“Of course you’re going to have this baby.” He ran his hand through his hair. “That’s what I want to discuss. The baby. You. Me. How we’re going to handle this.”
She relented, but barely.
“I started to tell you before … I’ve made plans. Tentative ones, but—”
“I assume you’ve seen a physician.”
“A nurse-practitioner at a clinic. Yes.”
“You’re not seeing a private ob-gyn?”
There was something in his tone she didn’t like. She didn’t like the fact that he was standing and she was sitting, either. Had he done that deliberately, for a psychological advantage?
Sage got to her feet. He was still bigger and taller and more imposing than she ever could be but at least she didn’t feel like a supplicant.
“No,” she said calmly, “I’m not.”
“You will, from now on.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Will I,” she said flatly.
“And this apartment. You can’t stay here.”
“Were you listening to me at all? I already said—”
“What about your diet? Are you eating the right things?”
“Gruel and alfalfa sprouts,” she said pleasantly. “How about you?”
“We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about …”
She knew the instant he got it. His face, all those gorgeous hard planes and angles, turned crimson.
“Very amusing,” he snapped.
“Look,” she said, relenting just a little, “I appreciate your concern but I’ve done just fine on my own so far, and—”
“When are you moving?”
“Soon.”
“Where?”
“I told you. Queens. Long Island, New—”
“New Jersey. Yes, so you said.”
“If your point is that I haven’t completed my plans yet—”
“You don’t have ‘plans,’ you have ideas. There’s a big difference.”
“Okay. There’s a difference. But—”
“I want plans, not ideas, for the baby.”
“My baby.”
“Our baby.” He watched her as the words sank in—and realized they weren’t only sinking in for her, they were sinking in for him, too.
Her baby.
His baby.
Their baby.
She was carrying his child, and she’d be here and he’d be there, in Texas, a million miles away….
So what?
Distance was nothing, not in today’s world. Cell phones. Skype. Instant messaging. And, of course, the Wilde jets, always at his command.
Caleb folded his arms. “Here’s what I’ve decided.”
“What you’ve decided?”
“Let me finish.”
“Let me save you the trouble. I don’t want your money.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, I don’t want your money. Oh, don’t look so shocked. I know where this is going.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really.”
“You’re going to write a check. And I’m going to sign some papers. At least, that’s your plan, but—”
“What kind of papers?”
She blinked. “What?”
“I said, since you seem to know what I’m going to say and do, what kind of papers am I going to ask you to sign?”
“Releases. Whatever they’re called. Something that says yes, I’ve accepted your check and no, I won’t bother you in the future, and—”
He moved fast; his hands were clasping her shoulders before she could get out of the way.
“What part of what I said before didn’t you understand?”
“Let go of me!”
“Or did you not hear me when I said this was our baby.”
“I heard you. It’s a figure of spee—”
“Dammit,” Caleb said furiously, and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
What are you doing, Wilde?
The still-rational part of his mind posed the question.
The non-rational part gave up thinking.
Maybe she did, too, because after a second of protest, she went up on her toes, wound her arms around his neck and parted her lips to his.
The kiss was everything he’d remembered.
Hot. Deep. Electric. It made everything else unimportant.
His arms tightened around her.
“I have never stopped wanting you,” he whispered.
“I’ve wanted you every day, every night, every minute—”
He kissed her again. She kissed him back. Then he swung her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, to the bed where all of this had begun.
He undressed her quickly. No finesse. Not now. Not when it had been so long since he’d held her, naked, against him.
He tore off his own clothes. Everything went flying.
“Caleb,” she said, raising her arms to welcome him, and he knelt between her thighs and entered her, hard and fast.
She was ready.
Hot. Wet. Sobbing his name at the fierce pleasure of his possession.
“Too quick,” he groaned, “too quick …”
He tried to hold back.
She wouldn’t let him.
Because it wasn’t too quick.
Not for her.
Not for him.
He clasped her hands. Raised them above her head. Sank into her again. Drew back. Sank in deeper, deeper …
“Caleb,” she whispered, and his groan of release joined her cry of fulfillment as they flew off the edge of the world.
It seemed a long time before their breathing returned to normal.
“You okay?” Caleb said softly.
Sage smiled. “Yes.”
“The baby …?”
“The baby’s fine.”
He kissed her. Then he rolled to his side with her safely in his arms.
“You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?”
She laid her hand against his cheek. “Positive.”
Slowly, he trailed his index finger over her lips, down her throat, touched each nipple with feathered strokes.
“You have beautiful breasts, sweetheart.”
She blushed. God, he loved that blush, he thought as he kissed his way down her body, to her belly.
And yes, it was ever so gently rounded.
“I just started showing,” she said softly, as if she’d read his mind.
Showing, he thought. Her belly. Her womb. His seed, and now, his child.
“It makes you look even more beautiful.”
She smiled again. “You think?”
