Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

by Natalie Anderson

  He smiled wryly. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d have something to wear and I didn’t think you’d let me Pretty Woman you.’

  ‘You were right, I wouldn’t,’ she admitted. But his frankness eased one of her reservations.

  ‘Then I decided I didn’t care what you were wearing,’ he continued, ‘so long as you’re there with me. But I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘I won’t,’ she said quietly, her breath stolen by the sweetness of his comment. ‘I have something to wear.’ She always packed one glam dress, because you just never knew and because she’d spent hours making it and couldn’t bring herself to leave it behind.

  ‘So you’ll come?’

  She shook her head. It so wouldn’t be wise.

  ‘I need you there.’ The wickedness entered his eyes. ‘You’d be protection for me.’

  ‘Protection?’

  ‘From all the women who’ve read that article.’ He waggled his brows.

  ‘Oh, from the hordes throwing themselves at you, you mean?’ she said tartly. She so didn’t want to witness that, thanks.

  ‘That’s right.’ He winked, back to all arrogant. ‘And you know it’s too posh for paparazzi,’ he said in a conspiratorial stage-whisper. ‘The place will be full of the elite, discreet New Yorkers who have no desire to be pictured in any society magazine. There won’t be any hounds there. They’re not allowed.’

  Admittedly she was tempted. But it was still too public. ‘Wouldn’t it contravene the terms of our contract if I went as your date?’

  ‘You’re a real stickler for that, huh?’ He rose onto his knees and placed his palm over his heart. ‘What if I, James Wolfe, do solemnly declare to touch you not?’

  Hmm. Not bad. It helped that he was on his knees—it made her smile. ‘No kissing. No dancing.’

  ‘Not even dancing?’ He looked aghast. ‘Just scintillating conversation?’

  ‘That’s as good as it gets.’

  ‘Then let’s not bother with a “place” this afternoon.’ He stood and started walking. ‘You’ll want to go home and get ready, right?’

  She nodded.

  Turned out James’ idea of getting ready meant aerobic, intimate acts of pleasure lasting nigh on two hours, leaving her not nearly long enough to get ready. In the end she marched him to the shower—using any and all seductive means necessary—and then banished him from the room so she had the personal space to put on her make-up. Not that she needed blusher—her cheeks had the glow that only multiple orgasms could bring.

  Forty minutes later he knocked on the door. ‘Are you ready?’

  As ready as she’d ever be for something so daunting. She gulped in an extra hit of oxygen before opening the door. Then she went giddy.

  ‘You scrub up pretty well.’ She coughed. Understatement. Vast understatement. ‘Total Cary Grant.’

  The black tux fitted him in that way that only bespoke could. It was the most formally dressed she’d seen him and he looked devastatingly debonair.

  ‘And that’s some dress you’re wearing.’ He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him, not taking his eyes from her.

  ‘It’s appropriate?’ she asked, anxiously turning towards the mirror to ensure the layers of green silk were sitting properly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ Wide-eyed, she spun back to face him.

  He paused, watching the way the skirt flared as she moved. ‘What’s wrong,’ he said slowly, ‘is that I take one look and want to rip it from you. It clings—’

  ‘It’s tarty?’ she all but shrieked in panic.

  ‘No.’ He laughed. ‘No, no, no.’ He reached out, lightly running his hands over her bare shoulders, pausing to toy with the delicate thin straps. ‘It’s not tarty or inappropriate. It’s perfect. It hints at curves... It suggests...’ He stepped closer.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ she said, breathlessly stepping back out of his reach. ‘You’ll ruin my make-up.’

  ‘But you look incredible.’

  ‘That’s very nice. I want to stay incredible.’

  He drew a deep breath and then released it. ‘Then we’d better go.’

  They walked out of the building. Caitlin choked on a laugh as she saw their taxi driver waiting for them. ‘You have this guy permanently on your payroll, don’t you?’

  James just winked.

