Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

by Natalie Anderson

  In reality, he waited.

  * * *

  Caitlin crept up the stairs, hyped about her day yet awkward about the upcoming sleep situation. Hopefully James was long asleep already. If so, she wouldn’t wake him, given he slept like the dead. But as she climbed to the top floor she saw light emanating from the room. She swallowed back the surge of adrenalin and walked in.

  Oh, where was the mercy? The man was in bed, apparently not wearing anything but the sheet covering his lower half. His bare, bronzed, muscled chest yanked her attention and sizzled her skin. She didn’t know where to look. But she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.

  ‘You had a good day?’ He’d glanced up from the iPad he’d been reading.

  ‘Amazing.’ She bit her lip, wondering for a second if he’d been searching anything on the web. But his smile was still too warm and, frankly, the guy probably had way better things to do than bother finding out about her. It wasn’t as if he were really interested, right?

  ‘So you saw?’ he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

  ‘I saw.’ And man, was she seeing now.

  ‘And did?’

  ‘I saw more than did.’ She glanced away, trying to recount her day rather than drool. ‘Times Square, Rockefeller Center—as you said. And tonight I saw a Broadway show, which was so awesome.’ She beamed and looked back at him. ‘That rocked. And now I’m really sore. My feet,’ she explained as his brows lifted. ‘I’ve walked miles.’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘So now you need rest.’

  ‘Yeah.’ That wretched heat beat its way into her cheeks. Somehow she couldn’t think ‘rest’ when he was in bed like that—all big and bare and bold.

  ‘You’re going to sleep in the travel clothes?’ he asked softly, a way too wicked whisper.

  ‘I don’t have much choice,’ she said wryly.

  ‘Wear another of my T-shirts.’

  She licked her dry lips. ‘I don’t think the grey is my colour.’ She tried to joke, because she knew he was joking with her like some panto character—all twirling moustache and gleaming eyes.

  ‘I’m betting all colours would suit you,’ he said.

  ‘Are you flirting with me again?’ She tried to stand tall. Tried to breathe. But the heat he generated burned her lungs.

  ‘I was trying for more subtle this time,’ he said. Humour laced his words but his triple-strength-espresso eyes were locked on hers. ‘Is it working? I’m a little rusty.’

  Caitlin couldn’t tear her gaze from his. Couldn’t contain her own rusty reply. ‘Maybe you should try a little harder.’

  He stilled; his alert eyes drilled as if he was searching out her secrets. That tiny roguish twist to his lips remained. ‘How hard?’

  She swallowed. But then shook her head, taking a step back from the ledge; she wasn’t buying into this game. Because it was a game. ‘I’m not sure you can deliver.’

  ‘How do you know if you don’t let me try?’ His voice deepened; so did the amusement slipping into his eyes. ‘I don’t like not being given the opportunity to prove myself.’

  She dragged in a scalding breath. ‘This is you being brotherly?’

  His smile broadened. His shoulders rose and fell in an easy gesture. ‘You make it very difficult not to tease you.’

  Caitlin sent him a look and stalked into the bathroom, locking the door on his low laughter. The man was all tease, with the lack of shirt and lapse into outrageous flirt. He was only doing it to amuse himself, she knew that, but it was fun and frankly a little flattering to her decimated-by-Dominic ego. So what if James didn’t mean it?

  Trouble was her body was totally buying it. All aware, totally absorbed by his physique. With that chest and those sculpted abs, all she wanted was to wrap herself around him. Her body was taking his carefree, fun flirt way too seriously. Good thing she was human and able to control her bodily desires.

  Will power over want.

  She towelled off and pondered her nightwear dilemma. One of his grey shirts was neatly folded and waiting on a shelf. She half laughed as she saw it, feeling a ridiculous glow at his thoughtfulness. He might have been teasing, but he’d remembered her no-luggage predicament and was genuinely happy to help.

