He snorted. “I’m tempted to find the closest private spot and show you exactly how attractive I think Plain Jane is. But here’s the crux of our problem. I don’t want to hurt you, or to scare you, and that’s what I know will happen if I follow my impulse to jump you.”
“I’m not easily scared.” Oh, the lies she told.
“No, but you are inexperienced.” Crossing his arms between them, he leaned forward. “Tell me about your virginity.”
“Uh, cod and chips?”
They both twisted to face a red-cheeked teenage boy balancing two plates on his palms. Spencer sat back so the server could slide the plates onto the table before fleeing the scene. Caitlyn forced a smile. “Believe it or not, that’s
not
the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. But it does rank up there with biting your tongue.”
Spencer grinned. “Before my tongue goes anywhere near your teeth again, I want to know what happened.”
“Knee-jerk reaction. Men make me nervous. Especially big men.”
He could’ve made a crude joke out of that, but instead he gestured for her to continue.
She found herself blurting out far more than she’d ever intended. “I didn’t date in high school. Not at all. And I don’t regret that. I just wanted to escape Oregon, go to college, travel the world. Most of the girls I knew who had boyfriends in high school ended up marrying them. Or losing their virginity to them and then having their hearts crushed when the boys dumped them.”
Or losing her virginity, getting pregnant and thinking that meant she had to marry him, even though it could only end in tragedy. That was the regret she’d seen her mother grapple with every day of her life. “And all the guys I knew seemed like losers. They were just interested in two things.”
“Two?” he asked, clearly only able to think of one.
“Well, three if you count each breast separately.”
“Ah.”
“So I went to college, never having been on a date or even held a guy’s hand, and lo and behold! The boys there were just the same, only a year older.”
“Funny how that works.”
“Isn’t it? I was asked out by boys who couldn’t tear their eyes away from my chest, so obviously I turned them down. And the guys I actually enjoyed spending time with just saw me as a friend.” Not to mention that her name had become synonymous with responsibilities no college student should have to shoulder, which scared most guys away. And the one boy she’d been ready to give her heart to had proven more than eager to take advantage of her vulnerability.
“The older you get, the harder it becomes—for me and for the men I’ve been interested in.” Not that there had been a boatload of those. “Then one day you wake up and you’re twenty-seven and haven’t even really reached first base.”
He shook his head as he cut a bite of lamb. “I’m a fan of sex, not baseball. I’ve never understood this base thing in American sex. Home run I understand but what’s first base here?”
“It depends on who you’re talking to.”
“I’m talking to you.”
“To me, first base is kissing.”
His fork clattered onto his plate and he stared at her. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.” She paused, letting that sink in. Crap, this conversation sucked. That was why she’d always avoided it before.
“Caitlyn, I don’t mean to be rude but there are several years in between you and uni.”
“I know. But I’ve moved every year since then. Not just moved to a different town, but moved to a new country. Sri Lanka after college, Thailand, Haiti, Malawi, Lesotho and now London since December. It’s given me lots of good experience with different types of disasters, but it’s not so good for developing a relationship. Plus, what I didn’t realize when I was younger is that the older you get, the older the men you’re attracted to. The more experience they have, and the more experience they expect you to have.”
“I’m sorry, I’m still stuck on this never-been-kissed thing.”
“Oh, I’ve been kissed. Sort of. But I fell apart—like with you. I don’t like not being good at something, and because I don’t know how to kiss back, I just get too nervous.”
His face cleared in an
ah-ha!
expression. “That’s why you bit me? You weren’t scared of me?”
“No, of course not! It’s just insecurity. I didn’t practice when I was younger, and now I know men expect me to be better than I am, so I get nervous. It’s like trying to learn a new language when you’re forty and stepping into a classroom full of people who’ve been speaking it since they were twelve. If I’d realized that when I was in college, I would’ve jumped the first guy who showed an interest, just to get it over with. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. A—what do you call them here? A plaster.”