  His assurances were correct—there were no paparazzi. It was very dignified, discreet and yet opulent. You could almost smell the money in the air. The room sparkled with jewels, silk and satin. But the majority of the people present were over the age of forty.

  ‘Where are your hordes?’ she whispered as he passed her a champagne flute.

  ‘Cougars,’ he whispered back. ‘The scariest of all.’

  He walked over to a very small, elderly woman.

  ‘Peggy, may I introduce you to Caitlin? She’s a friend of the family visiting us from London for a while.’

  Caitlin smiled at the woman, warmed inside by James’ introduction of her. He’d made it clear she wasn’t his ‘date’, knowing how much privacy mattered to her. She appreciated it. And this woman was no octogenarian cougar. They chatted pleasantries for a bit, talking about places Caitlin had visited, Peggy offering advice on where else she should visit. Caitlin relaxed, realising that for the first time she was just ‘Caitlin’—not Hannah’s sister, not Dominic’s ex, not the wild child failed telly diva. She was just herself and this woman had no preconceptions. No judgment. It was liberating.

  ‘I really do like your dress,’ Peggy commented. ‘I hope you don’t mind my asking who the designer is?’

  He’d only been half listening to the conversation, but James now tensed as he saw the colour running up under Caitlin’s skin. Why? She looked incredible—the dress fitted her like a glove. Was it from some off the rack chain store and she was worried about admitting that?

  ‘Actually I made it myself,’ she answered, her chin lifting.

  ‘You did?’ he interrupted, startled.

  Caitlin turned to him with a glint in her eye. ‘Well, I did study costume design, James. I ought to be able to make a dress.’

  Well, yeah. He guessed so. But that wasn’t just a dress; in his opinion that was a masterpiece. It fitted her so beautifully, just like— He paused. Realising. All her other dresses? She’d made those too? She was talented.

  Peggy cackled at his obvious surprise and went back to her interrogation of Caitlin. ‘You don’t want to do fashion design?’

  ‘No.’ Caitlin turned back to her. ‘My heart really is in theatre design. Costumes.’

  ‘Have you been to the Met yet?’

  ‘Not yet. But I’ve seen a couple of Broadway shows and the Shakespeare the other night, in the Park.’

  Yeah, he’d known Peggy was a good person to introduce to Caitlin. The woman was a major benefactor of the arts and theatre scene as well as the foundation. She knew everything and everyone of importance to do with it.

  James smiled, relaxing for the first time since they’d got there. He should have invited Caitlin sooner—as soon as she’d agreed to come with him he’d felt better about the event himself. Just knowing she was going to be here—even if they weren’t going to be touching—put something at ease within him.

  ‘Well you must get to the Met,’ Peggy was saying in her inimitable, authoritative way. ‘The opera costumes are works of art. You have to see the detail up close to believe it. If you’d like I could put in a call, get you in there—backstage?’

  Caitlin’s blush was fiery, her eyes alight with excitement. ‘Really?’

  ‘It would be a pleasure. You could spend the day. Are you in New York for long?’

  ‘A month.’

  ‘Then you can spend two days,’ Peggy
declared. ‘Now tell me what you thought of that Shakespeare set.’

  James took a step back as Caitlin and Peggy leaned in together, fully engaged in the conversation. He felt as if his tie had been tightened, his whole chest constricted. The reminder of Caitlin’s length of stay grated.

  He watched her holding court with two women now, talking costumes and sets and fashion. Getting info, displaying her knowledge. Talking about some of the things she’d seen already. With him. He felt like interrupting and pointing that irrelevant fact out.

  Well, hell, was he feeling left out of the conversation like some petulant child?

  Impossible. He never felt left out. Because, he realised, he never really felt in.

