When Snow realized she was fanning herself, her resolve returned. She stomped to her dresser, withdrew her most conservative pajamas, along with her least sexy pair of underwear, and headed for the bathroom.
“You’re not going to win this game, Caleb McGraw,” she said under her breath. “I am not going down without a fight.”
“Let me know if you need me to scrub your back,” Caleb offered.
Ignoring the taunt, Snow surrendered to the childish act of sticking her tongue out in his general direction. As she turned on the hot water, she sent up a silent prayer for strength. One lust-fogged rash decision would not ruin the rest of her life. And neither would Caleb McGraw.
Caleb was playing with fire, but he couldn’t help himself. All those months he’d been seeing Snow only in his dreams, and the real thing was still better than anything his subconscious had created. The dark curls dancing around her face. The hazel eyes that turned gold when she was aroused. Or angry, he now knew. The slender body that radiated power and fragility while putting ideas in his head about all the ways he’d like to test both.
As he acquainted himself with Snow’s kitchen, Caleb considered the night ahead. For all his taunting and teasing, he knew Snow held the upper hand in this battle. Eighteen months of celibacy needed to end, but thanks to Snow and her “conditions,” that was not going to happen tonight.
Some men might have found comfort elsewhere after their wife disappeared for more than a year, with no word on when or even if she was coming back. Regardless of how fickle he might appear to the rest of the world, Caleb had made a vow, and that meant something.
His father had been unfaithful for years, and though Vivien McGraw kept her head held high, Caleb knew it must be a painful way to live. His mother had all but shriveled to nothing over the years, going without food to keep her figure, as if that would somehow change her husband’s behavior. Playing the doting wife in front of company, but sleeping in a separate bedroom from her husband and rarely speaking or sharing a meal in private.
That was not the kind of marriage Caleb wanted, and regardless of Snow’s temporary absence, if he’d climbed into another woman’s bed, his marriage was as good as over whether he ever found his wife again or not. And as for her insistence that they were from different worlds, that’s what had drawn him to her.
Snow was nothing like the debutantes his mother was always throwing his way. She didn’t care about brand-name purses or if the salad fork was on the inside instead of the outside. She made him laugh, and best of all, she made him feel . . . normal.
Most of the people his parents knew were just like them. Shallow. Materialistic. Not to mention power hungry and bullying. Jackson McGraw could best be described as a son of a bitch, which wasn’t exactly the kind of man any boy should aspire to be. Caleb knew at an early age that he never wanted to emulate his father, which contributed to his lack of settling into a career.
His father had done everything possible short of tying Caleb to a desk to make him join the company business. Though he’d eventually caved and earned a business degree, and endured several internships at various McGraw Media holdings, Caleb had put off the inevitable by living in Nashville, near his alma mater of Vanderbilt University.
His parents believed he was considering going back for his MBA, but in truth, he’d been avoiding growing up by partying his life away. Until he’d met Snow. From that New Year’s Eve on, his life was changed. Which was why when Snow had disappeared, there’d been no question that he’d go after her. Finding her had become his sole mission, nullifying the voices of doubt around him.
After a year with no word, his friends told him to give up, while his mother insisted he come home. Thankfully, Caleb had been stubborn enough to ignore them all. Today, he’d found his wife. But finding her and getting her back were turning out to be two different things.
After pouring himself a glass of water, he leaned against the bedroom door, listening for movement. Seconds of silence passed before he heard a drawer close, followed closely by the creaking of the bed.
That was his cue.
Pulling his bag onto his shoulder, Caleb knocked on the bedroom door and waited for an answer. Nothing came, so he knocked again. Had she locked the door? He fought the urge to jiggle the knob and was rewarded for his patience with a muffled order to come in.
He lingered on the threshold, staring at the explosion of feminine frills bounding from every corner of the room. A long white dresser occupied the right wall, covered in trinket boxes and what looked like a strip of material straight out of a Paris fabric shop. To his left was the bed, with a white cast-iron headboard and Snow flat on her back, eyes on the ceiling, and the faded coverlet up to her neck.