Continuum

by A. R. Hadley

  "I need to go to the market anyway," Bev said, a lightbulb flicking on over her head. She began to dig inside her purse for keys. "Is there anything you need?"

  "No, thanks."

  Beverly left through the door off the kitchen that led to the garage. The moment it closed, Annie realized she didn't know what to do with her hands. Keep them at her sides? Twirl pieces of her hair? Shove them into her pockets? Use them to rip Cal's clothes off, then slide them all over his body...?

  Cal looked over his shoulder and waited until he heard the automatic garage door shut, and then he walked over to the kitchen counter by the sink, glass in his hand, keeping his back to Annie.

  She followed his every movement as she slowly made her way toward him.

  "My mother," Cal began with great effort, "was sicker than I ever could’ve imagined." He dropped his head. "She could no longer speak." He exhaled. "She wasn't present." He lifted his head, then shook it. "While I was there, in that house, I dealt with feelings I didn't even know I had, or feelings I pretended not to have.”

  After swallowing the remainder of the whiskey, Cal turned toward Annie. She patiently waited for him to continue, watching as he poured himself another drink.

  "I wish you could’ve met her." He pushed his fingers through his hair, pausing midway. "I'm so sorry I didn't take you out there." He stared out the kitchen window. "Even though she wasn't the same woman I knew anymore — the woman who raised me — I still regret not bringing you to her. I just didn't want you to see me like..." His voice shook. His head shook. "Well, like this … every day."

  Cal put his head down and let go of the glass. He put so much weight on the counter it seemed he would dislodge it and push it across the floor.

  Annie studied every part of his body. Each vein. Each muscle. Each intake of breath. For the first time, she understood — really, truly understood — why he’d needed time away in California … alone.

  As she touched his back, electricity ignited on the tips of her fingers, bouncing back and forth between the two of them in leaps and bounds.

  "You were a good son, Cal." She made circles over his shirt. “Your mother loved you. Even if she couldn’t say it. She loved you.”

  He looked up. “You read my email?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “You wouldn’t … you didn’t reply. You wouldn’t answer my calls.”

  “I needed time." She dropped her hand from his back.

  “I didn’t give you enough of that already?” He chuckled a little, then took a drink before she could see the sheen in his eyes.

  "Cal..." Annie fingered his hair at the nape of his neck. She put her lips near his ear. "I would’ve been honored to know your mom.”

  “This is what you do," he whispered after he’d placed his hands on her waist and pulled her toward him.

  She tried to look away from his gaze, but he moved his palms to her face, held it, peered into her green eyes, and said, "How?"

  Her breathing slowed. His voice was no longer a distant ache. It was here, brushing against her skin like a gentle wave, caressing her soul.

  Cal watched her close her eyes, then open them. Watched her sway her head gently from side to side in the safety of his care. He pushed the tips of his fingers into her hair while cradling her cheeks, then he slid them further and pulled at the strands, holding her hair and neck while inhaling her tangerine scent.

  Annie's eyes popped open. Shit, shit, shit. Not this. Not yet. She took a step back from the brigade of emotions charging toward her, trying to ignore her frantic heartbeat.

  "You said you had something from your mother." Her voice cracked as she held back tears and cleared her throat.

  With a sigh, Cal looked toward the table. His lips arched into a devilish grin — the same slightly smug one from earlier. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "Have your feelings for me changed?"

  “What?”

  His smug smile grew to epic proportions, causing those awful dimples in his cheeks to form.

  "I still want you," Annie said as if the wanting was a disease she couldn’t cure or didn’t need to. "Which is why I don't know how this is going to work yet." What was going to work? This relationship? Did either of them know how or why or what in the hell they were doing?

  "I can see in your eyes you want me. I'm asking if you still love me."

  "No! I mean yes. No, my feelings haven't changed." She put a hand on her hip and huffed and snarled. "God, I'm the one who should be asking you that question. It's not a switch I can just turn on and off, you know?" She flung a finger up and down, demonstrating the I-love-you-like-mad switch. She started to pace. "So, you flew all the way out here to ask me stupid fucking questions?"