  So the real question was what to wear beneath the tee. She should have been just a smidge less frugal and bought some more knickers this afternoon. Except she’d already blown her daily budget. So now she washed out her undies and hung them over the bath to dry for tomorrow—refusing to wince. The man spent most of his time in emergency camps—he’d have seen worse than a pair of knickers drying over a rail. Fingers crossed her luggage would show up some time soon. For now she slipped into the T-shirt and checked in the mirror how low it fell. Almost to mid-thigh. He’d never know whether she had undies on or not. It wasn’t a problem at all. Right?

  Emerging from the bathroom, she stopped in the doorway and saw he’d created a Great Wall of Pillows in an engineering feat that NASA scientists would be proud of.

  ‘Like the border?’ He winked at her from where he stood on his side of the bed.

  ‘Impressive.’ She was so talking about the tower, not James in nothing but boxers. ‘That’s a very big...pile of pillows.’

  His eyes danced. ‘I did ship in some extra. But it should hold.’ He rather awkwardly turned towards the bed and cleared his throat. ‘According to my boss I’m not going on another assignment for a fortnight.’

  ‘Oh.’ A fortnight? ‘So you’re on holiday too, then,’ she mumbled, her face scorching.

  ‘Seems so.’ He pulled back the sheet and slid beneath it.

  ‘Nice.’ She couldn’t think what else to say. She was going to have to sleep next to him for the next two weeks? How was she going to survive? She was too close to combustion as it was.

  Hideously self-conscious, she crept onto her side of the bed. The tower was so tall she’d be able to sit up and still not see him. But she was acutely aware of his closeness, the image of him all but naked was seared on her mind.

  She carefully clambered between the cool sheets and told her hyperactive senses to chill too. A fair amount of trust was required to sleep in the same bed as someone, but she was safe with James Wolfe. She’d already spent one night with him. Sure, last night he’d been too exhausted to do anything even if he’d wanted to, but she figured that—despite the light’n’teasy flirt—he really didn’t want to do anything. He was too honourable, way too much the hero, to make an inappropriate move.

  And that was fine, right?

  He switched off the light and plunged them into almost darkness. Energy buzzed in the room. Her sensual awareness grew super high. She totally regretted the no knickers. She was too nude—and growing too damp. She couldn’t really blame the shower. Get a grip, Caitlin.

  She could lie next to him and not think about sex. She could keep cool and in control of herself. She could try to remember to breathe.

  ‘You had dinner before the theatre?’ he asked from the other side of the pillow ranges.

  Caitlin swallowed a gasp. ‘Yes.’

  At that moment, a prolonged gurgling sound rumbled round the deathly quiet room. Her stomach had just proved her a liar.

  ‘You spent your daily budget on your theatre ticket, didn’t you?’ He chuckled.

  She sighed. No point in trying to lie now. ‘Yeah.’ Not just today’s budget, but tomorrow’s too. And the next day’s.

  ‘So you’re hungry.’

  Yeah. She was. For a number of things.

  She felt the mattress bounce as he suddenly moved. She heard rustling. Then a tearing sound—was that foil? Was he—?

  She yanked her thoughts from the rampantly horny. Man, was she that wired, that turned on by his mere presence, that her brain had fried, thinking he was about to sate her sexual appetite? That he was
undoing a—

  ‘Here.’

  In the dim light she saw his hand stretching over their pillow wall.

  She reached out and took the small rectangular-shaped thing he was holding out. It was slightly warm, slightly soft. And as she drew it nearer to see what it was the scent told her. Her mouth watered.

  ‘Chocolate?’ She felt almost faint at the divine smell.

  ‘I always have some with me. It has nuts in it, though—that okay?’

  The man was an angel. ‘More than okay.’ She nibbled on a corner, savouring, resisting the urge to swallow it in one gulp. ‘So this is your secret stash? That’s what you keep by your bed?’

  ‘Uh-huh. Good, right?’

  He was so good. She slowly sucked the chocolate lump, letting it melt over her tongue. She nearly moaned at the sweet sensation.

  She heard his low laughter and he dropped another, much larger piece over the pillow wall.

