“Tell me what happened when you were kissed before.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said. What happened the first time someone kissed you?”
Sighing, she turned her gaze to the floor. She couldn’t look at him when she talked about other men kissing her. The fact he wanted to hear about it made her feel like she was his girl friend. The kind with a space in between. A big space. “Why do you want to know?”
“It’s not that I really want to hear about it. But if we’re going to figure out how to get past this...thing, then we have to talk about what doesn’t work.”
His voice resonated with sincerity. It pushed her toward sharing more of the truth with him than she’d intended. Unable to keep her arm up any longer, she rested it against his chest, and he reached down to hold her elbow. They twisted together like an intimate pretzel, with him supporting her aching body. The almost unconscious way he’d done it made lying to him seem like the worst insult she could deliver. Speaking through a tight jaw, she whispered, “Broke my nose.”
His body tensed, his arm around her shoulders going from rock-hard to viselike and nearly squeezing the breath out of her. “Excuse me?”
She cleared her throat, but the words didn’t come any easier. “Broke my nose.”
“Is this the head-butting incident you mentioned before?”
She shook her head and gave in to the instinct to be honest with him. “I was sixteen. Dave was a senior and I thought he was the hottest thing on two legs.” She glanced down at the bare abs and well-packed boxers beside her. “Obviously I didn’t have much for comparison. Anyway, he offered me a ride home from a football game one Saturday. My dad...he...”
She swallowed hard and started over. “I wasn’t allowed to drive with boys. I’d promised my dad I’d be home by six, but Dave stopped for gas. Then a burger. And I couldn’t tell him to take me straight home. The
excitement
of being alone with him, having him look at me like no one else existed—it made me lose my mind a little. The day just got better and better.”
She closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see the pity he’d no doubt feel, the awkwardness that would smother any intimacy they’d built. “It got better and better until we pulled up in front of my house. Dave asked me to Homecoming. It was like everything in my life had led to that moment—the pinnacle of my existence. And then he kissed me. It was magic.”
The muscles beneath her tensed. “But?”
“My dad found us. He didn’t yell, just pulled me out of Dave’s car. Told him never to talk to me again or he’d call the police—reminded him I was underage. ‘Jailbait,’ he said. Then he marched me into the house and busted my nose.”
Spencer went deathly still. His lack of motion made Caitlyn acutely aware of her own shallow, ragged breaths, the way he’d pinned her to his chest with arms like bands of steel. She didn’t think he’d hurt her—not now that she was rational, anyway—otherwise she wouldn’t have let him get so close. But could she really trust her own judgment? She understood the cyclical nature of abuse, and she’d misjudged men—and her own immunity—before.
She glanced up at Spencer, suddenly terrified of what she might see in him. Triumph at knowing she’d been a victim before and might be easy to groom into one again? Pity?
Neither. Fury.
His eyes gleamed with it, and her whole body flinched, preparing to flee. But he blinked it away, tilting his head until his forehead rested gently against hers. His voice still shook, though. “He hit you?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever told anyone this?”
“A few girlfriends.”
“No men?”
“No.”
He raised his head and his hand. His thumb brushed over the bridge of her nose, the touch soft and soothing as he explored the rigid bump her father had put there. “Can I kiss your nose?”
Her breath caught. Not with fear or revulsion but with the sexual excitement that always left her shaking. “Okay.”
He laid a hand against her cheek, his gaze staring deep within her as if he waited for something. A sign, or maybe an involuntary attack. When nothing came, he brought his lips to her bump and kissed her.
Her body did nothing but tingle with pleasure. For the first time, she’d been kissed without panicking.
They both released a relieved sigh. Their bodies relaxed against each other, almost as if the kiss they’d shared had brought about a mutual orgasm. Spencer brushed his lips over her temple, her forehead, her cheeks. The tingles grew stronger but they didn’t turn into shakes.
“I think you should try something different,” he whispered as he nuzzled the sensitive hollow behind her earlobe.
She shivered. “Hmm?”
“I think you should kiss me.”
She blinked up at him through pleasure-doped eyelids.
