Trouble In Triplicate (10 page)

She tilted her head slightly to gaze up at him through demurely lowered lashes. "Caine." She tucked her hand into his and moved closer. "Let's go to bed."

The blue and white bedroom was charmingly decorated with ruffled curtains, a patchwork quilt, and a double bed with a canopy. It was small and cozy and romantic, just as Liwy had said it would be. Juliet glanced up at Caine, who stood by her side, staring at the bed.

He cleared his throat. "I'll. . . er, wash up in the bathroom while you . . . uh, get undressed, Juliet."

The bathroom door closed behind him. Juliet heard him turn the key in the lock. She stood in the middle of the room, nonplussed by Caine's sudden flight. Was he nervous? Caine Saxon? She mentally scoffed at the notion.

She wasn't nervous. Not now. She unzipped her dress and hung it carefully on a hanger in the small closet. No, she wasn't nervous at all. Somehow it felt right being here with Caine. She felt safe. Her body began to tingle with anticipatory excitement. She felt safe, yet more excited and alive than she'd ever felt in her life. It should have been an odd contradiction, but it wasn't. Not at all.

Her dress was fully lined, so she'd worn no slip. She frowned a little as she removed her panty hose. Such a utilitarian, sexless garment, she thought. Olivia and Miranda had taken to wearing stockings with a garter belt, and Juliet blushed as the full impact of it all struck her for the first time. Liwy and Randi dressed—and undressed—for their lovers.

Stripped to her apricot-colored chemise and matching panties, Juliet stared at the bathroom door, which remained tightly closed. She heard water running. Caine must be taking a shower, she thought. Her gaze flicked to the bed. She felt the need to do something to assuage the tension that was slowly building inside her, so she carefully folded the quilt, put it on a chair, then turned down the covers on the bed.

Next she walked to the window to stare out at the storm. The wind seemed to have died down, but it was still raining hard. She heard a creak and whirled around. Caine was standing in the open doorway to the bathroom, a thick white towel wrapped around his waist.

Juliet stared at him, her gaze raking him from head to foot, from his damp chestnut hair to his broad, naked chest, his muscular arms, and powerful legs sprinkled with soft, fine hair. He looked incredibly virile and sexily masculine. Caine Saxon would be an ideal substitute for the athlete/model in those male underwear ads, she thought, and her breath caught in her throat.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, the small action unconsciously provocative. "Hi" was all she could think to say. Her voice was surprisingly husky.

A sharp throb of desire pulsated through Caine. He watched Juliet's small pink tongue flick over her lips once more, staring as one mesmerized. His gaze lowered to the rounded fullness of her breasts, so enticingly displayed in the silky apricot chemise. Her waist was small, her stomach flat, and her hips sweetly rounded. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

Juliet stood motionless, intensely aware of Caine's intimate scrutiny. Strangely enough, she was not at all embarrassed. She felt more conscious of her femininity than she'd ever felt before, and the admiration and desire in his eyes made her glow with pride.

"The . . . uh, bathroom's yours," he said hoarsely. His tongue felt thick. There was a fire burning in him. Damn, he thought. He hadn't felt this hot urgency at the mere sight of a woman since he was a very young teenager sneaking a forbidden peek at the centerfolds in his father's magazines.

He stared compulsively at her bare legs, studying their length, their shapeliness. The delicate ankles and slender calves, the rounded curves of her slim thighs. Shadowed beneath the thin silk of her panties was the dusky delta that sheltered her femininity. He wanted her so much that he ached.

Caine wanted her, Juliet thought. She saw the passion in his piercing, catlike eyes and exulted in it. He might have dated Miss USA and a year's worth of centerfold models, maybe he'd even taken them to bed, but none of that mattered anymore. The past was suddenly irrelevant. They were together now and he wanted her, Juliet Elizabeth Post. And she wanted him.

She took a step closer to him. Caine took a step back. For the first time she noticed that he was holding his clothes—jeans, sweat shirt, and navy cotton briefs—in his hand.

"I'll get dressed while you're in the bathroom," he said, taking another step away from her.

"Get dressed?" She stared at him. "You're going to sleep in your clothes?"

"It's quite practical to sleep in jeans and a sweat shirt. They don't wrinkle like your dress would."

Her eyes sparkled with laughter. "Don't you want me to see you in your underwear, Caine? That's not fair. You've seen me in mine."

"Juliet..."

She advanced toward him slowly, smiling, her eyes aglow. She was sexy and alluring, and Caine was jolted by another fierce spasm of arousal. When she stood directly in front of him and placed her hands on his chest, his own hands curved naturally around her waist.

