He surprised her by scrunching up his face with enthusiastic victory and pumping the air with his fist. “Booyah!”
“If you do that in public—” she chuckled, “—I’ll kick you in the shins. Understand?”
Mock dourness fell over his face. “Understand. I’ll be boring and beige, just for you.”
Caitlin rolled her eyes. “Somehow, I doubt that’s possible. Just let me get my bag and shoes.”
And before he could respond, she closed the door on his grinning face.
Heart thumping with wild abandon in her throat, she stood motionless, her hand pressed flat to the door, her unfocussed stare locked on its solid surface.
This wasn’t wise. This was…wrong.
Why? Because you’re going to breakfast with a guy who obviously likes you?
Yeah, breakfast. Out in public. Where everyone could see. Where anyone with a smartphone could photograph her…and send those images to the media…post them online…
Guilt shot through her, melding with an unsettling frisson of something charged playing with her senses. As was the case last night, interacting with Josh Blackthorne made her feel…alive again, after so many months of feeling empty, hollow, dead. The thought of people witnessing that…capturing it…
Don’t go to breakfast. Tell him to go away.
Chest tight, throat tighter, she yanked open the door, fixed him with a level stare and said, “Would you like me to cook you breakfast instead?”
Josh’s eyebrows shot up his head. Caitlin’s heart slammed into her throat.
The blood rushed to her cheeks.
What the fuck was she doing? Where had that invitation come from?
For a heartbeat, Caitlin stood in utter terror of the path she’d put herself on. Of the temptation she’d opened herself up to.
Please say no. Please say no.
“I would love you to cook me breakfast,” Josh answered. “As long as I’m allowed to help. I make a mean toasted cheese and Vegemite sandwich.”
“I don’t like Vegemite,” she blurted out.
Josh recoiled in melodramatic horror. “What? Sacrilegious!”
She let out a nervous giggle, all too aware how adorable he looked.
He gave her a wide smile. “In that case, there’s no chance of us having a relationship, no matter what the media are chomping at the bit to say. I can’t be with someone who doesn’t like Vegemite.”
The severity of his tone, and the wicked light in his eyes made Caitlin laugh again. “The fact I’m engaged isn’t dissuasion enough?”
He pulled a face, mirth still dancing in his eyes. “Well, there is that as well.”
And just like that, Caitlin knew she could trust him. Knew he wasn’t going to make any kind of move on her.
Now, all she had to do was trust herself.
Stepping aside, she extended her hand back into her home and smiled at him. “Come in.”
He did.
Chapter Eight
This was, Josh admitted to himself as he scooped a forkful of scrambled eggs from his plate, the worst decision of his life.
He’d only taken two steps into her home when something cold and invisible slammed into his gut. That invisible, mentally induced force came the second his gaze fell on the large photo on the main wall of Caitlin’s living room. A photo of Caitlin and a man with sandy-blond hair laughing together on a beach.
He stared at it in an icy micro-second, unable to miss the sheer joy of the moment captured—their arms wrapped each other, their legs were entwined, their matching clothes—white linen shirts, faded-blue jeans rolled up at the ankles—spoke of a togetherness he’d never experienced with anyone.
The man stood a head taller than Caitlin, radiating a healthy, outdoorsy vibrancy Josh thought only existed in aftershave commercials.
“Is that your fiancé?” he asked, his mouth inexplicably dry.
Caitlin paused in her journey toward the kitchen, her attention moving to the framed photo. She studied it for a long, silent moment, her expression unreadable. “It is.”
Josh swallowed. His gut churned. “You look good together.”
They did. Like they were meant for each other.
Caitlin moved her gaze to him, a shadow he couldn’t decipher in her eyes. “Thank you.”
And then she was walking again, heading into the kitchen, asking him how he took his coffee over her shoulder as she went.
He followed her in there, refusing to look at the photo of her and Dr. Matt Corvin even as he burned the image into his memory.
Not his competition, but the man clearly still in her heart. He had to remember that.
