now because whatever he’d hidden behind was gone. She could see everything. Old feelings and new feelings, grief and loneliness and raw, naked hunger.
It wasn’t too late to stop this. All she had to do was speak, and order would be restored to the universe. All this emotion would sink back down where it belonged.
I’m sorry I woke you up. I didn’t realize you were still here.
That’s all she had to do. Say something normal, something rational. Any words could dispel this charged silence, this utter stillness, and the madness that lay coiled within it.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Only her breath, ragged and shallow.
A deep breath would stop this. A deep breath would calm her, restore her, pull her back from the brink.
But there was a weight on her chest, squeezing her lungs. Short breaths, shallow breaths, were all she could manage.
Her heart would burst through the vise that held her. It was pounding so hard she could hear it, a wild drumbeat in her veins, a tide of blood rushing in her ears.
Maybe she would pass out. Between her racing heart and her stunted breath, maybe she could just lose consciousness and escape that way.
She’d been trying to escape for so long.
Caleb’s grip on her wrists didn’t loosen. Under his T-shirt, his chest and arms were as rigid as iron.
She couldn’t speak, but maybe he could. His words would have the same power hers did, to shatter this moment and restore them to what should be.
Jesus, darlin’. You scared the crap out of me.
But he didn’t say anything.
Instead, slowly, he began to pull her toward him.
Tell me I scared the crap out of you. Tell me to go back to bed. Tell me you’ll see me in the morning.
Her thoughts became frantic, as frantic as her heart thudding against her ribs.
Tell me . . . tell me . . .
Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me I’m dreaming. Tell me you’re not here and I’m not here and none of this is real.
Tell me you and I are nothing more than friends.
But he didn’t speak. He pulled her off the coffee table and onto the couch, and then onto him, her knees finding space on either side of his hips.
Stillness all around them, so profound it seemed like a new element. Earth, air, fire, water, silence.
And Caleb was as distinct and elemental as any of those.
The only light in the room was the eerie glow of snow and streetlamps, but she felt as though she’d never seen Caleb so clearly. His soft brown hair, the skeptical quirk of his brows, his strong nose and harsh cheekbones and stubbled jaw. The faint sheen of perspiration on his upper lip, the glitter of his pupils, the almost imperceptible twitch of his facial muscles as he stared up at her.
His chest rose and fell with every harsh breath. His hands still gripped her wrists. It seemed like they stayed that way forever, frozen in the stillness and surrounded by a city muffled in snow.
Her knees sank into the cushions on either side of his hips, bringing them closer. Heat coiled into her belly from the place where their bodies touched, the hard ridge of him pressing against her until the urge to move, to surge into him, was so strong she was afraid of it.
She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t. They hadn’t done anything yet, and it wasn’t too late to stop this.
Tell me nothing is different between us. Tell me we’re still the same people we used to be. Tell me . . . tell me . . .
Tell me Sam’s still alive.
Oh God.
The echo of Sam’s name in her mind filled her with sudden rage. Rage that her sister was dead, rage at herself for being alive, rage that the universe was so screwed up it had taken Sam and left her behind.
And rage at Caleb for coming to her apartment and making her feel so much, after she’d worked so hard to feel nothing.
Caleb was making her want things and hunger for things and—
No. Not things.
Him.
She wanted him.
For the first time in weeks she wanted something she could actually have.
She started to tremble. And then, suddenly, Caleb let go of her wrists.
“You’re crying. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his eyes with a shaking hand. “God, I’m so sorry.”
He’d spoken. Wasn’t that what she’d wanted? One of them to speak and break the spell?
She hadn’t realized she was crying. Now she brought her fingers to her cheek and felt the wetness there.
There was a crack in her heart. A fault line. And if a single drop of water got into that space, she would break apart.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
A flash of pain across his face. They were both in pain, and that was good.
It would be evil to feel anything but pain when Sam was dead. The only other choice was to feel nothing at all.
But Caleb had made that impossible. He’d come here and made her feel.
“I hate you,” she said again. Her voice was louder this time. “I hate you.”
Every time she spoke the words it was like a whiplash, but she wasn’t sure who was struck by it.
“I hate you. I hate you. I—”
Caleb surged upward, grabbing her shoulders and twisting their bodies with a single savage motion.