“I know what Band-Aids are.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “These guys you sort-of kissed before, did you have this conversation with them?”
“No. Never.”
“So they didn’t know about this insecurity of yours?”
“One guy figured it out pretty quickly when he tried to kiss me and I head-butted him. He didn’t stick around long enough to ask questions.”
“He kissed you and you head-butted him?”
She grimaced. “Yeah.”
He scrubbed his hand over his mouth, but she caught the spark of amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“It’s not funny.”
“Of course it’s not. He sounds like a right arsehole for not sticking around.”
She dropped her head into her hands with a heartfelt groan.
He was silent for a few heavy seconds. Then: “A Band-Aid, huh?”
“What?”
“What’s stopping you doing that now?”
“Doing what?”
“Ripping off your virginity like a plaster.”
She peeked at him through her fingers. “It doesn’t sound so attractive when you put it like that.”
“Let me put it another way then. Maybe we could help each other out. I could—very gently and with a lot of care—peel off that plaster of yours, and maybe make it such a mind-blowing experience that you’ll want to peel it off over and over.”
Her stomach fluttered and she tore her gaze from his to gaze over the Thames. Gulls swooped around them, and trash floating on the water lapped against the shore as a boat sped past.
She had to leave Britain in December; her one-year work visa couldn’t be extended. There was no danger of her losing her mind over him and finding herself in a disastrous, controlling marriage. She could enjoy his body and their budding friendship without worrying about long-term consequences because there wouldn’t be any. The government wouldn’t let her stay even if she did make the gigantic mistake of falling in love with him. He knew her hang-ups, even if he didn’t know the real reasons behind them, and he understood he would have to start at the beginning with her. It could be the perfect solution. The disaster manager in her had to check one thing, though.
“We have a month?”
“One month. A bit less, actually. About three weeks until I join my team in training again.”
“What happens if I change my mind? If I like kissing, but I panic when we do other stuff, and I decide it’s too much for me? Or I just don’t enjoy it.”
His hand reached out to squeeze her shoulder in a bid to reassure her. “Then you change your mind. This isn’t a contract, Caitlyn. The only reason we’re talking like this is because we both need to set our ground rules. You’re not guaranteeing you’ll have sex with me, and I’m not guaranteeing your first time will be the biggest orgasm you ever have in your life. I
will
promise to be patient and take care of you, and if we haven’t had sex by the time the season starts, then I’ll go another year without. It seems to have done wonders for my game this year, so imagine how much frustrated energy I’ll take onto the pitch with me after
two
years of celibacy.” He cringed. “Actually, I’d rather not dwell on that thought. Let’s just say, I won’t be angry if you want to stop at any point.”
“I don’t want to be called a cock tease.”
“It wouldn’t even occur to me,” he promised gently.
She couldn’t imagine him being that horrible, but then again, she hadn’t imagined Tony—the tree-hugging pacifist she’d head-butted—would say that either. “Okay. Let’s do it.” His brows shot up his forehead. “Not
it.
But your plan. Operation Band-Aid.”
The tension drained from his body. He rested his hand palm-up on the table. “Operation Sticking Plaster.”
She knew he wanted her to place her hand in his, but she was momentarily distracted by the intimacy of their situation. These big hands that were used to cradling a rugby ball and knocking grown men off their feet would now be put to use helping her overcome her fears and insecurities. They might even rock her world, if she was lucky enough.
Eager to show him without words how thankful she was for all the work those hands would do, she softly stroked her short fingernails over the sensitive skin of his palm. He sucked in a short breath and his whole body tensed again. She smiled to herself, drawing her fingertips up the inside of his arm, and he let her explore to her heart’s content.
Chapter Six
Caitlyn sat at her desk, tallying the cost of the thousands of sanitation packs needed to fight cholera in Zimbabwe, then compared it to her budget. Resting her head in her hands, she fought the tide of despair and helplessness she always felt when she knew she didn’t have enough money to make a bit of difference.