Thirty minutes later however, as they sipped coffee while she made scrambled eggs, it was all he could do not to picture himself in Matt’s place in the photo.
Thirty minutes of neutral topics conversations and he’d never felt so relaxed and yet so wired at the same time.
Thirty minutes of talking about the scorching summer weather in Sydney, next year’s Synergy world tour, their mutual thoughts on the recent Oscars’ Best Movie winner, who was the best James Bond, who was the best Spiderman. At thirty-two minutes, he couldn’t help but ponder how he was to walk out of her place—and her life—without leaving his heart behind.
At thirty-five minutes later, when a long, fat blue-tongue lizard emerged from under the refrigerator and wobbled on three legs across the kitchen floor toward Caitlin’s bare feet, Josh felt said heart stop in his chest. Not from fear, but from the simple fact he’d grown up in the country and blue-tongue lizards were his favourite reptile ever.
When Caitlin bent down, scooped up the lizard and perched him on her shoulder, introducing him to Josh with a wide smile as she scratched the scaly skin under his chin, Josh was lost to her forever.
He’d come to Caitlin’s house to prove to himself he was a nice guy who only wanted to get to know her in the most platonic way, to make her smile and maybe broach the topic of his planned charity performance at her club.
Instead, he’d discovered the notion of love at first sight really did exist and he was living proof. Well, lust at first sight and love at second sight.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Caitlin Reynolds was funny, intelligent, quick-witted, generous and beautiful.
Even with all those attributes, he may have been able to resist the potent, fatal plunge towards love if she hadn’t introduced him to her pet.
A three-legged blue-tongue lizard she called Fluffy.
Now here he sat eating scrambled eggs and pretending to not want her with every damn fibre of his body and soul.
Yeah, coming had been a bad move.
Shoving the fork loaded with brutalized eggs into his mouth, he swung his stare to the photo of her and Matt for the umpteenth time.
He had to remember she was off-limits. Even if her fiancé was missing, even if what her uncle said was true, and she was lonely, she was off-limits.
“That’s the fourth time I’ve noticed you looking at that picture.”
Caitlin’s soft statement sent hot tension into Josh’s core. He turned back to her, the sight of Fluffy still perched on her shoulder, blue tongue flicking out in little swipes as the reptile tasted the air, making his already conflicted guilt all the more wretched. “Tell me about him.”
Dark loss etched her face. Loss haunted her eyes. And then she turned her attention to the image of her and her fiancé on the beach and the sun came out in her smile. “He was…is patient.”
Her self-correction stabbed at Josh’s soul. He swallowed, every nerve and sense in his body attuned to her.
“He’s compassionate,” she went on, studying the photo. “Incredibly smart. Incredibly generous. He wants to save everyone in the world. Is dedicated to doing so.” She let out a shaky laugh. “He has a very bad sense of humour, is a Monty Python fan, loves Doctor Who, gets furious at people who drive under the speed limit in the fast lane and tries to hide the fact he lets me win whenever we play chess.�
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Josh turned his focus back to the photo, despite the fact he wanted to do nothing more than gaze at her, watch her as she absently scratched her pet lizard’s neck and thought of a man she hadn’t held in her arms for over eight months.
It was a seriously fucked-up, surreal moment.
“It’s a great photo,” he said, forcing his voice to sound calm. “Was it a special day?”
“Almost every day with Matt was special.”
The answer sheared through Josh, at once profound and heart breaking.
Silence stretched between them. Filled her home, thick and heavy.
The knot in Josh’s gut twisted. The pressure around his chest intensified. He slid his stare to her face and bit back a curse at the sight of a single tear trickling down her cheek.
Without thought, he moved, pushed his chair from the table, rose to his feet and closed the distance between them. He kneeled at her feet and, when she turned back to face him, her expression once more indecipherable, he wiped the tear from her soft skin with a gentle stroke of his thumb. “I’m sorry,” he said, pouring his regret for making her sad into the apology. “I shouldn’t have—”
She leant forward and silenced him with a kiss.
