‘Tell her yourself.’
‘Tell me what?’ A third, distant, voice echoed along the line.
Damn. ‘Hey, Mum.’ James pressed his body into the rug and closed his eyes tight.
‘James! You’re in New York?’ His mother sounded breathless in surprise. ‘When are you coming to see us?’
There it was. No preamble. No niceties—no ‘how was your trip’. It was straight into the expectation. The demand. And it was fair enough—she was his mum after all.
‘It’s been so long since we’ve seen you,’ she added.
‘It’s been busy.’ He gripped the handset tightly.
‘But not now?’
‘No, still busy. I’m only in town a couple of days. I’m not going to have time to—’
‘Months, James. It’s been months.’ She spoke quietly.
He turned up to Thanksgiving, to Christmas, to his parents’ birthdays. Couldn’t that be enough? But it wasn’t. He knew his absence bothered them. But he couldn’t sit back and relax. He liked to stay busy. Needed to. James covered his closed eyes with his hand.
‘Is a quick visit too much to ask?’ his mother asked.
‘I’m sorry,’ James spoke briskly. ‘I’m only in New York another day.’
‘Oh.’ There was a pause. Then she rallied. ‘Where are you going next?’
‘Uh.’ He tried to think up something plausible. ‘Conference in Northern Japan.’
‘Japan? Nice.’
James winced at the disappointment his mother was trying so hard to hide. But if he showed up at home she’d only be more disappointed. Better to keep his visits quick, painless and rare. ‘It should be interesting.’
‘Maybe we’ll see you when you get back.’
He could hear his mother trying to smile.
‘Maybe,’ he answered.
The line went dead. James banged the receiver down and cursed. He should never have picked the bloody thing up.
‘Well, well,’ a sultry voice commented slyly.
James lifted his hand from his eyes and looked up from his awkward position on the floor. She was peering over the edge of the mattress, looking down at him like the cat who’d got the cream.
‘Who’d ever have thought that James Wolfe was capable of lying to his loved ones?’ She inched forward so she hung a little further over the edge, a smile on her lips that spelled trouble. ‘Only another day in New York? Last night you told me you were on holiday for two weeks.’
‘I’m tired.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t want to spend more time travelling.’
‘Diddums. First world problems.’ Her blue eyes were too alert and all-seeing for this time of the morning.
‘Have you got a problem with me?’ He tried to brazen it out.
‘Possibly. You’re avoiding your family?’
He wanted to avoid that topic. ‘What, you’re saying you’ve never told a lie?’
‘Sure I have.’ She shrugged.
It was the smile that did it. He wanted it. Wanted to haul her close and kiss it from her. He lifted his hand and very gently touched her chin with his finger. ‘But I can’t?’
‘You’re the good guy, remember?’ The colour of her eyes deepened, the black pupils swelling as she stared down at his.
‘What is it that’s so bad about you? You look good to me.’ He slid his finger along the edge of her jaw.
‘You’re flirting again? More avoidance?’
‘With you, it’s too entertaining not to,’ he muttered. ‘It’s amazing how little it takes to make you blush. For a supposed bad girl you embarrass easily.’
She was blushing now.
‘It’s a skill I picked up backstage at all those shows.’
‘You’re saying you fake it?’ he scoffed. ‘Darling, you shouldn’t be backstage, you should be front and centre. Right in the limelight.’
‘I have greater talents elsewhere,’ she said smugly. ‘One can’t turn one’s back on one’s gifts.’
‘Elsewhere?’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘There’s no beating you, is there?’ He liked it. ‘You have a comeback for everything.’
‘I can do defence.’
‘I’m getting that.’ He slid his hand round to cup the back of her neck. One touch wasn’t enough. ‘Deflection, distraction. You’ve got all the d-words down pat.’
‘Especially determination.’
He stretched up and wrapped his free hand around her upper arm. So she couldn’t back away. Because he couldn’t back away. Not from this. Not now. He needed the distraction and the defence.