And then she was on her back, the weight of Caleb pressing her into the sofa and the blanket tangled around both their legs. The word hate was still a breath in her lungs when he kissed her.
His mouth was hard, his lips soft.
She wanted him to kiss her harder. She wanted her mouth bruised, her lips cut and split by his teeth. She slid her arms around his neck and pulled herself into him. He urged her lips apart and thrust his tongue against hers, the taste of him salty and feverish and desperate.
A thousand tiny shocks prickled
her skin. His stubble scraped her cheeks, and the sensation sent a restless surge through her body.
He jerked away from her. She stared up at him in confusion and then realized with a horrified jolt that she’d slid her hands under his T-shirt and raked his back with her nails.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m—”
He grabbed her pajama top and pulled it over her head, cutting off her words. Cool air puckered her bare nipples as Caleb reared back for an instant, tugging off his own shirt, and then they were pressed together skin to skin.
The hard muscles of his chest crushed her breasts flat as he kissed her again.
Hunger was an electric current between them. Their hips thrust together, but there were things in the way: his boxers and her pajama bottoms and the tangled blanket.
And then they were struggling, squirming and twisting to shed their clothes and the blanket without breaking their kiss.
Somehow they succeeded. The last thing to go were her pajamas, and when she was finally free of them she wrapped her legs around Caleb’s hips and tried to pull him down to her.
He was too strong.
“Protection,” he gasped, his body rigid as he held himself a few inches away, his eyes wild as he looked down at her.
“IUD,” she said, trying to make it into a sentence. “I have an IUD.” She dug her heels into his lower back and her nails into the thick muscles between his shoulder blades, fierce and desperate and savage.
But she might have been a kitten swatting at a big dog for all the good it did. Caleb stayed exactly where he was, his arms on either side of her shoulders as he looked into her eyes.
Something in his expression made her go still.
And then, slowly, he found her center and slid inside.
He was so big it should have hurt, but she was so wet it didn’t. She stared up at him and tried to breathe, every muscle in her body yearning for him even as their bodies joined.
His face was tense with an ecstasy she’d never seen in another human being. Inch by inch he sank into her, and it felt so good and so perfect and so exactly what she wanted that she felt the sting of tears in her nose and her throat and behind her eyes.
He stopped moving. “Am I hurting you?”
“No. No.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because you feel so good.”
He rested his forehead against hers.
“Say that again,” he whispered, and she felt the breath of his words on her lips.
“You feel so good.”
He was trembling. She could feel the tremors running through both their bodies.
“Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’m just . . . trying not to move. I’m afraid I’m going to come.” He raised his head again and looked her in the eyes. “I don’t want to come yet. I want this to last forever.”
Something pierced her heart—a lance of sweetness and pain.
“Nothing lasts forever,” she said.
She arched her back to bring them closer, and he groaned.
When he pulled out and thrust back in, the pleasure tightened in her belly, and when he did it again, and again, she felt herself losing control.
When the explosion crashed over her, she cried out, and in that instant she wanted the same thing Caleb did.
She wanted this moment to last forever.
But even in the grip of ecstasy, she knew that it wouldn’t.
Chapter Twelve
Caleb woke up like he always did: completely. He’d never understood people who woke up in stages, yawning and stretching and stumbling into the day. Ever since he was a kid, Caleb had gone from asleep to awake in the blink of an eye.
It took him only a second to remember where he was . . . and who he was with.
He was lying on his back in Jane’s bed. He turned his head, and there she was: curled up facing him, her eyes closed and one hand tucked under her cheek, her long brown hair scattered on the white pillow like chestnut silk.
He watched her sleep for a long time. If he studied her face long enough, would he understand why she had such a hold on him?
It didn’t make any sense. They weren’t alike. They’d never had anything in common, except for Sam.
Now they didn’t even have that.
It was a mystery. The kind of mystery that could make a man break every promise he’d ever made to himself, so he could follow the thread of it for the rest of his life.
Then Jane stirred and opened her eyes, and common sense came back with a dull thud.
He wasn’t that kind of man. He wouldn’t change his life to be with a woman.
Not even this woman.