“Control our kiss, Caitlyn.” He unwound his arms from her, interlocking his fingers behind his head in a way that flexed all his muscles. “I’m yours for the taking.”
Chapter Eight
Kiss him? It sounded terrifyingly simple but depended on her doing something she’d never done before. She’d have to turn off her brain—all the criticism and doubt—and let herself be moved by pure emotion, pure physical need. She’d be the one leaning in, facing rejection if the man she wanted didn’t want her back.
It was simply terrifying.
“I don’t know if I can do it.”
“The woman who beat a pit viper? Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll take that kiss, bend it over and make it your bitch.”
For the first time all night, Caitlyn felt the beginnings of a smile.
Spencer wrapped a friendly arm around her shoulders and rested his head against hers. “Caitlyn, I have no idea what you were thinking when you first walked into this room, but you’re clearly a lusty wench. And lusty wenches can’t be shy if they want a shag. Now either kiss me or go take your painkillers and let’s get some sleep.”
He slid his arm away, presumably to make it easier for her to get off the couch and go back to his bed, alone. That wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted him.
Without thinking or analyzing their situation any further, Caitlyn leaned in. The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes was his encouraging smile waiting patiently for her—not a lust-filled face lurching toward her the way so many of her disastrous kisses had started. She pressed her closed lips against his. Somewhere in the distance, miles away from the storm brewing in her mind and body, she heard him draw in a happy breath. She stayed there for seconds, maybe minutes or even hours, content to feel that intimate part of him pressed solidly against her own mouth.
His mouth—that incredible body part that had teased her, complimented her, encouraged her—had made her feel special beyond words. It had been the instrument through which he had revealed himself to her, telling her in so many ways how devoted he was to the people he loved.
It had been through their many conversations that she had learned what a unique person he was. Anyone could be beautiful on the outside. She’d seen enough of the world to know most people were nowhere near as beautiful on the inside as he was.
She felt his tender lips beneath hers and it wasn’t enough. He was holding himself back so she could make this kiss hers.
Her bottom was still firmly planted on the couch next to him. Only their mouths touched. She shifted her weight and pressed her chest against his. He groaned when her breasts flattened against him, and brought his arms around her back, tightening them until she squeaked.
She moved her lips on his, exploring them, brushing them with her own. He followed her lead, moving when she did and cradling her mouth with his.
It still wasn’t enough. She wanted to taste him, to know him inside and out, but she didn’t want to make a fool of herself. How many of her friends in high school had complained of boys drooling when they first learned how to kiss? How many had laughed about tongues like jackhammers pounding away inside them until they nearly gagged?
With a jangle of nerves that were at least as much born of excitement as fear, she pulled her mouth slightly away from him. “I want more of you,” she whispered against his lips. “Show me...”
He needed no more encouragement than that. Reaching down, he grabbed her butt and pulled her fully onto his lap. Her legs straddled his waist, her knees pushed against the seat of the couch on either side of his thighs. Through the thin cotton of those incredible boxer briefs, his erection pressed against her bottom. He shifted her slightly as if to move her away from his danger zone, inadvertently rubbing against her as he did so. She felt a low groan of near-agony rumble all the way up from his abs, through his chest and out his parted lips.
It was intoxicating, knowing what effect she had on him. His grip on her hips made her beautiful. His crushing embrace made her wanted, irresistible.
“Open your mouth for me, Caitlyn. Use your tongue on me.”
She raised her good hand to his face and tilted his head back. With lips parted mere centimeters, her tongue darted out and tentatively tasted his lips. He sat still and let her explore, his chest rising and falling from the effort of holding back.
His clear enjoyment of the moment and his willingness to let her lead spurred her on. With confidence blooming inside her, she opened her mouth further and gently flicked the tip of her tongue against his. Over and over their mouths tilted against each other, delving into each other, letting them understand each other more intimately.
Her hips rocked and Caitlyn heard mewling moans—equal parts pleasure and frustration—torn from her throat. They were noises she’d never made before, never felt the freedom or impetus to express that sensuous side of her.
It wasn’t enough.
She wanted more of him, needed to press herself completely against him as he lay beneath her. She wanted to writhe on top of him and allow their bodies to pleasure each other.