  "No," he said and grabbed her hand. She stopped, her profile to him, a palm on her face. "I came all the way out here to ask you something else."

  Cal stepped so close to her she thought she would become a part of him. But she’d become a part of him long ago. Maybe before she’d even met him.

  He picked up Annie's left hand and played with her fingers. "I never thought I could love someone the way I love you." He stared at the side of her face. "I'm sorry I couldn't be everything you needed … when you needed it." He pulled her chin toward him. "But I'm ready to be with you now." He took in a sharp breath. “If you'll have me."

  Cal hadn’t released her fingers. Annie noticed his skin felt clammy, like hers. Tears slid down her face, and she didn't know if she would be able to stop them or quiet them. There was a crushing sensation inside her head and a raw energy pulsating throughout her entire body like a torpedo on a mission.

  "Don't cry, baby." He wiped the tears from her cheeks, then he put the same tear-stained hand in his pocket and pulled out a ring. "I came all the way up here to give you this." He paused, his eyes starting to water. "It belonged to my grandmother and then my mother." Cal slid the ring on Annie's finger. "I want to marry you." Their eyes locked. "Will you marry me, Annie Rebekah Baxter?" He cupped her cheek. "My heavy."

  She smiled through the fresh tears pooling in her eyes, then gazed down at the solid platinum band. It had an ornate carving etched around its entirety. A pattern. As she fiddled with it, turning it over and over, she looked at it in disbelief, never imagining this moment with Cal in her wildest dreams.

  Then she began to shake.

  Her heart was no longer in her body. He had it. It was his. She squeezed Cal's hand, then buried her face in his chest and breathed. Heavy. Deep. Purposeful. Catch it. Don't hyperventilate.

  Cal held her close, listening to the sound of her weeping become quiet, but after a few seconds passed, Annie suddenly let go and stood tall. She slid her hands under her eyes and swept away the tears, looking at him strangely, and then she walked back toward the table and gulped down all the water in her glass.

  He waited and watched.

  She turned and faced him but kept her distance, managing an impassive expression on her heart-on-her-sleeve face.

  "Having a baby isn't a reason to get married." She spat the words out before she could change her stubborn mind.

  Pride attempted to choke out sentiment. Love. The places where she could keep hurting. He could hurt her. He wanted her because of the baby. It was a duty. A responsibility. What did he want? She wanted to pull her hair out at the roots.

  He faced the sink and finished the whiskey. "God, Annie, why do you do it? Do you think this is something I haven't really thought about?"

  "I don't know what you think or want half the time. I haven't seen you in months, Cal." She stepped toward him. "You didn't want me with you in California. You wouldn't hardly call me while you were there. Not until … until … you wait until now to let me in, to tell me everything. I understand why you needed time, but it still hurts. I’m still scared. My mind is still spinning from the email you wrote just two days ago. I’m still soaking that letter into my heart. I’m trying to accept it. I'm trying to trust your words. How do I know this is
what you really want?"

  She glanced at the ring, twirling it around and around. It was loose on her slender finger.

  "Because it’s who I am." He faced her. "You know who I am. You’ve always known. And because I'm not afraid." Cal had showed up to the party. Dominant and strong. The confident chess player. "I know what I want. Do you?"

  His attractive and annoying confidence was at a crescendo. It reached the moon. Annie's mind spun in the opposite direction, in all kinds of directions, like a screwed-up washing machine on spin. She looked past him, at him, at the sink, the floor, the ring. The ring...

  "I don't know. Everything has just happened so fast."

  "I don't believe that. You do know."

  Annie's eyes swirled. I do know. She twisted the band again, religiously.

  Cal lifted her chin. "You aren't the kind of girl who doesn't know what she wants. You know, Annie. You know exactly what you want." He grinned.

