You broke my heart…
But he wouldn’t. Not this time. If they were both careful it would be okay. He’d keep his promise, make certain he’d spend as much time with her as he possibly could. And as for Joseph, well, he would deal with that when the time came. Caleb was sick of fighting their chemistry. Sick of trying to be good when good was the very last thing he’d ever been. Sick of wishing he’d had more than one night.
That kiss had started the fire and now the only thing they could do was let it burn.
She sighed, her body relaxing against his. He took one of her hands, brought it up to his bare chest, pressed it palm down over his heart. Her skin felt so soft against his, the taste of her hot and sweet on his tongue.
He remembered how amazing it was to kiss her, and her touch, at first hesitant and awkward, slowly becoming bolder. She’d been a virgin then, shy and inexperienced, but now she wasn’t. Now her hands moved over his chest, stroking, teasing, demanding. Her mouth under his, passionate and hungry, and he remembered that, too. The fire that she kept buried, locked down under that cool, don’t-mess-with-me exterior. It was still there. He knew it. And he wanted to free it.
He pulled at the buttons of her shirt and she made a little protesting noise. And not because she wanted him to stop. “No, wait,” she panted. “It’s silk. You have to undo it carefully.”
Still in control, huh? Well, not today. Gently he bent her back over his arm. “Go slow,” she murmured as he cupped one breast. “The material is very delicate.”
The material could go to hell. He bent his head and put his mouth over her nipple, suckling her through the silk of her shirt and the lace of her bra. Judith gave a soft cry. “Oh…Caleb…you’ll ruin…the silk.” Her hand gripped the back of his head, fingers tightening in his hair.
“Do you want me to stop?” He breathed over the wet fabric, watched her nipple harden further still, and her body trembled in response.
“No.” The word came out in a soft whisper. “Don’t.”
Who was he to argue with that? He bent his head again, feeling her body shake as he licked the hard little bud through her shirt. Of course he didn’t want to taste silk. He wanted to taste Judith. Lifting his head, he tugged open her shirt and this time she didn’t say a thing about the material, even when some of the buttons went flying. She only groaned as he pulled aside the cup of her bra to taste her bare skin, taking her nipple into his mouth again.
“God, Cal…” The sound of his nickname, all throaty and husky and desperate, made him so hard he could barely think straight. Memories flooded through him. Of her naked in his arms, sweetly shy and blushing. Her gaze so full of trust and care and tenderness the breath had caught in his throat.
“Caleb?”
He blinked and realized he’d been standing there, holding her. Not doing anything.
She lifted a hand and touched his mouth, her eyes smoky with desire. “What’s wrong? Have you…changed your mind?”
The slight hesitation made something in the region of his heart constrict, the vulnerability in her eyes making it constrict even more. He couldn’t afford to lose her.
He nipped at her fingertips. “Are you kidding me?” Lifting her into his arms, he carried her over to the black velvet chaise longue and laid her down onto it. “Not changing my mind. No way in hell.”
…
Judith lay on the chaise and watched him as he began to undress, unable to help herself. He was so beautiful. The way the light fell over the dips and hollows of his collarbones, the way the muscles of his abdomen flexed as he undid his zipper. She became lost in the sheer physicality of him, the ache of longing becoming more and more intense.
Perhaps this was a mistake. Perhaps she shouldn’t be doing this after all. Nervousness gripped her, and a feeling of dread crept down her spine. She’d had a few encounters with other men over the years, but none of them had come even close to the experience she’d had with Caleb. That night she’d had with him burned forever in her memory, no matter how hard she’d tried to forget it.
Judith trembled as he knelt between her thighs, a funny little panic building inside her. Would this time be as good as it had been eight years ago? Would it be terrible? Or would it be even better? And if it was better, how the hell would she cope? He put his hand on her skirt, slid it up, and the panic became worse.
Then his mouth curved in a gorgeous, naughty smile and he said, “Stay-ups. Oh, babycakes, I like.”
And something about the way he said the nickname, his voice full of sensual heat, made the tight knot of panic begin to loosen. Yes, when he teased her it was better. Allowed a bit of distance somehow.