‘What about desire?’ he asked roughly. ‘You can do that too?’
Colour scorched her face again. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘It’s all about want,’ he murmured, slowly, carefully applying pressure to pull her closer towards the edge of the bed. Towards him. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘I think we want different things,’ she whispered.
‘Not so different.’ He pulled harder, until she slithered right off the mattress and onto him.
Caitlin gasped as she crashed down off the bed and landed in a sprawl right on top of him—arms and legs akimbo. He was harder than concrete. All his muscles were flexed.
Dear heaven.
She put her hands on the carpet either side of his head and levered herself up enough to look down into his face. The action pushed her pelvis harder against his. She gasped again as the rigid length of him pushed hard against her. But now he had one hand on the small of her back, keeping her body pressed to his and his hand circling the back of her neck was strong—pushing her head back down. Pushing until her lips met his.
Given her gasp, her mouth was already parted. So was his. Hot, hungry, he lashed out with his tongue, claiming her with no hesitation.
She heard his low growl, was aware a strangled groan had sounded deep in her own throat. But there was no stopping, no talking. No breathing.
It was all kiss. And not gentle. Not tender. Just raw, rampant hunger.
His lips moved, wide and wicked, slicking over hers as he swept his tongue inside her mouth again and again as if he could never get enough of her taste. His fingers pushed up into her hair, clasping it. She liked the tight hold he had on her. She liked the unrestrained need emanating from him. She was aware part of him was unhappy, still moody from that phone call. So she knew he was using her.
But she didn’t care. She was using him too. Because nothing had felt so good in so long. He’d lit a fire and in seconds it burned beyond her control. She soared towards it—the pleasure, the possible release. The sheer thrill of his touch and the way it made her feel.
Pure euphoria.
She was on him. All over him. She writhed, her hips restless and circling, eager to feel all his hard strength under all of her body. The kisses were chaotic. No smooth skill or seduction. It was hunger. Frantic, fast passion. One taste not enough. Nor two. Nor three. The chemistry was incredible—irresistible. She gripped his hair with both her hands, keeping him in place as much as he was her. Keeping her mouth sealed to his. She tangled her tongue round his as he slammed his hand on the small of her back again to keep her in place right over his heat. She couldn’t stay still—she yearned. Ached for it all.
Her body readied in an instant. She was wet, hot, slippery as she rocked her hips in helpless abandon, seeking closer, complete contact. She spread her legs wider, so she could feel his strength between her sensitive upper thighs. His bare, hair-roughened skin heated her more.
She wanted. She wanted, wanted, wanted. She moaned as he kissed her. Moaned as she thought of the more to come. Moaned as it wasn’t happening quick enough.
She wore the T-shirt, he wore the boxers. There wasn’t another item of clothing between them. She wriggled to accommodate hi
m, fitting into place to feel his blunt, hard erection pushing right where she desperately ached. She cursed the cotton covering him. If it weren’t for that he could be inside her already. She burned for him to fill her, to propel her furiously towards release. His fingers slid down over the T-shirt, over her butt until he encountered the bare back of her thigh. She ground down harder on him in instinctive reaction. His fingers began to trail back up her leg, this time sliding under the tee. As he encountered the bare skin of her buttocks he groaned, his body flexing in automatic response—a powerful, passionate thrust that made her gasp even as he plundered her mouth with his tongue. For a long moment they lay locked—straining together, his tongue thrust deep, his blind cock seeking to drive deeper still, while she bore down on him, open and wet and willing.
He tore his mouth free. ‘Hell.’ He grabbed her hips hard and pushed her up—away from him. ‘Stop.’
Panting, she looked down at his gleaming body. What the hell was he on about? She was seconds from orgasm and she wanted that orgasm. Badly.
‘Caitlin,’ he grunted, his breathing rough and loud. ‘I can’t...’