Her lips brushed his, hesitant. Uncertain. Her fingers did the same to his jaw.
A distant part of his mind heard the raspy scrape of scales on scales—Fluffy disturbed by her sudden move?—and then Josh lost all ability to think about anything except Caitlin’s lips on his.
The kiss lasted a mere heartbeat. In the time it took the organ in his chest to thump once, Caitlin’s heat branded Josh hers.
And then she slipped her fingers from his face, her breath fanned his lips and she pulled away, straightening again in her seat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning away from him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
He gazed at her, on fire, conflicted. Falling deeper and deeper in love with her with every second.
He could take her now. He had no doubt. He could part her legs, press his chest to hers, his groin nestling against the junction of her thighs and reclaim her mouth with his.
He could kiss her until she begged him to make love to her.
He could strip her naked and bury himself in her heat until they both moaned with rapture and need and elemental desire.
He could do that.
He could see it in her eyes—a want as haunted as it was hungry. As powerful as it was tormented.
He could take her and make her forget Matt Corvin had ever existed.
And she would hate him forever if he did. Just as he would hate himself for doing so.
Drawing on every shred of self-control he had, he let out a wry chuckle. “Hey,” he said, slouching back on his heels and affecting a doofus grin. “Not your fault. I’m a rock star. I’m born to be irresistible.”
As deflections went, it was woeful.
But it did the job. Or at least, Caitlin let it do the job. It was that or run from the room, shame and guilt flaying her alive.
She had no excuse for kissing him other than she’d needed to. When he’d knelt at her feet, when he’d looked at her with such open compassion, she’d been incapable of doing anything else. And when her lips had touched his, all thoughts of Matt had faded, replaced by a raw urgency to take this man at her feet into her arms, into her bed…into her life.
It had been the last compulsion—a need beyond comprehension—that had made her break the kiss.
The power behind that need frightened her. It wasn’t just that she felt like she was betraying Matt. It was that she’d never experienced that kind of overwhelming, passionate urgency with Matt. Ever.
Not in the entire time she’d been with him, known him. And here was this guy, who she’d known personally for less than twenty-four hours, and she wanted him on every level.
She wanted to believe it was the rock-star thing. She’d never tell him, but she was a fan. She owned every Synergy album released. She wanted to convince herself this undeniable compulsion to keep kissing him, to keep touching him, to keep inviting him into the places she considered her most private and safe—her office and her home—had to do with that, but what he was had nothing to do with it.
She knew if the Josh Blackthorne limping his way back to his seat right at that very second was the Josh Blackthorne who’d wowed the soccer world with his skill, she’d still feel the same way.
If he were a garbage collector, it would be the same.
She was drawn to him.
“So what’s Fluffy’s story?” His jovial question sent a shard of something at once miserable and elated through her.
Pulling in a deep breath, she closed her eyes, counted to five and then turned to face him, steeling herself against her body and soul’s inevitable reaction. “I found him beside the back wheel of my car outside the Federal Parliament building in Sydney seven months ago. His front left leg was a mangled bloody stump. How a blue-tongue lizard got into the CBD is beyond me, but I couldn’t leave him there. I picked him up—he gave me a nice little bite for my efforts—” she held up her right hand, showing Josh a jagged little scar over the main knuckle of her thumb, “—walked into the closest shop, asked for an empty box, put him in it and drove to a vet I know.
“Rick fixed up his leg and offered to find someone from the Australian Wildlife Rescue Organisation to look after him. I said no, put him back in the box, along with my jacket—which was blood stained from my initial rescue anyways—and brought him home. He’s been here ever since. He sleeps under the fridge most days, loves slipping into the bath with me when I let him and takes great delight in pooping in my runners.”
Josh laughed. The warm sound made Caitlin’s pussy contract. “That is awesome.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “That he poops in my running shoes?”
“No.” He shook his head, lips twitching. God, she remembered all too easily how wonderful those lips felt against her own. “Well, okay, yes. The whole thing. I always wanted a pet blue-tongue when I was growing up.”
