Under His Command (Six-Alarm Sexy)

by Kristine Cayne

  The outside light illuminated the three cement steps and the porch. As well as the deep cracks that bisected the steps. Had they been there before the earthquake? Sighing, he mentally added the repair job to his already long to-do list. He really needed a vacation. Good thing he’d already spoken to the captain about it. As soon as they went back to their regular shifts, he could take a week off. And since he’d finished the last of the reports for the SoDo district building inspections, that should happen in a matter of days.

  Careful not to make any noise, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, grimacing when it made a loud squeak. One more task for his to-do list; put WD-40 on the hinges. He stepped inside and shut the door, pausing for the first time since he’d moved back in to absorb the sights, sounds, and smells of the house he’d bought right after learning he was going to be a father, the house he hadn’t lived in for almost a year. It felt strangely familiar and foreign all at once.

  Most of the family photos that had lined the staircase leading to the second floor had been replaced with pictures of Erica and Chloe. In the living room, his favorite chair, an old recliner he’d rescued when his parents had remodeled their house, was still there. But Erica had done some remodeling of her own. His chair, which had enjoyed a prime spot right in front of the TV, was now pushed up against the wall, squeezed into a corner. Worse, there wasn’t even a line-of-sight to the set.

  His chest tightened a little when he noticed one of Chloe’s picture books and her Little Mermaid blanket lying on the seat, evidence that his daughter had missed him as much as he’d missed her.

  Rickie had made other changes as well. Some subtle, others not so much. Most of the rooms had been repainted and she’d hung artsy prints, doing away with their vintage movie posters.

  In the dining room, she’d gotten rid of the new china cabinet he’d given her on their third anniversary. In its place stood an antique Caldwell cabinet. For all he knew, it had been crafted by the first James Caldwell himself. Looking at the collection of fragile teacups and pots that filled the shelves, he felt like an overgrown, undereducated gorilla.

  The house was cool and classy. Just like Rickie. Christ. The woman had erased him almost completely. At least she’d kept the bed. Then again, she’d admired it from that first night. His cock jumped at the memory, and he groaned.

  “Jamie?”

  Head shooting up, he spun around and tried to pretend he hadn’t just been imagining her naked.

  Erica stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a dishtowel in her hands, a smile absent from her pretty face. “I didn’t expect you home tonight,” she said, her tone cautious. Distant.

  Fire raced through him, galvanizing his veins. Was she with someone? “Am I interrupting something?”

  Erica scowled and bunched the towel in her hands. “You can be such a jerk.”

  Before he could reply, she showed him her back and marched to the sink. Her movements were stiff and jerky as she finished drying a pot and placed it in a lower cabinet. After shutting the door with a bang, she threw the towel on the counter and leaned against it, hanging her head.

  The sight of her, so upset, sent guilt slithering over his skin like dirty oil. He went to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  She sighed and turned to face him. “No. It’s good that you asked. It’s bad that you think I would cheat on you.” When he opened his mouth to deny it, she put her finger on his lips. “And just for the record, since meeting you, I haven’t slept with another man. Heck, I haven’t even kissed anyone else.”

  Thank God. Every day of the year they’d been apart, he’d worried that she’d find someone else, someone better.

  Removing her finger, she cocked her brow. “Can you say the same?”

  The loaded question boomeranged him right back into the guilt-zone. They’d never discussed what either of them had done during the month between when they’d met and when she’d shown up on his doorstep, pregnant. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and tightened his jaw. “No. I can’t.”

  Her eyes filled with hurt. “I suspected as much. But I really hoped I was wrong. Who was it? Oh!” Her eyes flashed and her hand flew to her chest. “I really shouldn’t assume it was in the past.”

  What was she talking about? “I swear to God, Rickie. I’ve never cheated on you.”

  The tension lines in her forehead eased, and he was able to breathe again. “What did you mean, then?” she asked.

  “After you left that first time, I tried to track you down, to see if you might be interested in more. But only knowing you as Rickie, and not knowing your last name, I didn’t get far. When I couldn’t find you… I went on with my life. Then you came back, and since then, there’s been no one else.”

  “I can live with that,” she said, and her smile filled his chest with warmth.

  He ran his fingers through her hair, stopping to caress the curve of her ear. “Me too.” Tonight, God had given him what he’d needed by making him talk with Rickie and not what he’d wanted by letting him escape with TV and a beer. And he couldn’t be more grateful. He leaned in to give Rickie a kiss. With Hollywood’s advice in mind, maybe he could make up for their disastrous reunion night.

  Before his lips touched hers, she pushed against his chest with both hands. “Jamie. We need to talk.”

  Stepping away from her, he raked his fingers over his scalp, trying to massage away his problems. He let out a bitter laugh. “Didn’t we just do that?”

  She gripped the countertop on either side of her hips and her gaze hardened. That particular expression had always meant Erica was digging her heels in. She was going to rip him a new one. “We managed to iron out one issue from five years ago. You really think that all our problems are solved now?”

  At this rate, he’d die of old age before they got to their current problems. Jamie crossed his arms and widened his stance to keep from crumbling under the weight of her disappointment. It sapped his energy like running up forty flights of stairs in full gear. “I’m too fucking tired to rehash our entire lives tonight.”