  He spent months of his life living in cramped quarters but he’d always been able to maintain a sense of isolation. Some degree of privacy—even if it was just within the confines of his sleep roll and a mosquito net. To be sharing a bed, bathroom, and his body with Caitlin, there was no degree of separation. Right now his life was incredibly intertwined with hers. They were involved with everything together—their every waking and sleeping moments. He shook his head. He couldn’t be fretting about losing that intensity, could he? It wasn’t real—it was just a holiday fling after all. Yet the thought of her spending the day without him—seeing those treasures without him?

  Lord, he was tragic. He needed to push back and find some distance for himself. Some perspective. One of James’ medical colleagues walked by and James collared him in relief.

  ‘How long are you in town?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘Couple weeks,’ James answered. ‘Getting restless actually. If you need a hand with any tight shifts...’ The guy worked at the hospital that James occasionally locumed in when in between assignments.

  ‘You’re kidding. You’re offering to come and work?’

  James nodded. Work was good. Consistent. Easy in terms of its emotional demands—he knew how to manage those. It wore him out—but not in a bad way. It didn’t leave him unsettled. How the hell could a holiday leave him this unsettled?

  ‘You never want time off?’

  He wasn’t sure he did. He hadn’t had time off in so long and these few days with Caitlin... He wasn’t sure how he felt—whether it was too much already or not enough. So he fudged answering, talked work for a while, then got talking sport, then back to business again with Lisbet when she arrived. He reminded her, and himself, that he was ready to go back to work whenever she needed him to. And he was, right?

  Ready.

  In the meantime Caitlin and Peggy and who knew who else kept chatting. He kept half an eye on her but she was fully engaged. For ages. He was almost angry by the time Caitlin turned back to him as Peggy walked away to speak with someone else. She took one look at his face and her brows lifted.

  ‘You spent hours talking to her,’ he whispered in her ear as he handed her a fresh glass of champagne.

  ‘What?’ she answered back sassily. ‘You missed me?’

  Part of him sure had. And it wasn’t the obvious. And there was the problem.

  Caitlin kept stealing surreptitious glances at James as they chatted to various people for the next hour or so. He was very smooth, very polite, maintaining conversation on all kinds of topics. Yet she sensed his mind wasn’t fully focused on the event at all. That inside, he was thinking about something else altogether. And for once she didn’t think that something else was sex. Indeed, despite the impression she had that he didn’t really want to be there, she didn’t feel as if he was champing at the bit to leave either. She’d been thrilled at the possibility of getting in backstage at the theatre, but what she’d overheard now overshadowed that. Was he over them already? Was that why he’d offered to work at the hospital? Was he ready to fling their fling?

  She smiled, she chatted. She tried not to care.

  Back at the condo he sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh.

  ‘You’re tired?’ she asked blandly, still trying not to care.

  He didn’t answer. Just sent her a killer, heated look. His eyes black, his thoughts clearly back to carnal.

  Oh. My. The coldness within Caitlin melted. Heat surged violently through her veins.

  ‘No kissing? No dancing?’ He growled. ‘You almost killed me.’

  ‘You want me to make it up to you?’ She straddled his lap, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of him. He put his hands firmly on her waist. She inhaled deeply as she felt his strong thighs shift beneath her. Definitely not tired.

  The intensity of his expression didn’t lessen. He looked fierce, almost angry.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ She cupped his jaw, running the pad of her thumb over his lips.

  His tongue chased her thumb and he groaned as he caught a small lick. ‘That this holiday is unreal.’

  Unreal? Was that good or bad? She chose not to ask, but to tease instead. They did tease so well. She pulled her hand free, dropping it to her hip. ‘Yet you offered to do some shifts at the hospital.’

  His breathing hitched. ‘You heard that?’

  ‘Why do you want to work?’

  He shrugged but she’d felt his initial flinch.

  ‘I might as well do something useful,’ he said.

  ‘You do something useful all the rest of the time. You’re allowed a holiday.’ She walked her fingers up his chest. ‘You need a holiday. Otherwise you’ll get burned out.’

