by Noelle Adams
“Then go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks again for last night.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me for that. It wasn’t like I did anything extraordinary.”
“It was extraordinary to me.”
Caleb felt a swelling pressure in his throat. “You’ve done a lot more than that for me over the years.”
“Still,” she replied, not letting him shrug it off. “I’ve been thinking that maybe I don’t tell you enough how glad I am that you’re in my life.”
Caleb didn’t like this. It was too earnest. Too open. Too intimate. “Me too,” he mumbled, hoping that was enough of an answer for her to let it go.
There was a smile in her voice when she replied, “Okay. I’ll stop being so mushy now. Try to get some sleep yourself.”
He was pretty sure there wasn’t much chance of that tonight. “I will.”
“Liar. You’re probably planning to practice all night. Are you in bed yet?”
“Yes.”
“So go to sleep.”
“I will.”
“Do you need for me to sing you a lullaby?”
“Marissa.”
“All right. All right. I’m hanging up now. I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow. And Baron, of course.”
“Of course.” He clenched his jaw. “Good night.”
“Good night, Caleb.”
As he lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling, he tried to reassert control over his mind. Clear it of thoughts about Marissa and James. Rid it of all these overwhelming feelings and desires and needs.
The world usually just fell into place for him—without his exerting much effort.
Which made it all the more infuriating that, for the first time in so many years, Caleb couldn’t have the one thing he wanted.
* * *
It was almost six o’clock when James strolled into the lobby of the Caleb’s building the next evening. He was dressed in dark colors and expensive tailoring, and he seemed to have made an extra effort with his appearance.
Caleb sneered when he saw him.
James arched his eyebrows. “Glad to see you too. If you don’t want me to come to dinner with you and your luscious friend, just say so.”
“I don’t want you to come to dinner.”
“Tough. You weren’t the one who invited me.”
Caleb forced himself to ignore his irrational jealousy and concentrate instead on priorities. “I’d rather you not mention your jazz band idea to Marissa.”
“Why not?”
“Do I need to give you a reason?”
“If you agree to it, you’ll have to quit your job and start traveling again. You don’t think this is something she’d like to know?”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet. You just proposed the idea yesterday. I’ll let her know when she needs to know.”
James gave him an impatient look under dark eyebrows.
“She worries about me. I don’t like her to worry if there’s no reason for it. And, at this point, there’s no reason for it.”
“So you’re keeping this a secret for her benefit?” James’s voice conveyed heavy skepticism.
“Would you care to explain that question?”
“It just sounds more like a back-up plan to me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You were always like this. Just like Steven. Always keeping a back door opened in case what you really wanted didn’t pan out.”
“This isn’t a back door. I told you I was bored with the orchestra and would seriously consider another possibility at this point.”
He could just go back on tour doing solo concerts. He had an agent and a manager who would be thrilled if he did.
But Marissa didn’t want him to do that, and Caleb wasn’t sure about it himself. But James’s proposal for a short run in a jazz band—no longer than a year—was intriguing.
James said, “I’m serious about this, and I don’t want to work with anyone who isn’t equally serious.”
“Your dad won’t be happy about it.” Caleb knew that was a low blow, since James’s relationship with his family was conflicted. At this point, however, he would take any advantage he could to get the upper-hand.
“When is he ever? I’ve set it up so I can make it work with my responsibilities. It’s just a year. I’ve always wanted to do it.”
Caleb noticed something new in the other man’s eyes, and it made him ask what he otherwise wouldn’t have asked. “Whatever happened to your dream-girl? The one you were talking about last time I saw you.”
Something chilled in James’s eyes. “She was no longer interested.”
There was more to this story. Caleb could see it clearly. But neither of them was comfortable sustaining the personal conversation, so he let it drop.
“And, speaking of,” James continued, in a different voice, “I assume you’d tell me if there were something going on between you and Marissa, so I would know to back off.”
Not inclined to miss an opportunity when it was offered, Caleb said carefully, “Marissa and I have always been friends, but I might be interested in more.”
James smiled, as if he were pleased with himself. He was probably feeling victorious at getting Caleb to admit to such a thing. “Is that right?”
Caleb nodded, hoping that his honesty had cleared things up between them. Wondering if it could be that easy.
Nothing was ever that easy.
“I figured that much out on my own. Had there been something romantic going on between you already, I wouldn’t have interfered. But as there’s nothing but friendship at this point, I consider her fair game.”
Caleb clenched his fists. Breathed deeply and maintained his composure.
“I’m sure you won’t mind a little competition.”
Caleb minded. A lot. He could feel his fingernails dig painfully into his palms. He couldn’t possibly admit to such feelings, however, so he said as coolly as possible, “She’s way too young for you, and you’re hardly what I would consider competition.”
James laughed in an infuriatingly casual way. “We’ll see.”
With that, he walked out to the waiting car.
He was trying to make Caleb angry. He was doing so on purpose. He had found an unexpected weak spot in his defenses, and he was exploiting it—for fun, or power, or purely out of boredom.