His words came choppy; his fingers bit into her flesh. There was no mistaking the rigid determination on his face. He didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want her.
Of course he didn’t.
Caitlin froze as if she’d plunged through a crack in an ice-covered lake.
‘This is a bad idea,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t going to let this happen. I told myself—’ He stopped again and dropped his head on the floor. It clunked.
Oh, so what, it had been her fault? Instinctive defensive anger flared. He’d been the one to pull her onto him. He’d been the one all standing to attention already. But maybe it was just his morning glory she’d been making the most of? Maybe he woke every day with a super huge, hot erection and it had nothing to do with her at all?
Oh, hell. She knew that already. All he’d been doing was blowing off steam after that awkward phone call of his. There wasn’t anything more than that to it.
‘Don’t beat yourself up about it.’ Awkwardly, she scrambled to her feet and then scooted back over the bed, getting as far away from him as she could until she hit the mussed-up pile of pillows. She drew on an icy cloak of indifference and attempted to minimise. ‘It was just a kiss, James.’
He sat up, his head popping up over the mattress. ‘That wasn’t just a kiss,’ he said drily. ‘What it was, was pretty damn...uh.’ He shook his head a fraction. ‘But it’s been a while for me...’
Oh, please. She didn’t want him to lie or make up excuses or be polite and let her down gently. If he didn’t want her, he didn’t want her. No problem.
But cold mortification seeped into her marrow. Because she’d wanted him. And he knew just how much she’d wanted him—she’d been moaning non-stop.
‘Yeah.’ She nodded, acting up the amused ‘it-was-nothing’ scene. ‘So your judgment is warped. Kissing anything with lips would be good for you.’
His mouth opened. Then closed. Then he laughed. He stood and to her immense relief yanked on the nearest T-shirt. Grey, of course. Then he looked at her again, his voice dropping into spoof depths. ‘So, how was it for you?’
She shrugged, determined to sass her way through the embarrassment. ‘Just a kiss. Not that great.’
‘You do tell lies.’ He laughed again. ‘Defence.’ He nodded. ‘I’ve got it. But—’ his expression went serious ‘—you know this shouldn’t happen. Flirting is one thing, sleeping together another.’
They already were sleeping together. Properly sleeping in just the one—albeit luxury—room. That brought a wholly different kind of intimacy. She was getting to know more about him than she ever would if they’d just had a one-night stand. But she merely nodded.
‘It wouldn’t be right,’ he said softly.
Wanting her wasn’t right? How insulting was that? She itched to rebel, to retaliate. Or better still, prove a point—take him, make him...
She halted her crazy vixen thoughts. As if she could make him. What a joke. He’d just proven he had far greater will power than she did. And hadn’t she grown out of brattish behaviour? No more being Caitlin ‘always wants more’ Moore.
But that didn’t stop her annoyance with his ‘perfection’.
‘And you always do the right thing?’ she jeered softly.
A strange expression crossed his face—he looked almost wistful. ‘Like most people, I try.’
Silently she stared at him, trying to figure out how the hell to extricate herself from this nightmare with just a shred of dignity intact. To her relief, her mobile phone rang. She pounced on it, ruefully wishing it had rung five minutes earlier and saved her from the humiliation of all but begging him to screw her.
She turned her back on him as she breathlessly answered. She had to get the caller to repeat everything until she understood what the woman was saying. She still refused to turn and face him after hanging up.
‘They’ve finally found my bag,’ she said crisply, though he’d have got that from hearing her end of the conversation.
‘Great. They’re sending it over?’
She nodded. This was good. There’d be no more sharing of clothes. No more bare skin at night. And she wouldn’t have to spend money she didn’t have. ‘I’m going to get dressed.’
She stalked into the bathroom, locking the door and flicking the shower to cold. She lifted her burning face into the frigid stream. Wished she were frigid. Instead she’d been writhing all over him—ready to orgasm within ten seconds of snogging. What must he think of her?