  ‘Are you concerned for my welfare?’ He was smiling, but there was an underlying note of something in the softly asked question. A warning? An edge. As if he was wondering what business was it of hers?

  Time to back-pedal. ‘No,’ she said. ‘My concern is that if you start putting all your energy into work, what’s going to be left for me?’

  Her words pulled a low laugh from him and he leaned forward, sliding his hand on her back to draw her closer. ‘You don’t need to worry. I think I can still manage to turn you on.’

  She pressed her palm to his chest, stopping him from bringing her close enough to kiss. ‘You only “think”?’

  ‘I promise to save enough energy to be able to satisfy you. That okay?’

  ‘It’ll do. Just.’ She wanted more than satisfaction for herself. She wanted his as well.

  His hand clamped over hers, holding it over his head.

  ‘So it’s okay for you to want to work, but not me?’ he baited.

  Was he bothered by the idea of her spending a couple days at the theatre? She tilted her chin high as she whispered, ‘You’re easier to get off than I am.’

  He laughed roughly. ‘You think?’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ She nodded seriously. ‘So easy.’

  ‘That right?’ he asked slowly.

  She saw the dare in his eyes. ‘You think you can hold out on me?’

  ‘I don’t just “think”.’

  ‘Such a man. Have to have the challenge, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s right. We can’t deny a dare.’ He shifted beneath her. ‘And you women know it. That’s why you dare us with just a look.’

  ‘Like this?’ She inclined her head and coyly looked at him. ‘So you’re going to try to resist?’

  ‘For as long as I can,’ he confirmed, releasing her to stretch his arms out behind him on the mattress. He spread his feet a little further apart.

  ‘You’re already hard,’ she pointed out with a quick stroke.

  ‘Admittedly, this may be one dare I lose. But really, it’s a win, win deal.’

  ‘True.’ She shrugged. She liked a dare too. She wanted to turn him on to the point where control was impossible. She wanted to do that fast. Yet there was pleasure in slow. Pleasure in stringing things out for him. Making him ache for more—unable to stop himself moving to reach for more.

  She slipped o
ff his knee and knelt on the rug. She looked up at him, unable to stop her smile. Usually he led their dance, liked the dominant role. The chance to take him, tease him, thrilled her. Because while it might look as if she were bent low to serve him, she was really setting out to conquer.

  It didn’t take long. His hands fisted in the coverings. She felt the tension, the effort it cost him not to lose control as she caressed him. And she revelled as she sucked him hard and heard his pained groan.

  ‘Hell, Caitlin,’ he gasped. ‘What are you doing to me?’

  NINE

  James leapt on the phone to stop it screeching. Damn thing. He should have pulled the plug from the wall. ‘Yeah?’ he whispered, glancing at Caitlin’s motionless form.

  ‘You’re still in town?’

  James winced as he heard the reproach in his father’s voice. Hell. Here he was having the time of his life in a no-holds-barred sexual marathon with a virtual stranger instead of going to see his family. How did he explain that? ‘Ah...things got delayed.’

  ‘Delayed for how long?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I could be called away any day.’

  Caitlin’s head lifted, her blue eyes sardonically skewered him. He put a finger over her lips.

  ‘Come home, James,’ his father growled. ‘You should see your mother.’

  James swallowed. He hated the disappointment he heard. But he deserved to feel bad. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  Caitlin didn’t take her eyes off him the entire rest of the stilted phone call.

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ he said belligerently the second he replaced the receiver on the cradle.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know, I haven’t asked you for the exact specifics of what happened in London,’ he snapped. ‘We’re allowed some privacy.’

  Caitlin immediately withdrew, slipping out of the bed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, making a dash for the bathroom. ‘I guess I was concerned. I apologise for overstepping the boundaries.’ But only a pace away the anger hit and she wheeled back to face him. ‘But I’ll just say this, James. I’d love to have a family who cared about me the way yours obviously cares about you,’ she spat. ‘Be grateful for what you have.’