Caleb would have done the same thing.
It was of some comfort that James probably wasn’t serious about Marissa. This was all just a challenge—a game to him. But what would happen if Marissa took him seriously? If she became serious about him?
If James dared to break her heart, just when she was at last considering…
Caleb took a deep breath.
He wasn’t a fool. Wasn’t a teenager. Wasn’t some hothead who let emotions control his actions.
He would have dinner with Marissa and James. He would be cool and polite. He would sustain an engaging, intelligent conversation. James would be going back to New York—hopefully tomorrow.
Caleb could make it through one dinner.
He hadn’t yet fallen so low that he couldn’t keep his cool for a couple of hours.
He would not act jealous. He would not be rude or uncivilized. He would not let anyone see his ridiculously riotous emotions.
And he would not—absolutely not—beat Baron James into a bloody, mangled pulp.
No matter what the provocation.
Nine
Marissa held Baron’s hand as he led her to the old-fashioned dance floor at the new Italian restaurant and actually felt kind of weird about it.
She wasn’t sure why. It was basically an innocent touch—he simply hadn’t let go of her hand since he’d helped her to her feet. They were going to be dancing in a few seconds anyway, so she wasn’t sure what the big deal was.
He was a handsome, charismatic man, and his hand was warm and strong as it grasped hers. But it made her feel strange—almost ill
—and she had to fight the instinct to pull her hand away.
She didn’t. She was a grown woman, who shouldn’t act like she’d get cooties from holding hands with an attractive man.
But she couldn’t help but compare her present discomfort with how natural it had felt to hold hands with Caleb after he’d helped her out of the car earlier.
Not that they’d actually been holding hands—not like that, anyway. But, still, she hadn’t had the least desire to pull her hand out of Caleb’s grip.
It was funny—how familiarity could transform experiences that might otherwise be the same.
Baron swung her into position, and they fell into step together smoothly, easily.
He danced well, and he smiled down at her charmingly.
“Why are you being such a jerk to Caleb?” she asked, as she matched her motion with hers.
“A jerk? Is that your impression of me? You mean you haven’t fallen under the spell of my winning personality?”
She chuckled, enjoying his irony and dry humor. “I don’t really fall under spells very often. I asked you a question, and I’d like an answer, please. If Caleb is your friend, why are you making him suffer?”
“And how exactly am I making him suffer?”
“You’re flirting with me, even though you know it makes Caleb mad.”
He gave her a slanting look. “The obvious explanation would be that you’re too irresistible not to flirt with.” To punctuate the husky enticement of his words, he started gently caressing her back, instead of keeping his hand still in its proper location.
The touch felt nice but had absolutely no effect on Marissa’s insides. It was fake—just superficial. It didn’t feel at all like sex.
“That would be the obvious explanation, but it’s not the real one. You’ve been laughing at Caleb all night, and it’s not very nice. The poor thing is about to explode. Why are you torturing him like this?”
“I’ve decided he needs a little nudge in the right direction.”
His tone had changed, and Marissa realized that at last he was speaking the truth. “A nudge? In what direction? How does making him furious and overly possessive accomplish anything worthwhile?”
Baron stared at her for a minute, as if he were trying to figure her out. “I can’t believe you don’t already know.”
Marissa felt dread grow in her belly—like she did know what was coming but wanted to continue ignoring it for as long as possible. “Stop acting all superior and condescending. If you have something to say, just say it.”
Baron slid both hands around her waist. Since her hand was left dangling in the air, she shifted her arms until they were twined behind his neck.
It had been a long time since Marissa had danced this way with a man.
Leaning toward her, his lips almost at her ear, he murmured, “Why do you think Caleb gets so angry when I flirt with you?”
She shifted her head slightly, knowing Baron was trying to gain some kind of power over her by his erotic voice and manner. It was starting to make her uncomfortable—sure—but she wasn’t someone who would turn to mush from the sound of a man’s voice or his breath on her ear. “He’s jealous, of course.”
Baron looked momentarily surprised. “You do know, then. I wondered if you were as innocent of this as you appeared.”
Marissa wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but she didn’t like the sound of it at all. “I know what? That Caleb is jealous? Of course, I know that. I’m not an idiot.” She pitched her voice to sound worldly and experienced, although she wasn’t really feeling that way. Rather, she felt baffled and queasy—still with the sense that something bad was coming. “You’re trespassing on his territory. It’s some kind of primal alpha-male reaction. Make any move on something that Caleb sees as his, and he’ll get riled up and immediately launch a defensive counterstrike.”
Since Baron didn’t immediately respond, she continued, “I feel jealous of him sometimes too. We’ve been friends a long time, and that leads to some unavoidable possessive feelings.”
“I see. So you actually think he’s reacting as a friend would.”
“Not any friend, no. But in a friendship like mine and Caleb’s, maybe.”
“Take it from someone who knows. He’s not looking at you like a friend.”