“I know.”
“Mmm.” She wove her fingers through his hair. “Caleb?”
“Yes?”
“I really meant—I don’t want you to think—I mean, I don’t want you to feel—”
He silenced her with a kiss.
“This is our baby, Sage. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here for you before this.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he said gruffly. “Please. There’s nothing to cry about.” He moved over her, looked down into her sweet, sweet face. “We’re going to do this together. Understand? There’s no more you, no more me. There’s only us. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered, and he bent his head, kissed away her tears, kissed her lips …
“Sage,” he said thickly, and she opened her arms to him …
More than that.
She opened her heart.
She awoke alone in the bed.
Her heartbeat stuttered. Was he gone? She reached for her robe …
And smiled, as Caleb entered the room. Oh, her lover was beautiful. His hair was rumpled; he was shirtless and barefoot; his trousers, the top button undone, hung low on his hips.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said.
She blinked. “Is it really morning?”
He came to the side of the bed, leaned down, caged her within his arms and gave her a coffee-laced kiss.
<
br /> “Morning, evening, I’ve no idea.” He kissed her again, slowly, tenderly. “I made coffee. And herbal tea.”
She smiled. “Perfect.”
“Of course, we could skip the coffee and tea and get right to dessert …”
Sage’s belly rumbled. Caleb grinned, dropped a quick kiss on her forehead and rose to his full height.
“On second thought, how about breakfast?”
She made scrambled eggs.
He made toast.
“Too bad you don’t have any cheese,” he said, peering into the fridge.
“I have cottage cheese.”
“Cheese,” he said with a dramatic shudder. “Real cheese. You know. Yellow. Sliced. Comes in a package—”
It was Sage’s turn to shudder.
“Or hot dogs,” he said. “Hot dogs would be perfect.”
“Please don’t tell me those are your favorite food groups!”
He chuckled, shut the fridge and turned toward her. Damn, she was gorgeous. No makeup. Hair long and loose. Lush body wrapped in a robe that kept coming open.
“Caleb? Packaged cheese and hot dogs are …?”
He cleared his throat.
“Specialties of the house,” he said. “Well, Wilde brothers’ specialties.”
“Oh,” she said, and it hit him that she didn’t know anything about his family, but there’d be time to tell her more.
Except, there wasn’t.
Not when he was in a rush to take her back to bed, to make the most of the hours they had left because he had to be back in Dallas by tomorrow.
Their eyes met.
She said his name. He opened his arms. She went into them.
“Sage,” he whispered, and she sighed as he lifted her and carried her back to the bedroom.
He kissed his way down her body, pausing to savor the sweetness of her nipples, her navel, the softness between her thighs.
“My turn,” she murmured.
Her hands were cool, her mouth warm, her caresses at first cautious, even delicate, and he realized, on a rush of what he knew was foolish masculine ego, that she had never touched another man as she was touching him.
They kissed endlessly, loving the tastes and textures of each other’s lips and tongues until, suddenly, there was no more time to spare. He was hungry for the feel of her closing around him. She was hungry for the feel of him deep inside her.
She wept, and came on a high cry of ecstasy.
He followed seconds later, throwing his head back and calling out her name. Then, he collapsed in her arms, sweat-slicked skin against sweat-slicked skin.
After a long, long time, he rolled to his side, stretched out beside her and laid his hand gently over her belly.
He bent his head, pressed a kiss to where his child lay sleeping. She cupped her hand around the back of his head and fell asleep.
He was too busy thinking, planning, making decisions.
After a while, moving carefully so he wouldn’t wake her, Caleb rose, collected his clothes and went into the bathroom. He showered, dressed, then called his pilot on his cell phone, telling him to have the jet ready within the hour.
He went back into the bedroom. Sage was still sleeping and he bent down and kissed her mouth.
She stirred, sighed, opened her eyes and smiled.
“Caleb,” she said softly.
He sat down next to her and took her hand.
“I have to go home,” he said. “I have a meeting. I can’t cancel it.”
Her smile tilted. “No. That’s okay. I understand.”
He lifted her hand to his lips.
“I’ll fly back next weekend. We’ll find an apartment. A house. I’ll contact a Realtor.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Sure. Fine. Just be sure to get something in—”
“I know. Something in a safe neighborhood.”
“Yeah, well, absolutely. But what I was going to say was, make sure it’s on the park.”
“The park?”
“Central Park, if you want to stay in Manhattan. Or, I’ve been to a couple of really handsome towns in Connecticut … What?”
Sage sat up. The duvet dropped to her waist and Caleb bent his head and kissed her breast.
“No,” she said, “you have to listen.”
“I’m listening,” he said in a husky whisper. “But, luckily for you, ma’am, I’m a multitasker.”
She laughed, but it was a quick laugh, and she pushed him gently away.