She gave him a gentle shove that she hoped expressed her wishes. He understood completely, shifting back on the couch and pulling her down on top of him. His big hands moved to her ass, gripping it and rubbing their most intimate parts together. She gasped, amazed by the feel of his erection against her. Pressure built inside her; she might die if she didn’t let it burst out. She ran the fingers of her uninjured hand through his midnight hair, held the back of his head at just the angle she wanted, discovered new territory, conquered it.
Spencer tensed beneath her, clasping her hard against him and pulling his mouth away from hers. “Shhh,” he whispered when she tried to find him again.
Caitlyn lay on him, trying to catch her breath. And then she heard it, too. Tiny paw nails scratching at Philip’s bedroom door. Minnie itching to be released into the living room.
The irrational fear of being discovered in a most intimate position shot panic through Caitlyn. Choking back an oath, she leaped off the couch and fled to Spencer’s bedroom before she could stop to think.
With a groan of regret and unfulfilled passion, she sank down onto the bed and took a pill, hoping it might ease all her throbbing body parts.
* * *
Spencer flopped facedown onto the couch as his grandfather opened the bedroom door and let the most inconvenient pain-in-the-ass animal ruin his night. Philip tiptoed out of the room and glanced at him.
“Oh, you’re awake. I’m sorry, did Minnie’s scratching wake you up?”
“No, Granddad. I’ve had difficulty falling asleep.”
Philip nodded sagely, as if he understood completely. Spencer prayed he didn’t have a clue. “I know, dear boy. You’ve had to go to the hospital too often for your loved ones lately. It’s unsettling.”
Loved ones? Certainly he loved his grandfather, but Caitlyn? He’d only known her a couple of weeks. He cared about her, more than anyone else in such a short period of time. But it wasn’t love. She was amusing, aggravating, challenging and different from anyone he’d ever met. In short, she was a very pleasant diversion for the off-season.
He cringed at the thought. That made her sound like one of those video games his mates became obsessed with. She was definitely more than that, but he couldn’t think of her as a friend. Not after the stunning reaction he’d just had to her wholly unexpected, but thoroughly welcome, kiss.
Minnie pranced around the room, sniffing the air, and eyed Spencer suspiciously.
Enjoy thwarting me while you can
,
little beast.
You’re going home soon.
The fur ball’s eyes narrowed in a glare, making him wonder just what she could smell in the room and how accurately she could interpret those scents.
She glanced back at Philip, as if to ensure he was paying attention, and innocently sniffed the air again, making a beeline for the couch like she was following her nose to the source of a great mystery. When she drew level with his hips, she braced her front paws against the seat of the couch and tried to sniff his crotch.
“Leave me alone.” He pushed her away from the couch. Her doggie lips pulled up into what he could have sworn was a smug smile, an I-know-what-you’ve-been-doing-and-who-you’ve-been-doing-it-with smirk.
“You’d make a lovely hat,” he muttered.
* * *
Caitlyn waved goodbye to Spencer and slid her key into the glass door at her building’s entrance. The early summer sun hadn’t yet begun to rise, but very early birds chirped in a nearby tree, obviously confused by the streetlights.
Spencer waited until she was safely inside before he turned and walked away. She only lived a few minutes’ walk from his place, and violent crime was nearly unheard of in Wapping, but she found it sweet that he’d refused to let her walk home alone at four in the morning.
She mounted the stairs to her apartment, then opened and closed the door quietly so she didn’t disturb Emma.
“Where the hell have you been?”
A very disturbed-looking Emma stood in the hallway, fists on hips as she glowered at her. Her gaze found the stark white bandage around Caitlyn’s hand and she gasped, rushing forward. “What happened? Who hurt you? Why didn’t you call me?”
Caitlyn stood still as her roommate embraced her, the first hug she’d ever received from Emma. In fact, now that she thought about it, she’d lived without much physical affection for a long time—she couldn’t remember her last hug from a good friend. Maybe that was why Spencer’s touch affected her so strongly.
“A wineglass happened. I hurt myself. And I didn’t call because I didn’t think about it.”
Emma pulled back and stared at her in shock.