  No matter if he’d only ever been teasing, she was all his. A man who provided the necessaries of life—a roof over her head and chocolate after midnight? What more did a woman need?

  She refused to think of sex.

  A couple of minutes later he spoke again. ‘How bad is your budget?’

  Caitlin smiled wryly. No point in trying to hide the obvious. ‘Pretty bad.’

  Frankly she wasn’t bothered this instant because she’d seen that Broadway show tonight and she was staying in this incredible location, less than an arm’s reach from the hottest guy she’d ever met. A guy who slept in little and always carried chocolate with him—

  ‘A month in New York with no money?’ He summed up her life.

  ‘Yes, but that’s okay,’ she said doggedly. ‘I have a roof over my head. I have eyes.’

  ‘So you can do your seeing.’ James shook his head and passed the rest of his chocolate over the pillows. Hell, he wanted her to ‘do’ too. He wanted her to do him. And could anyone blame him when she was in one of his T-shirts again, all glowing from the shower with her long legs and sparkly eyes, full of smiles and simmering anticipation.

  ‘You should sleep,’ she said, sounding apologetic.

  As if that were going to happen when she’d looked like that. Tired but flushed—excited. He listened to the soft sounds as she settled into the bed—so she was ready to snooze? At least she had a little something sweet in her stomach now.

  Hell. He really wanted to lick the remaining taste of chocolate from her lips.

  He drew a breath and held it as he tried to calm the riot inside his body. Good thing he’d built the pillows up so high, given the way his body was straining to attention. This was worse than he’d imagined it’d be. No way was he managing two weeks of this kind of torture. He’d phone Lisbet in the morning and insist on a placement somewhere—anywhere.

  A few minutes later he heard Caitlin rustle again. Then again. Restless? As restless as he? He grinned in the darkness. He knew all about exciting days in foreign cities and sensorial overload. It took a while to relax, no matter how physically exhausted you were. You needed time to mentally unwind after such a stint of fierce sightseeing. The rustling sounded again.

  ‘You can’t sleep?’ he asked.

  ‘Sorry.’ Her soft voice filled him with warmth. ‘Am I keeping you awake? I can’t stop thinking.’

  Yeah, he knew how that felt too. And he knew a cure—a focus on physical pleasure. Even the most stressed person could find that mindless relief that came after physical completion. But it wasn’t something he did when on assignment. A few of the guys did. Some of the things they saw when on task compelled a need to affirm life. Or find an escape. So they hooked up with nurses. Or maybe visited a local late-night lady. But some of those women the guys visited had no escape. They needed money desperately enough to do anything. Emotions were fraught. James thought it was easier, safer for all, to steer clear altogether. He encouraged his team to do the same.

  But here he was. Home. Safe. And unable to think of anything but Caitlin and what he’d do to her the second he got the chance. He was out of control.

  ‘Tell me about the show,’ he almost begged her. Anything to stop the lusty images pelting through his mind.

  ‘It was amazing. Crystal Sugar. You seen it?’

  ‘No. Should I?’

  ‘Hell, yes,’ she answered fervently. ‘It’s incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. Not even in London. The costumes were ah-may-zing.’

  ‘Costumes?’ He grinned and listened to her talk on. So she was a showgirl at heart? It certainly hadn’t taken much to pop that cork and get her flowing. Good. It was a perfect neutral topic. Because he wasn’t going to get personal. They were just sharing a sleeping space. Nothing more complicated than that. ‘You wish you were up there onstage?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ She sounded appalled.

  ‘Just a fan?’ She seemed too enthralled for that.

  There was a momentary pause. ‘I really do like the costumes. That’s what I studied. Costume design.’

  ‘Wow.’ She was a designer? ‘That’s great.’ But it didn’t quite seem right to him. She looked more suited to limelight than lurking in the wings. With those aquamarine eyes, the blonde hair, the camera-conscious sleek figure, she was the epitome of starlet-in-waiting. ‘So that’s what you want to do? You’re not really a wannabe actress hoping to make it big here?’