  She tried not to follow suit, but his smile was infectious. She was still scared, though. Her eyes stung. She wanted him, but she never wanted to hurt again the way she had without him. She wanted to believe he’d meant what he said.

  And she did know what she wanted. He was right. She knew.

  "Do you remember what I said to you the night before you left Miami?" he asked as she gaped at him. The quiet man wouldn’t shut up now. "I said if you really loved me, it wouldn’t just fade away. It would stay. It would last. I’m not fading, Annie. I’m staying. I’ve. Never. Left. You. Being away from you has been unbearable for me too. I've wanted you more than I thought possible.”

  Annie eyeballed him. Yeah. Uh-huh.

  "No, baby." He slipped his fingers into hers and stared into her eyes. "I'm not talking about the sex." He kissed her cheek. "Although I did miss it."

  She felt his grin against her skin and pushed her knee against his thigh.

  "I need you in a way I've never needed anyone. I missed having you in my bed … asleep next to me. I missed talking to you over a meal. I missed your laugh. I missed listening to you talk, hearing you, your tone. But I think what I missed most," he said and paused, brushing his thumb near the corner of her eye, "were your eyes. When you look at me..." Cal trailed off and turned his head. He inhaled and squeezed her fingers, then gave his gaze back to her — those green chasms of beauty were always hers. "When you look at me, I'm the man I want to be. Baby or no baby, I want you, Annie."

  His eyes begged. His mouth pleaded. His breath was a song she always wanted to listen to.

  Breaking their contact, she stepped behind him, then draped her arms around the front of his body. She squeezed, pressing her face into his back, aching to let go of all the pain and sadness. The fear.

  When he was near, she felt free. Alive. Everything would be all right. It could be. The summer would turn into the forever she had doubted but believed existed.

  His body. My God. She had forgotten how it felt like a pillar of fortitude. The sequoia tree.

  Running her fingers over the front of his shirt, she stopped on his shoulders, then pulled him against her and nuzzled her face into the nape of his neck.

  "I want to marry you," she whispered, a smile taking shape on her lips.

  No mistake.

  No hesitation.

  The girl who knew what she wanted — wanted Cal fucking Prescott.

  They faced each other.

  She rubbed her nose against the tip of his and said, "I love you.”

  Annie took one of his lips into her mouth. It was a kiss they had both wanted since the door to the house had opened. Cal kissed her lower lip in return, repeatedly and tenderly, then he did the same with the upper.

  He slipped the tip of his tongue into her mouth and teased her, taking his time and tasting her until the connection between them grew into a great white ball of searing passion, his innate want for her rising to a boil, along with his erection.

  Everything stood at attention.

  Every muscle in Annie's body saluted at the feel of his skin, the touch of his lips, and the rise in his pants.

  "Jesus, baby." Cal pulled away, palms on her cheeks, and looked into her eyes.

  Annie smiled. She nipped at his lips. She knew what his feisty little smile and Jesus, baby meant. It was time to try out that kitchen table. God… Bubbles — nervous, excited, soap-filled bubbles — spilled out of her freaking mind the way they did from one of those automatic machines. Bubbles. Bubbles. Nonstop. Everywhere.

  Cal dropped his face to her neck and trailed several kisses along her skin until goosepimples formed. "You smell like home."

  He opened his mouth and bit down until she made a perfect little yelp. Her face she kept tilted to the side, ready for more of all he offered. He nibbled and bit and kissed until she turned into a wad of boneless nerves — until the pimples were on every surface of her skin.

  "And you taste like home." Cal kissed her jaw, her cheeks, and her eyelids. He slipped his hand under her sweater and cupped her breast, shoving the lace out of the way and stroking a thumb across her nipple. "You're mine."

  He captured her lips again with those words and swallowed her soul.

  She whimpered under his control, lying down in the sun under the blazing heat of it.

  Attaching a leg around his thigh, she scratched at the skin of his neck, moaning and kissing and thrusting her pelvis against him, keeping her other hand on his hip.