She grimaced. No worse than what he already had once thought—that she was a tart who’d sleep with anything.
She soon had enough of the ice water treatment and turned on the heat. She stood in the shower for ages, refusing to worry that James might need to use the room too. She was hoping he’d have left the apartment by the time she deigned to leave the shower.
When she did finally open the bathroom door and peer out, she saw the bed was now neatly made and—joy of joys—her small suitcase sitting on the lower corner. The airline lady hadn’t been kidding when she’d said they’d already sent it right over.
She grabbed the case and darted back into the bathroom, changing into one of her favourite floral dresses. Nice-fitting clothes were as good as iron armour. She brushed her hair and lifted her chin at her reflection. She could face him and not flush. No problem.
But he wasn’t in the bedroom when she walked out into it. She went downstairs, listening hard but hearing nothing. She sniffed, slightly miffed that he’d gone. Then she sniffed again. She could smell something amazing. She got to the lower floor and stopped and stared. He’d set up some kind of camp kitchen down in the stripped-back, barren room? And even better, he’d cooked up something mouth-watering—that he was now eating.
He glanced at her and swallowed his mouthful with a muffled choking sound. ‘I like those clothes much better.’ He breathed in deep.
‘I’m supposed to be flattered?’ She locked into safe sarcastic mode.
‘If you want my delicious breakfast, yes.’ He retaliated by zooming back to flirt zone. And smiling.
Which was so brutally unfair of him.
‘Then I’m flattered.’ She bestowed a saccharine smile on him. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ It wasn’t a total lie; she was a little pleased—this dress had been one of the first she’d designed herself when she’d been playing about. But she wasn’t letting him win any real points.
He continued to smile right back at her—his gaze warm and lingering. She clamped down on the warmth working its way through her. Did he really think he could charm them through this embarrassment?
‘I’m sorry about before,’ he said easily, clearly thinking exactly that. ‘Maybe it was inevitable with two single people staying
in such close quarters. It needed to happen. But now we’ve broken that tension, right?’
Oh, it so hadn’t needed to happen. And as for breaking the tension? It had left her yearning for more. Hell, her nerves were screaming at her to jump him this second. As far as she was concerned, the tension was way worse. ‘Yeah, well, guess we’re just two little animals who can’t resist basic instinct.’
‘But we can. We just have.’
And they’d continue to? No giving in to the searing temptation? ‘Of course,’ she replied through gritted teeth.
James turned back to the small grill and took another pace away from her to get some very necessary space for the gas ring. And himself. But she stepped after him again, wide-eyed at the prep work he’d done yesterday before she’d got home.
‘You didn’t want to go to your diner?’ she muttered.
He gave her a feeble grin. He’d go to the diner in a heartbeat. But he knew she wouldn’t. A coffee wasn’t enough. It was economics—he’d already known it before her confession of last night. He cracked an egg into the pan. ‘I like a home-cooked breakfast.’
Hard boiled, over easy, sunny side up, runny yolk... He liked it all ways. Lots of ways. Just lots of it. Ugh. He winced at himself and the deep, single, smutty groove his mind was stuck in.
Treat her like the sister he’d never had. That was the only way to get through. He’d think of her as a sister. Put her firmly in the ‘untouchable’ basket. She needed a break away and apparently had nowhere else to go. George had said she’d had a hard time. She might make herself out to be a tough nut, but James wasn’t messing round with her. And he did only ever mess about.
Except she’d gotten him so hot he’d almost come without even penetrating her. It was pathetic. No way could he have lasted even a few seconds more. He’d been rough, ready to slam inside her the second he’d touched her, and would have come the next second if they’d kept kissing. Worse than a youth fumbling through his first time. He wasn’t doing that to her or any woman.
He blanked out the tiny voice telling him that she’d liked it. That she’d wanted it. That she’d been close to coming herself given the way she’d been riding him. And that he’d have gotten hard again in record time.
Whose Bed Is It Anyway? Page 6