Most relief operations ran on a shoestring, but this was ridiculous. She’d spent most of her budget in the first six weeks of the crisis, buying thousands of sanitation and hygiene packs containing supplies like water purification tablets that made murky water drinkable. She’d sent an emergency team of experts—including herself, since she’d been on call that month—to teach village women how to build simple but effective toilets away from their water sources. They’d reached thousands of people, built hundreds of toilets, given away hundreds of thousands of tablets, trained dozens of volunteers to carry on with the work—yet the number of cholera patients had doubled.
Damn budgets. She’d studied disaster management to make a difference for people who’d lost everything. She’d never experienced a natural disaster on the scale of the ones she dealt with, but she’d had loved ones ripped suddenly and unexpectedly from her life. She’d known indescribable grief, and, being a practical and rational person, she’d wanted to be able to step into desperate situations and offer practical solutions.
She couldn’t wave a magic wand and make life bearable. She had no illusions of changing the world. But she could dig a hole and construct a toilet so children didn’t play, bathe and drink from the same river they defecated next to.
She’d just starting crunching numbers into her calculator again, in the hope that the spreadsheet had added them up incorrectly, when her phone rang.
“International Disaster and Emergency Aid, Caitlyn Sweeney speaking.”
Bill Gates
,
please be you.
“Hey, Caitlyn Sweeney. This is Spencer Bailey.”
God, the mere sound of his teasing voice vibrating against her ear sent all her girl parts shivering. She glanced around the office she shared with two other disaster managers and turned away for some privacy. “Hey yourself. What’re you doing?”
“Thinking about you. And trying not to let Granddad wind me up.”
She smiled. “What’s he doing?”
“Mostly he’s baby-talking that rat-dog of his. Apparently the two of them have decided they need to throw me an early birthday party, because this summer hasn’t been difficult enough.”
“Aw, sounds cute. When’s your birthday?”
“November fifteenth.”
She laughed. “Wow. Yeah, this is early. Don’t tell me—Minnie’s not good at reading calendars?”
“Something like that. Since my birthday falls during the season, I’m always busy and keeping to strict dietary rules that don’t include bingeing on cake and alcohol. But this’ll be my thirtieth, and Granddad’s not willing to let it pass unnoticed.”
A finger tapped Caitlyn’s shoulder, making her jerk and spin around. Emma sat on the edge of her desk, long legs dangling in front of Caitlyn’s face. Holding up a
just-one-minute
finger, Caitlyn dropped her chin—as if that might give her more privacy. “So, uh, happy birthday, I guess?”
“The only way it stands a chance of being a happy birthday is if you promise you’ll come.”
His not-so-subtle double meaning lit her up from the inside out. Caitlyn spun in her chair so Emma could only see the back of her head. “I’d love to come to your birthday party. When and where?”
“Saturday, my place. I managed to convince Granddad it should just be a small dinner party. Fortunately I talked him out of hiring a clown, but you should come prepared for anything—he organized a
Doctor Who
theme for my eighteenth.”
She laughed. “You must’ve been humiliated.”
“Are you kidding? It was brilliant. Best birthday of my life.”
“Well,” she said, twirling the phone cord, “maybe we could work on making this one even better.”
His voice turned husky. “My thoughts exactly. If you drop by a couple of hours early, you might help me forget how much I hate birthdays.”
Caitlyn would’ve loved to explore that last statement further—both why he hated birthdays and how exactly she could help him forget—but Emma cleared her throat behind her. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go.”
“That’s all right. Quickly, though, I wondered if you’d have dinner with me tonight. I’ve arranged a play date for the old man, and I don’t want to wait until Saturday to get you alone.”
Anticipation swelled in Caitlyn’s belly. “I’d love that.”
They made arrangements for Spencer to pick her up at seven, and Caitlyn hung up. She squared her shoulders and struggled to wipe the dopey smile from her face before turning toward Emma.
Her flatmate stared at her over crossed arms. “Old Philip’s having a birthday party?”
“Something like that. Please tell me you’re here with good news about promoting our Zimbabwe program.”