  ‘Never.’ Oddly, her laugh verged on hysterical. ‘No. I’m all for the costumes. I like the backstage stuff. I’d love to get a wardrobe technician job here.’

  ‘And a wardrobe technician...?’

  ‘Preserves the integrity of the costumes, keeps them pristine and looking the way the designer envisioned,’ she answered.

  ‘They don’t stay pristine?’ He half laughed.

  ‘Not always, no,’ she answered primly. ‘The dances are energetic so sometimes things tear. And get sweaty.’

  Ah. He really didn’t want to think ‘energetic’ and ‘sweaty’ right now. Not when he’d only just mastered his own mind. For a nanosecond.

  ‘They’re really heavy,’ she continued. ‘And hot. And they take hours of work.’

  Hot. Like him, then. ‘You’re fully into it.’

  ‘That’s what I want to do, yes. I’ve finished a design course in London. Now it’s time to get the job.’

  ‘But first you have this month in New York.’ Spending all her money on seeing the shows and half starving in the process. He heard her draw in a deep breath and let it out in a sleepy sigh.

  ‘Yes.’

  He rubbed the heel of his hand hard over his forehead and told himself she was answering the comment he’d actually muttered aloud, not answered the question he ached to put to her. Now other questions pressed. How did she know George? Why had he offered her the use of the condo? Why was she so wary of the media? But the question bugging him most of all was whether he’d still taste that chocolate if he kissed her now.

  He wanted to kiss her everywhere.

  Yeah, the lustful thoughts hadn’t gone far for long.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she murmured. ‘Sleep tight.’

  He wryly smiled in the darkness at her last sweet mumble. With temptation lying a mere breath away, sleep wasn’t going to win in a hurry.

  FOUR

  An endless, high-pitched screech shattered the silence. Bleary-eyed, James squinted up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell the noise was. Then it dawned. A phone. A real phone. Who used a land-line these days?

  On auto he reached a hand out to find it and encountered a lump of something soft. Then he remembered the pillows. The reason for the pillows.

  Shit. He flinched. It was too early. Caitlin would still be asleep. Should still be asleep after her big day yesterday. He jerked over and fell off the bed in his haste. Damn. He’d been cli
nging to the edge for fear that while asleep he’d act out his dreams and desires and move too close to her. Blinking fast, he peered round the floor to find the phone. The thing was right underneath the bed. One of the builders must have plugged it in thinking he was being helpful. He snaked an arm and hauled the receiver off the hook and put it to his ear.

  ‘Yes?’ he bit out in a furious whisper.

  ‘James?’ George’s surprised tones burst loud from the handset. ‘I didn’t think you were back for another couple of months.’

  Well, that was obvious, given the appearance of Caitlin in his bed. But James fought to suppress the irritation. How could George know James was going to be back if James hadn’t told him—didn’t ever tell any of them? It was his own fault for being so crap at communication. ‘It was a surprise to me too.’ He pressed the receiver closer to his ear and lowered his voice yet more. ‘I didn’t know we loaned the condo out.’ It was their private escape.

  ‘You’re not the only Wolfe who helps out people in trouble,’ George answered.

  James paused as his pulse did a quickstep. Then he couldn’t resist asking, ‘She’s in trouble?’

  ‘She’s had a rough time. So be nice and don’t make her life any harder than what it is.’

  Harder than what? James gritted his teeth. He knew there was something up. He should have asked her more. ‘Who is she? What happened?’ He held his breath, aware she was only a few feet away and probably awake and listening to every word.

  ‘Why don’t you ask her? Actually talk to a person for a change.’ George laughed, clearly missing the tension stringing out James. ‘How are you both squeezing in there? I thought the refurb was going to take a few weeks.’

  ‘Longer. But we’re managing,’ James hedged. ‘I’m only here for a day or two. Where are you?’

  ‘The cottage.’

  At home? ‘Really?’ The knowledge kicked him under the ribs. His twin was back. With his family.

  ‘Uh-huh. And Mum’s coming. She’s going to want to talk to you—’

  ‘George, no, don’t. Tell her I’m—’