“In Murriundah?”
He nodded. “You’d think a kid growing up in the sticks would have a pet blue-tongue, wouldn’t you? But Mum was petrified of them. She doesn’t bat an eye at snakes and spiders, but lizards? Nope. The irony is, my kid sister now has one. Six years old and she has a terrarium in her room where Baxter residues in the lap of reptilian luxury, offered all the live crickets he can eat, under the most expensive bloody heat light money can buy.”
Caitlin burst out laughing. “Oh boy. Jealous much?”
Josh pulled an indignant face. “Hell, yeah. What makes matters worse is I have to beg her for a hold every time I go home. And the last time I was there I saw a picture of Mum holding Baxter. What the hell is up with that?”
Caitlin laughed again. “Seriously?”
“Yep,” Josh said, indignation turning into a pout even as happiness twinkled in his grey eyes.
“Well, in that case…” Caitlin rose to her feet, crossed to where Fluffy was dozing in the sun on the kitchen floor and gently scooped him up.
He opened his eyes and flicked his blue tongue over her fingers in a soft little swipe—Fluffy’s way, in Caitlin’s mind, of saying he knew she wasn’t going to hurt him.
“Here you go,” she said, turning to Josh and holding her pet lizard out to the rock star.
He gaped up at her, mouth open. “Are you serious? Can I really?”
She grinned. When was the last time she’d done that? When was the last time she’d been so happy she wanted to do that? “I am. Now hold out your hands. He doesn’t like to feel anything on his scar, so be careful with your fingers.”
Nodding like an overjoyed little schoolboy, and looking sexier than any man had a right to, Josh straightened in his seat and dutifully held his hands out—palms upwards. “I will.”
With tender care and a certain amount of trepidation—when had she ever done this, trust another person with her pet?—she placed Fluffy on Josh
’s waiting hands.
“Oh—” the rock star breathed, his gaze locked on the lizard now on his palms, “—wow.”
Fluffy shifted a fraction, twisting on Josh’s hands.
Josh sucked in a gasp.
Caitlin laughed. “Relax, Blackthorne,” she commanded. “You’re freaking each other out.”
Grey eyes lifted to her. Open excitement and delight swam in their depths. “Okay.”
Just that. Not a witty quip. Not a smug brush-off. Just that one word that told Caitlin he was prepared to experience the moment without pretention or ego with her.
It undid her.
She stepped away from him, hiding her sudden disquiet in the guise of collecting their breakfast dishes from the table and hurrying to the kitchen counter.
Behind her, Josh murmured things to Fluffy. She couldn’t hear what the muted whisperings were. Her ears picked out a few isolated words here and there, words like smooth, incredible, heavy. When she heard him mutter, “Sucks to have a gummy leg, doesn’t it, mate?” she wanted to go back to him and kiss him again.
Instead, she slammed her dishwasher shut, threw out a lame excuse about needing something in her bedroom—ha! What? A vibrator? Courage?—and rushed from the kitchen.
Goddamn it, he was nothing like she expected him to be and everything wonderful, playful and full of life.
And he was here. In her home, in her life, making her smile and laugh and grin.
It wasn’t fair.
The petulant, childish thought scraped at her sanity.
Swinging her bedroom door shut, she crossed to her bed, sat on its edge and buried her face in her hands.
She stayed that way for a long time, elbows resting on knees, face pressed to her palms, the pounding of her heartbeat and her rapid, ragged breaths the only sounds she could hear.
Five minutes passed, maybe. She wasn’t sure. Maybe it was longer. Long enough for her to realize just how strange her absence must be to the man she’d left holding her lizard in her kitchen.
Lifting her head from her hands, she drew a slow breath, another and another.
“Enough, woman,” she murmured. “Enough.”
She rose to her feet, brushed her palms over her thighs, raked her fingers through her hair, walked to her closed bedroom door and opened it.
Blackthorne: Heart of Fame, Book 8 Page 11