“You up for a live TV interview on
Wake Up
,
Britain
at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow?”
Caitlyn groaned, her head dropping back to smack against the seat.
“I thought so. Taxi arrives at our place at quarter past five. I’ll come with you.”
“To make sure I don’t say anything stupid?”
Emma shrugged. “I know you hate this part of the job. And frankly, you’re not all that good at it.”
Caitlyn grimaced. “You’re evil incarnate.”
“Just doing my job.” Emma slid off the edge of the desk and onto her four-inch heels. “By the way,” she said on her way to the door, “Philip’s voice is fucking hot. He doesn’t sound a day over thirty.”
“He has amazing genes,” Caitlyn yelled at her retreating back.
* * *
Stuffed full of Thai green curry, Caitlyn relaxed into the restaurant’s stiff-backed chair and swallowed a satisfied moan. Would it be rude to undo the button of her pants? Probably. But delicious coconutty food plus two glasses of wine and hours of easy conversation had nearly left her too dopey to care.
Not for the first time tonight, Spencer stroked his fingers over the back of her hand. This time she was too relaxed to control her shivers of pleasure.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “but I love your hands.”
She frowned, sitting up straighter so she could turn her hands palm-up and examine them. “What’s so good about them?”
He placed his fingertip against the flutter of her pulse in her wrist, circling there slowly before grazing the heart of her palm. “They look—” down her lifeline, “—like they’ve seen—” over the sensitive seams on the underside of her middle finger, “—a lot of action.”
She wet her lips, drawing his gaze toward her mouth as she smiled. “You mean calloused. Believe me, they haven’t seen the kind of action that would interest you.”
He frowned. “I think your job’s incredibly sexy.”
This made her laugh. “You wouldn’t if you actually saw me in the field. Imagine the toughest camping trip you ever went on...”
“Can’t. I’ve never been camping.”
She gasped and slapped her free hand across her heart. “Never been camping? Who raised you? Wolves? No, because even wolves would take a little boy camping.”
“Not if they were sixty and arthritic when the little boy was born.”
Caitlyn’s heartbeat slowed, her breath catching in her chest. “Your mom wasn’t around
at all?
”
He shook his head, lips twisted in a helpless frown. “Afraid not. I do remember staying at her flat one weekend. I must’ve been about five. She took me to a party, introduced me to all her friends. Let me wander around by myself for a little while until the police came to ask them to turn down the noise...and found me doing Itsy Bitsy Spider karaoke for a half-naked fully drunk audience.”
He shrugged. “After that, she visited me at Granny and Granddad’s sometimes, but I never went to hers without Granny.”
Caitlyn curled her fingers around his and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Granny and Granddad may have been too old to enjoy sleeping in dirt, but they took good care of me. Mum died in a car crash when I was sixteen, and—sounds horrible, but it didn’t make a huge difference in my life.”
Caitlyn’s conscience pricked at her. She should tell him. If ever there was a time, this was it.
“Hey, enough of this.” He signaled for the bill. “My mate Liam promised he’d keep Granddad and Minnie occupied until at least ten-thirty, watching some World War II flick. Granddad’s favorite pastime. He’ll talk over all the characters, tell Liam why the film’s completely inaccurate and then snore through the ending. I don’t have a chaperone for another two hours. How about you come back to my place and we can sit on the balcony and watch the sun set over the water.”
The moment for sharing truth slipped from her grasp. She didn’t struggle hard to get it back.
Spencer draped his arm around her as they cut through a small park with broken, lichen-covered headstones propped along the outer wall. She slipped her arm around his waist and snuggled closer, her body already shifting and twitching with nervous anticipation. Could two glasses of wine lull her nerves? Or would they just give her a new way to humiliate herself, like by surging upward when he kissed her?
They left the park and crossed the cobblestone street to Cinnamon Dock. Spencer entered a code, and soon they strode past the doorman, up the elevator and into Spencer’s apartment. He squeezed her shoulder before dropping his arm. “What can I get you to drink?”