  Just the thought of facing off with her made him feel sick. He swung open the fridge and reached for his long overdue beer. When his hand closed on air, he leaned in to look. Shit. That’s all he’d wanted tonight: one goddamn beer. He shut the door to check the magnetic notepad they’d always used to make the grocery list. Sure enough; the top sheet was gone. “Where’s the Redhook? I know I put it on the list.”

  “Oh. It’s in the garage.”

  She’d left his beer in the heat? “Why on earth would you put it there?”

  Her expression fell and she smoothed imaginary wrinkles on her blouse. “I… I didn’t like how it cluttered up the shelf.” When she wrapped a strand of hair around her ear, the one he’d been caressing mere minutes ago, he saw her fingers tremble. “I know. That sounds incredibly selfish. Here, let me get the box.”

  Before she could leave, he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Don’t bother. Warm beer tastes like piss.”

  She yanked her arm out of his hold. “I said I was sorry.”

  Actually, she hadn’t. But making her feel bad wasn’t what he wanted. “Listen. That didn’t come out right. I’m dead on my feet, and I’m acting like a Neanderthal. How about we get a second fridge and put it in the garage? That way, all the bottles and extra stuff can stay there.”

  “We don’t have to do that,” she said, hugging her waist. “I’m just being a baby.”

  Maybe a bit of a perfectionist, but it was one of the things he liked about her. It balanced his complete lack of order. “I love that you alphabetize the cans and shelve things in the fridge by height.”

  The prettiest shade of pink tinted her cheeks. “You’re teasing me.”

  He ran the back of his hand along her jaw. “Maybe a little.”

  “Can I get you something else?” she asked with a smile. “You probably want to relax in front of the TV for a bit before bed.”

&n
bsp; “What do we have?”

  “Coffee, tea, hot chocolate, white wine, red wine.” She hesitated in her enumeration when he grimaced. “Uh… I think we still have some of that root beer you used to like. Although I don’t know what’s the shelf life on that.”

  “It’ll be fine with some ice.”

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, opening the fridge. “I could make you a sandwich.”

  Was it bad that he was enjoying having Rickie serve him? It felt wrong and so damn right at the same time. “That would be nice. Real nice.”

  She shooed him toward the living room. “Go settle in while I get this ready.”

  “No hurry,” he said, walking back through the dining room to the attached living room. Dropping onto the couch, he set his feet on the coffee table. The chrome edges dug into his calves, so he tucked a cushion under them. Much better. He palmed the remote, then sat back. Not good. His neck arched over the top of the couch and his head rested on the hard wall. He groaned and looked longingly at his recliner, which at the moment, seemed like a symbol of his manhood: out-of-place and relegated to a distant corner.

  The night of the earthquake, he’d told Rickie things would have to change if they got back together. He knew one of those things was him. As Dani had so artfully put it, he needed to man-up. If he continued to bottle up his wants and needs, and let Rickie control everything, they’d be right back where they’d started.

  In a flash, he was on his feet. He pushed the love seat that had taken the place of his recliner over to the far wall, opposite the couch. Then he carefully set Chloe’s book and blanket on the coffee table and picked up his chair, setting it back in its rightful place—dead center on the flat screen.

  With a satisfied sigh, he grabbed the remote off the couch and stretched out in the recliner, even raising the footrest. After punching in the channel numbers for ESPN, he put his hands behind his head and moaned with unadulterated pleasure. He was so fucking happy to be home. To be in his chair, watching his television.

  A few minutes later, Rickie appeared beside him, tray in hand. Her head turned as she scanned the room, obviously none too pleased with the changes he’d made. He cleared his throat. “I rearranged the furniture a bit.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Does it bother you?” It pissed him off to even ask, but if this marriage was going to get a fair shake, he and Rickie needed to start communicating.

  She surveyed the room before meeting his gaze. “I like that you put your chair back. This is where it belongs. Where you belong.”

  “But…?” She hadn’t said the word, but he knew it was hiding there, like the missing piece of a puzzle that changed everything.

  She pointed to the loveseat. “I don’t like the loveseat there.” Turning, she indicated the front wall with the large bay window. “Maybe we could try it over here?”

  His relief left him feeling like a wuss. So to prove his manliness, if only to himself, he jumped to his feet and in a matter of seconds, he’d moved the loveseat. Together, they stood back to admire their efforts. In the silence, his heart began to race. When she finally said, “I like it,” he gripped her around the waist and pulled her down onto the recliner with him.

  She laughed and the sweet sound of it started to fill the emptiness that had plagued him for the past year. He tightened his hold on her waist and smoothed his hand up the outside of her leg. “Now that we’re done decorating, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”

  “I thought you said you were too tired.” She gave him a freezing look.

  “Too tired to fight.”

  Her lips thinned. “I see.”

  He shifted her on his lap and pressed her head against his shoulder. “You’ll like this.”

  “Just a minute.” She picked up his root beer from the tray and took a sip. With a grimace, she handed him the glass. “I hope I like what you want to discuss better than I like this crap.”