“Seriously, Caleb, I’m not going to take a place on Fifth Avenue, or in one of those—what’d you call them? One of those ‘handsome’ towns in Connecticut.”
He sat back. “Because?”
“Because,” she said patiently, “I can’t afford them.”
“That’s just plain silly. I can afford them.”
Hell. There it was. The narrowed eyes. The cool look.
“You’re not going to support me,” she said.
“I’m going to support our child. Did you think I wouldn’t? Did you think I’d walk away from my responsibility?”
She sat up a little straighter.
“Helping support our child is one thing but I don’t intend to be your ‘responsibility.’”
He heard the way she said the word, knew she’d taken it in a way he hadn’t meant it.
“Sage. Honey, maybe I’m saying this wrong—”
“No. It’s me saying it wrong. What I mean is—thank you for wanting to help.”
He drew back. “Do not,” he said coldly, “absolutely do not thank me.”
“I simply meant—”
“Is that what you think this is about? Me, ‘helping’ you?”
“I didn’t meant it that way. It’s just … look, I’ve been on my own for years. I can take care of—”
“If you take care of my child the way you’ve taken care of yourself—”
“For your information, I’ve done just fine taking care of myself.”
“Oh, right.” Sarcasm frosted each word. “One look at this—this palace is proof of that.”
Sage struggled with the duvet, managed to keep it clutched to her like a shield, and rose from the bed.
“You know what? I think it’s time you left.”
“Yeah. I think so, too.” Caleb strode to the door, stopped, spun around and pointed his finger at her. Anger was etched into his face. “I don’t know what kind of sorry SOB you think I am, but get this straight. I never walk away from a responsibility.”
Sage’s eyes glittered with angry tears.
“You already told me that. But this isn’t a ‘responsibility,’ it’s a baby.”
“Goddammit, of course it’s a baby! My baby.”
“This child is mine. It’s part of me. And if you think you’re going to take over where Thomas Caldwell left off—”
Caleb said something ugly. Then he turned on his heel and walked out.
CHAPTER NINE
WHAT did women want?
Men had been asking that question for centuries.
Caleb had debated it for most of his thirty-two years, with his brothers, in college dorms, in Marine barracks, over beers with his fellow spooks at the hush-hush camp tucked into the Virginia mountains where he’d prepped for life at The Agency.
He’d never come up with an answer.
Nobody had.
Travis had summed it up.
“Babes don’t know what they want,” he’d said. “If you’re tender, you’re a wuss. If you’re tough, you’re insensitive. You’re never smart enough but you sure as hell can be dumb enough, in which case you’re a lost cause.”
Thirty thousand feet above flyover country, Caleb grimaced into his tumbler of Scotch.
That’s what he was. A lost cause.
“Damn right,” he muttered, and he raised his glass and took a long, warming swallow.
This time yesterday, he’d been an attorney representing a client.
Now he was … What?
A m
an on a tightrope. All he could do was put one foot in front of the other and not look down.
Maybe he really should have listened to that old adage about lawyers being fools if they represented themselves.
Except …
He took another drink.
Except, this wasn’t a legal thing. Not yet, anyway, unless Sage decided she wanted to try and move him out of the picture.
“Fat chance she has of accomplishing that,” he muttered.
He’d put a child in her womb. That gave him certain rights. He was not Thomas Caldwell, demanding access to a kid that wasn’t his. He wasn’t trying to take her baby from her, he just wanted to assume his role as its father.
What kind of woman would tell a man he couldn’t do that?
“Mr. Wilde?”
Caleb looked up. The cabin attendant smiled politely.
“Captain wanted me to tell you there’s weather moving into Dallas. Things might get a little rough in a couple of hours.”
Things were already rough, Caleb thought, but not in the way she meant.
“Right,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Can I get you anything? A sandwich, perhaps?”
What, he thought, and spoil the buzz he hoped would accompany this, his second shot of whisky?
“Thank you,” he said politely. “I’m fine.”
She smiled again and went back to the galley.
Caleb drank a little more of the Scotch.
This was one of those times having an entire jet to himself was one damned fine idea. He could pace, as he had already done; drink, as he was now doing; talk to himself and avoid all contact with humanity except for his pilot, his co-pilot and the cabin attendant.
Now if could only avoid contact with himself….
But he couldn’t. His head was full of nonsense.
He kept going over that last confrontation with Sage, trying to figure out how they’d gone from making love to making war with hardly any time in between.
He kept seeing her face, the anger in her eyes …
The passion in them, only a little while before.
“Dammit,” he said, and he put aside the tumbler of Scotch, plucked the satellite phone from its niche, punched in a number, heard Travis say hello.
“It’s me,” Caleb barked.
“Caleb?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“Well, no. What you said was ‘it’s me,’ and I hate to tell you this, dude, but there are probably zillions of me’s in this world, and I’d bet I know at least a couple of hundred of them.”
The Ruthless Caleb Wilde Page 11