“White wine?” she asked hopefully.
“Be right back.”
He stepped into the kitchen, leaving her free to explore his history-filled living room. She homed in on the bookshelves lining one brick wall. They held dozens of novels, most with well-worn covers and pages that had been dog-eared until they were soft as cloth.
Dracula
,
Frankenstein
, James Bond and John le Carré seemed to be the best loved, or hardest used.
She ran her fingertips over their cracked spines until she spied several photo albums on a lower shelf. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she bent and pulled one free, propping it open on the back of the couch.
A laugh slipped out, quickly smothered by her hand. The album featured pictures of Spencer during his adolescence, captioned in a shakier version of the handwriting Caitlyn recognized from Lillian’s letters.
“Granny was always working on photo albums,” Spencer said from behind her. “I never asked why, kind of figured it was something all women did—like patching up torn clothes and taking care of the lambs—but looking back, I think she and Granddad must’ve worried about me being alone sooner than I should. Or maybe she was scared of losing her own memories of me.”
He handed her a glass of chilled wine and she took a sip. “You had lambs?”
“Granny and Granddad owned a pub in our village. They raised most of the livestock for it, before that became fashionable. The lambs were cute, but I learned early on not to get too attached.”
Caitlyn turned to the album again. Lillian’s comments showed the same forthright manner as her letters. Caitlyn grinned at the one-word captions—
Sexy
under a picture of ten-year-old Spencer with his short rugby shorts pulled nearly to his armpits, his stocky adolescent legs sticking out below—and, under a photo of him trying to look cool with several budding teenage girls, the word
Playboy.
Spencer pointed to a stunning petite girl with light brown skin who stared at him with a face full of hero-worship. “That’s Amanthi. She’s my mate John’s partner.”
He passed his wineglass to his left hand, leaving his right free to settle on her waist. It sneaked beneath the hem of her shirt and stroked delicate circles against the tight skin of her waist. Caitlyn’s eyes fluttered closed. With one hand occupied balancing the album on the back of the couch and the other trying not to spill her wine, she was deliciously trapped between the rock of Spencer’s body and the furniture.
Her trembling grew more pronounced as Spencer pressed a kiss to her temple, nuzzling the ultra-sensitive hairline.
Concentrate.
Don’t screw this one up.
She forced her eyes open and searched for something to distract her mind. “Amanthi looks like she had a crush on you.”
“Mmm...she became my girlfriend soon after that photo was taken.” His fingers grew bolder, sweeping across her stomach and fanning the flames that licked inside her. “But she’s been with John for ten years, so let’s not talk about her.”
“How about your granny? There aren’t any pictures of her in here.”
Way to grasp at straws
,
desperado.
Spencer paused in exploring her ear with his lips. He gave her cheek a firm kiss, as if to say
I
get it
, before stepping back. “She hated having her picture taken. I just have one. Want to see it?”
Pathetically eager, Caitlyn nodded. When he disappeared into Philip’s room, she sucked in a steadying breath. A voice from her past flooded her head.
Ew!
Did you just drool?
God
,
what are you—twelve?
I
thought you were supposed to be twenty.
What’s wrong with you?
I
feel like I’m doing you a favor here
...
“Here she is.”
Caitlyn jumped, nearly dumping her wine on the couch.
“You okay?”
“Perfectly fine.” She took the framed black-and-white photo of a large woman caught mid-uproarious-laugh. Silver-streaked dark hair pulled back into a bun and a face full of laugh lines, she looked like the kind of granny who gave out cookies and told naughty jokes with glee.
“I took this without her knowing when I was a teenager. I usually keep it in the bookcase but I put it by Granddad’s bed whenever he comes here so he can sleep next to her.”
His devotion to his family and the simple ways he expressed his love filled Caitlyn’s chest with warmth, chasing away the hateful words she’d heard after her first real kiss.
“She’s definitely not what I pictured. Not after seeing Philip.”