  He laughed, then downed half the root beer, enjoying the cool mix of vanilla and spices. It wasn’t Redhook, but it would do in a pinch. Okay, enough stalling. He set the glass down on the corner table beside him. “Remember you said you wanted to go on a honeymoon?”

  Mid-way to reaching for his sandwich plate, she stilled. After taking a sharp breath, she grabbed the plate and sat up. “I remember.”

  “Captain said I could take my vacation.”

  “When?”

  “In a few days.”

  “So soon?” A spark of anxiety flashed in her gaze. Was she having second thoughts?

  “Any reason why not?”

  She stared at the plate in her hands. “Chloe’s not walking yet.”

  “I’m sure my mother can take care of her. You’re still okay with that, aren’t you?” The night of the quake, she’d agreed to let his parents watch Chloe more often, including when they went on their trip.

  “Of course. But check with your mom. It may be more trouble than she’d anticipated when she agreed.”

  “No problem.” He knew his parents would be thrilled to have Chloe stay with them for a week. They’d consider it a chance to make up for some of the time they’d lost when Erica had refused to let them help out.

  He took a bite of his sandwich and watched the thoughts play out on her face. “What’s got that sweet forehead of yours scrunched up like that?”

  “Are we still going to Hawaii?”

  “Oahu. A full week of fun in the sun. I’ll make all the reservations.” He was pushing her boundaries by taking control of the planning. He studied her reaction.

  She bit her lip and toyed with a piece of crust that had broken off from the sandwich. “What are we going to do there?”

  He slid his hand up her hip. “Have lots and lots of sex.” His stomach fluttered. Christ. He felt as giddy as a little girl.

  When she glanced away, the fluttering turned to cramping and the sandwich threatened to come back up. He took the plate from her hands and set it on the table beside his root beer. “Talk to me.”

  “What happened the other night…”

  He turned her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I already apologized for that.”

  Her eyes welled, and he felt like shit. Could Hollywood possibly be right?

  She ran her hand along his jaw, the rasp letting him know he had far more than a five o’clock shadow. “The sex. It’s one of the issues we need to talk about.”

  “So talk.” The roughness of his voice shocked him. Christ Caldwell. Get a handle on your ego before you drive her away. Rickie pushed off his lap, the cold emptiness reminding him of the year he’d spent without her.

  He rose from his chair and stopped in front of her, bending at the knees so they were eye level. “I really want things to be okay between us, babe.”

  “I know. But this isn’t the right time to get into this discussion. You’re tired and I’m too emotional.”

  “Fair enough. When?” It had better be soon. For a year he’d been starving without her, and that one night they’d shared had barely been an appetizer.

  “On the trip. We’ll be alone then. Rested. No excuses.”

  “No excuses,” he agreed, the words grating his throat. If they could get through this, their honeymoon would be a week in paradise.

  If they couldn’t, it would be a week in hell.

  Chapter 3

  “This is so beautiful.” Erica spun in a circle, taking in the beach cottage Jamie had rented for their stay. They entered into a large sitting area. Up one step, there was a large four-poster bed and a matching dresser. The bathroom was beautifully tiled and had a great sunken bathtub and separate glass shower. It was the perfect spot for their five-years late honeymoon.

  Jamie walked to the end of the room to open the glass doors that led to the gorgeous private lanai. She raced past him to see the magnificent view of the ocean. They could have breakfast here every morning while being serenaded by the music of the waves. He came up behind her and circled her waist with his arm
s. “You like it?”

  “I thought we’d be staying in some big stuffy hotel. I never imagined we’d have a cottage right on the water.”

  “Most of the cottages in this resort are double, but I managed to get us the only remaining private one.”

  His emphasis on the word “private” sent a thrill up her spine as she pictured what they could do here, far from any neighbors. If any place was worthy of a new beginning, this was it. “What do you want to do first?” she asked, her voice breathy.

  He chuckled and pressed his erection against her bottom. “Do you really need to ask?”

  “I guess not. But shouldn’t we—”

  Spinning her around, he cut off her words with a hard demanding kiss. He tasted of the cocktails they’d been served upon arriving at the resort. She was running her tongue along his bottom lip, seeking more of the sweetness, when he surprised her by sucking her tongue into his hot mouth. Usually their positions were reversed, with her sucking his tongue. The sensation of being inside someone else’s body was exquisite. Was this how Jamie felt when he was inside her?

  Jamie groaned in his throat. Without breaking the kiss, he gripped her thighs and lifted her up. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist and tightened her hold on his neck as he carried her into their room.

  When she saw he was heading for the bed, she pulled away. “The curtains.”

  “Right.” He carried her over to the doors where she released the long diaphanous material from the tasseled rope that held it to the side.

  With one hand, he undid the buttons on her blouse and pushed down the cup covering one breast. When his firm fingers closed on her nipple, she gasped. Arousal arrowed through her, dampening her panties. She arched her neck and spotted the curtains, still half-open. “Jamie.”

  He continued to toy with her breast, sucking, nibbling. Driving her crazy, making her throb. They had to close the curtains before it was too late. Before they had sex in front of the people on the beach. “Jamie. Wait.”