Marissa stared up at him—wishing somehow she could go back in time thirty seconds and stop him from saying those words.
The whole world had shifted with his voice.
And not in a good way.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve always only been friends. He doesn’t even find me attractive.” When Baron looked like he was about to argue, she rushed on, “I know he doesn’t. I’ve had plenty of evidence of that.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that. I find it hard to believe any man could not find you attractive, but if it was true about Caleb in the past, it’s not true any longer. He looks at you like he wants to swallow you whole.”
Marissa tried to block his words from her consciousness. Baron was making her confused and hot and embarrassed.
And he was wrong. What did he know about it anyway? He’d probably never had a purely platonic relationship with a woman, so he wouldn’t comprehend it when he saw it.
But Baron’s last statement had conjured up certain images in her mind—pictures of how Caleb had been looking at her lately. Details she'd been doing her best to ignore, to push back in the dark corner of her mind.
She shuddered, remembering how she’d felt last night, before Caleb had called her. She’d been forced to admit the reality of those feelings. Feelings she hadn’t experienced in a really long time.
No. She wouldn’t think about it. Things were good as they were. Even thoughts about sex would only mess up their friendship. Sex messed everything up. And that’s not what she wanted from Caleb.
Baron’s hands had slid down to her butt, and she blinked at him in surprise. “If you think Caleb is interested in me—which I’m not convinced of—but if you think he is, then why are you groping me on the dance floor?”
Easing her hips into his, Baron murmured, “He's restraining himself more effectively than I’d expected, so I have to bump things up a notch.”
She shook her head, about to chide him for his immature baiting of Caleb. But the proximity of her hips to his was making her even queasier, so she pulled away slightly, so there was room once again between their bodies.
“I guess that means you’re not interested in having a good time with me,” Baron drawled, smiling in amusement.
“You know it’s not personal.” She cocked her head to one side, studying the confusion on his face. “Don’t you know? I guess not. You see, the thing is, I don’t have sex at all.”
Marissa supposed it was a kind of victory—that her blunt, matter-of-fact statement had caused the suave, composed Baron James to actually jerk in surprise.
“You don’t have sex?” he gasped finally, when he’d overcome his shock enough to speak.
She shrugged again, feeling a little awkward suddenly. “No. I’m just not into it.”
His eyes widened with dazed awe. Then he smiled slightly and tilted his head to murmur against her ear. “Poor Caleb is going to have an even harder time than I imagined.”
Marissa really wished he’d stop saying things like that. Those thoughts were better absent from her mind.
She was about to respond, when Baron glanced over her shoulder. “Hmm. You said Caleb has been about to explode all night. I do believe the explosion has finally occurred.”
Before Marissa could react, or even turn her head to look, she felt a hand on her shoulder. A strong, skillful, familiar hand. And one that felt very possessive.
“I think this is my dance,” Caleb said, his voice thick, gritty, tense.
When she turned, she could see coiled power and emotion smoldering just under the surface.
Baron smiled with infuriating nonchalance. “And what if I wasn’t finished with my dance?”
/>
“You were finished.” Caleb took a step closer to Baron but didn’t remove his hand from her shoulder.
Marissa couldn’t remember ever seeing Caleb this provoked. Baron had definitely succeeded at whatever he was attempting.
“I’ll dance with Caleb now,” she said quickly, pulling her hand away from Baron. “Fair’s fair. You already had your turn.”
Baron gave her a final knowing look. “How diplomatic. Did you actually think I was going to get into a scuffle in the middle of a crowded restaurant?”
Maybe Baron had no intentions of doing so, but Marissa wasn’t so sure about Caleb. He looked like it would take very little for him to erupt into violence, and that was not something she wanted to witness.
“Go away,” she said, swatting Baron on the chest lightly. “I’m dancing with Caleb now.”
Grinning, Baron strolled away, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.
Caleb watched him depart and made a sound in his throat, one that could almost have been a growl.
Something about the guttural sound made her shiver.
“Caleb,” she began, positioning herself for their dance. “You really shouldn’t let Baron—”
“Shh,” he demanded, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close to him. “No talking. Just dancing.”
Shrugging, Marissa decided that would be just as well. She had a lot to think about anyway.
Not that she was going to seriously consider that nonsense of Baron's. Really. Caleb couldn’t be interested in her that way. Not sexually.
Sure, he was acting rather bizarre, but it was probably prompted by the challenge Baron posed. It was just some silly, masculine, dominance thing. It wasn't actually about her. At least, not in that way.
Caleb’s gaze was mesmerizing in its intensity. It felt like his silver-gray eyes scorched every part of her body they touched, and they seemed to touch everywhere—all over her body—as the motion of the dance continued.
She shuddered again, and at her shudder he pulled her even closer, so that her breasts were rubbing against his chest every time their hips swayed together.
She could actually feel her nipples. Feel them. Was suddenly scared that Caleb could feel them too.
They’d danced together before, but it had never been like this.