  Cal’s tongue was hard and fierce. He kissed her with such determination, more than he ever had before, more and more, his tongue tickling her, his lips tasting divine. His kiss was accomplishing its purpose. Annie was forgetting where she was and what she wanted … until she remembered.

  Between ragged breaths and the assault on her mouth, she spoke against his lips. "Maybe we should wait." She panted, heaved, but didn't stop. She had to have him. The pressure. The insistence. The place where the rest of the world erased.

  Her brain was starting to win, though. The nagging little voice inside of her wanted a say. She put her hands on his chest to resist the weight of his body, his face against hers, his sweet breath on her skin.

  "We should wait," she repeated, trying to catch her breath as she inched from his grasp.

  "For what?" His lips grazed the side of her face. "We’re alone. We can go upstairs."

  His hands hadn't stopped roaming her body. She tilted her head back as far as she could from his grasp, needing to see the look on his face when she blurted out her logical — or were they illogical? — idealistic words.

  "Maybe we should wait until after we’re married."

  He gripped her hips, steeling her to him. The heat in his eyes ate her alive. "We've waited months already." He kissed her in the little dip, the one above her sternum, three times, and it tickled.

  Annie giggled. She pushed hard against his chest now. "I'm serious."

  Cal felt Annie’s tension, every loose limb had stiffened. He met her eyes and saw it etched across her eyebrows and temples. He released her, stepped back, placed a hand on his forehead and looked down at the floor, annoyed and smirking.

  "Annie, you're being ridiculous."

  "It's not ridiculous. It’s romantic."

  Calm as ever — in control — Cal stepped toward her until her back hit the granite. He put an arm on each side of her body, hemming her in at the counter. The tent in his pants pressed exactly where it was supposed to, against the triangle between her legs, the fucking shape that ached and ached and ached.

  "Since when do you want romance?" He studied her face until she cracked a smile. "Huh?" He trailed his nose along her jawline. "I know what you want, baby, and it's not romance.”

  Cal tried to kiss her, but she playfully turned her face away, smiling wider.

  "This is different. Maybe I do now.”

  "Really?" he asked, ready to call her bluff, knowing she didn’t mean it, and he wasn't going to play these childish games with her.

  He didn’t understand why she always tried to divide
her lust from her love. He loved her for the person she was on the inside, and he felt fortunate he’d found someone to love in that way that he equally wanted to fuck.

  "Really," she squeaked.

  "You said this is different. Why is this different?"

  She didn't answer his cross-examination.

  "Why?" he repeated.

  She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Damn him. She needed to twirl her hair. He was too close. She couldn't move or reach the strands. He smelled like a field of Cal she wanted to jump into and roll around in.

  Actually, she wanted him to flip the front of her body around until she struck the counter, strip her jeans to her ankles, and fuck her — now and hard. The pregnancy made it worse.

  God, God, God.

  Could the need to have his cock buried deep inside her get any stronger? She needed to wrap her legs around him. Feel him. Feed the ache. The need. Why had she suggested such a foolish thing? She couldn't follow through with it.

  Damn it. Think.

  She had to tell him something. And it had to sound mildly convincing. How would telling him any of it get her a good, hard fucking? Oh, but it would. It was a game now. A challenge. A test.

  "The waiting," she said, and chewed her lip, "it would make that night, our wedding night, that much more special." She shifted her eyes.

  How had that sounded? Pretty good. Except you'd be holed up in your room for weeks or months with a stupid vibrator. I want him. His cock. God. Now. Now. Now.

  "Annie, the day we get married couldn't be any more special if I waited a year for you," he said, giving her the romance she desired, looking into her eyes as innocent as a dove and sly as a fox. He put his hands in the beltloops on her jeans and tugged. "That night, that entire day, will be special because I’ll promise in front of our families to love you and hold you and to be with you always.”

  Then he went in for the kill.

  He pressed his body closer and put his lips to her ear. "So, you’re telling me, after all this time, your body isn't aching with any desire?"

  The metronome of sex had spoken. Ping.