“Sorry,” Caitlyn said. “I should’ve. But Spencer was with me. He took me to the hospital and brought me home.”
“You...? Wait.” Emma’s face cleared. Her brows shot up and a smile stretched her lips. “You’re doing the walk of shame!”
“No, I’m not.” Caitlyn dropped her bag and slipped past Emma into the living room.
“You are! I mean, Jesus, look at you.” She gestured up and down. “Your hair. Your rumpled clothes. But especially your hair.”
Caitlyn’s good hand flew to her head as she bolted for the bathroom. “My hair? What’s wrong...” Sideshow Bob stared at her from the mirror—if Krusty the Clown’s sidekick had ever cried and slept with mascara on. Black smudges darkened the tired skin under her eyes and streaked her cheeks. Her hair resembled a modern art installation.
She groaned. “Oh, God. The man must be blind.”
“Blinded by love,” Emma teased.
“Or just really freakin’ horny.” Caitlyn sighed. “Taxi’s coming in an hour?”
“Hour and a quarter.”
“I’ll be cutting it close. But I might just be able to chisel myself into something presentable. God, I wish this was a radio interview. I look perfect on radio.”
* * *
“Here’s the folder for the floods in Nepal. They seem to be diminishing, so I think one more shipment of supplies should cover it. There’s a daily conference call with staff on the ground there. I’ve put those appointments in your diary.”
Caitlyn listened carefully as her colleague Tamara explained the relief programs she was managing before going off on vacation.
“I’m sure I’m forgetting something. I’ve never gone on holiday this long before.” Tamara’s brow wrinkled with concentration.
“I’m sure I’ll figure it out. Just email me if you remember anything important.”
Tamara relaxed. “I will. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you taking over like this. Fingers crossed Asia will be quiet for the next month.”
They both knew it was unlikely, at best. While Caitlyn managed relief programs in Africa and the Caribbean, Tamara was the disaster manager for Asia. She’d had a very quiet summer so far, with the monsoon rains taking their precious time to drop and only a few minor tremors and landslides that had been capably handled by IDEA’s local staff.
But disasters had a perverse sense of timing. Caitlyn wouldn’t be surprised if they were all waiting for Tamara to leave London before launching themselves on the world’s poorest citizens. She couldn’t fault Tamara for her vacation, though. Her parents had retired to New Zealand three years earlier and this would be the first time Tamara had seen them since. She’d saved up all her holiday allowance and swapped on-calls with Caitlyn. Tamara had done Caitlyn’s on-call duty in February, which ended up being the quietest month for disasters Caitlyn had ever seen in her career. Caitlyn would be on call all of August, one of the longest and seemingly most disaster-prone months of the year.
She hoped Tamara brought her back something good from New Zealand. Like a surfer.
With a quick hug of gratitude and her relief to be on vacation practically bubbling over, Tamara grabbed her massive backpack and rushed out of the office to catch her plane. Caitlyn was left alone to read Tamara’s most recent reports.
“Psst.”
Caitlyn looked up to see Pete from the postroom standing in front of her desk. “Hi, Pete.” She tried to be unfailingly polite to him, even though she knew what it meant when he stopped by her desk and acted secretive.
“Got another letter for you,” he whispered. He flexed the hand at his side, flicking forward the white envelope he held. “From you-know-where.”
She took it from him and tried to keep all her internal reactions from appearing on her face. She wished he wouldn’t act like this. His weirdness only drew more attention to their interactions. “Thanks, Pete.” She put it facedown on her desk and glanced back at her computer screen, hoping he’d take the hint that she had a lot to do.
“Who’re they from?”
“No one.”
A cold front passed over him. “They’re clearly not from no one. They’ve got a name on the return address.”
Well
,
then
,
you know who they’re from
,
don’t you?
“Just someone I used to know. I’m sorry, Pete, but I really have a lot to do this afternoon.”
He stiffened and nodded curtly. “Of course. So have I. This post won’t deliver itself, you know.”
Caitlyn sighed as he walked away. She tried to concentrate on Tamara’s reports, but the letter sat there mocking her.
Too scared?
You always were a coward.
Always watching from the sidelines.
Never getting involved.
Never helping her when she needed you.