As he read Jane’s changing emotions—confusion, remembrance, awareness, uncertainty—he steeled himself to say the things that needed to be said.
Last night was a mistake. I’m sorry.
He felt his body stirring.
But please, can we do it again?
“Hey,” Jane said, her voice soft.
He reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Hey.”
Her skin was warm and rosy with sleep. He wanted to pull her into his arms and feel her naked body against his, but he forced himself to stay still. They lay like that for a long moment, just looking at each other.
He could gaze into Jane’s eyes forever and never get to the end of her.
“Stay with me for Christmas.”
He froze. “What?”
She smiled a little. “You don’t have to look so panicked. I’m only talking about a couple of weeks.”
I’m not panicking.
But how else would he describe the sudden tension in his muscles, the prick of adrenaline, his elevated heart rate?
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I always spend Christmas alone.”
“I know. I’m asking you not to this year.”
“I’m leaving for Australia tomorrow.”
She sighed. “I know that, too. Can’t you change your ticket and fly out after New Year’s?”
“You should go to your parents for the holidays,” he said, avoiding her question. “That’s the reason I came here yesterday.”
He knew that was a mistake even before Jane sat up and stared at him.
“What are you talking about? What do my parents have to do with you coming here?”
The covers had fallen to her waist, and he tried not to look at her smooth, perfect breasts as he answered.
“Nina called me yesterday.”
She slid down a little, pulling the covers up to her collarbone. “I see. And what did my mother have to say?”
“Your parents want you home for Christmas, and they’ll buy you a new plane ticket.” He paused. “You should go, Jane.”
She looked away from him. “So that’s why you stopped by. Because my mother asked you to.”
“That’s not the only reason.”
“Then why didn’t you come before? You’ve been in the city for two months, haven’t you? You could have come by anytime.”
“I might have, if you’d answered any of my phone calls or texts. But you didn’t. It was pretty obvious you didn’t want me anywhere near you.”
She frowned a little, still looking away. Then she turned back to him.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Jane’s willingness to admit she was wrong was a rare quality, and it always took him by surprise.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said after a moment. “It didn’t matter that you weren’t taking my calls. I should have come by anyway.”
Her expression softened. “That’s all right.”
The strain between them eased, but that only made him aware of a different kind of tension.
Jane’s comforter was thick, but he’d spent the night with her in his arms, and he knew what she looked like under it. For eight years, he’d only been able to imagine—and he had, even though he’d tried not to, and had felt guilty every time it happened.
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He reached out for the comforter and gave a tug.
Jane’s eyes widened in surprise, and her grip on the covers tightened.
His second tug was stronger, and the comforter ended up on the floor.
She was perfect. All smooth skin and slender curves, her nipples hardening at the sudden draft of cool air—and maybe something else.
“Caleb—”
He covered her body with his, and then he kissed her.
The feel of Jane beneath him brought out something primitive—more primitive than the instinct to make a fire against the cold, or to eat when he was hungry. He wanted to drown in her, to breathe her in like air.
For the first moment her body was stiff. But as he slid a hand into her hair and his thigh between her legs, he felt her soften. She moaned and arched up against him, kissing him with a passion that turned his bones to water.
But then, suddenly, she was pushing against his chest.
He rolled off her body and onto his side. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, reaching for the sheet and using it to cover herself.
“No. But I don’t want to do this.”
Her face was flushed, her eyes dark and drugged with desire. He reached out and ran his palm down her body, one long stroke from her collarbone to her thighs, with only the sheet between his skin and hers.
“You sure about that?”
He could feel her quivering. His own body was rigid and aching, his heart pounding, his blood wild.
Jane closed her eyes and opened them again. “If you keep touching me, I’ll do anything you want. You know that, Caleb. But I’m asking you to stop.”
It felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he pulled his hand away and shifted his weight, putting a few inches of space between them.
“What’s going on, Jane?”
She sighed, and he couldn’t tell if she was relieved or regretful.
“Will you stay with me for Christmas?”
He frowned. “We talked about that. Your parents want you home, and I’m flying to Australia tomorrow.”
She was looking at him with those blue eyes, and he couldn’t read her expression. “When are you coming back?”
His muscles tensed.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “A few months, at least.”
“And after that?”
Tell Me Page 11