"Juliet." he repeated, gazing down at her as she threaded her fingers through the tight black curls on his chest. His grip on her waist tightened, and Juliet realized that he was holding her in place. And she wanted to be closer to him.

"Don't send me into the bathroom, Caine," she said dreamily. "I want to stay here with you."

One of his hands slid slowly to the curve of her hip. "You're playing with fire, little girl," he said, his voice raspy, as she leaned into him. The impact of her softness was electrifying. "And I promised that I wouldn't let you get burned."

She snuggled against him and buried her face in the mat of wiry, soft chest hair. The fine hairs tickled her nose, and the clean male scent of him intoxicated her. "You mean you aren't going to touch me?"

The sight of her crimson-polished nails tangled in the dark hair on his chest captured her attention. She watched, fascinated, as her fingers smoothed along his chest to the hard nipple concealed beneath the downy mat. Boldly, she circled it with her thumb.

Caine stiffened and drew in a sharp breath. "Juliet!" He grabbed both of her hands, shackled her wrists with one big hand, and held her away from him.

"Didn't you like it?" she asked with beguiling innocence. "Don't you want me to touch you?" Her hands might be manacled, but her feet were free. She began to stroke his calf with her toes.

He looked down into her wide eyes. "There's a word for a sexy little tease like you," he said through clenched teeth. "And it isn't virgin."

"That's all right, because after tonight I'm not going to be one." She smiled up at him, and Caine felt his willpower fading fast. Her smile captivated him, excited him, aroused him. And it was only one of the many potent weapons in her feminine arsenal.

"Aren't you?" he murmured huskily.

Their eyes met and locked for a timeless moment. Juliet felt a sharp stab of sensation deep in her abdomen. It was suddenly quite difficult to breathe.

"Juliet." He whispered her name as he lowered his head to hers.

She raised her face to him, wanting his kiss with every fiber of her being. Their lips touched. The kiss was gentle at first. Caine's lips brushed hers almost tentatively, until she sighed and opened her mouth under his. Their tongues touched and teased and stroked as the kiss deepened and their mouths fused hotly.

Her arms twined around his neck and her fingers explored the springy thickness of the hair at his nape. She slid her palms over the brawny muscles of his shoulders and back. "Caine! Oh, Caine ..." Her head fell back over his arm when he lifted his mouth from hers. He buried his lips in the sensitive hollow of her throat. Her knees felt shaky and her legs seemed to have turned to rubber. It was becoming exceedingly difficult to stand, and she clung to him to bolster her weak limbs. She felt the strongest urge to lie down. . . .

"I don't want you to be afraid, sweetheart." Caine's voice was low and gentle against her ear. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise I'll take care of you."

Juliet cuddled closer. His words were superfluous. She had no fears. She knew he would never hurt her. She trusted him completely, she realized a little dizzily. She felt as if she had known him forever, as if she'd been waiting her whole life for him to finally come and claim her.

He scooped her up in his arms as easily as he would lift a doll and carried her to the bed. His lips quirked at the sight of the covers so carefully folded down. "You know you're really shattering the old myth of the cringing, reluctant virgin, Juliet."

"I've never been cringing or reluctant." She rubbed her cheek against the curve of his shoulder. "I've just been waiting for you, Saxon."

"My own personal Waterloo," he said wryly. He laid her down on the pale blue sheets.

"You're much too big to be Napoleon," she said. "But it's a nice change from your usual football metaphors."

He chuckled. "A very feisty virgin." He sat down on the edge of the bed.

Juliet lay still, waiting for him to lie down beside her. The dim light from the lamp on the bedside table cast shadows throughout the room, and the rain continued to pound against the window. She drank in the impressions, knowing that she would always remember them, as she would always remember this night.

Caine remained sitting on the edge of the bed, close beside her, the towel still fastened securely around him. Her gaze was drawn to his face. He was watching her intently, his expression thoughtful. With one long finger he reached down to flick the bright blue and silver earring that dangled against the curve of her neck.

"How long have you had your ears pierced, Juliet?"

She gaped at him. It was, most assuredly, the last thing in the world she'd expected him to say. Here they were, scantily dressed in a canopied bed in a cozy, darkened bedroom, and he casually asked when she'd had her ears pierced!

"I had them pierced during my last year in junior high," she managed to reply. "About twelve years ago."

"And did your sisters have their ears pierced at the same time?"

She nodded. "I was dying to have it done. Randi was deathly afraid of the needle and Liwy was pretty much indifferent to the whole thing." What a bizarre conversation this was, she thought, and her eyes mirrored her confusion.

"But once you had your ears pierced Olivia and Miranda went ahead and had it done too." It was a statement, not a question. Caine was watching her closely, his amber eyes never leaving her face.

"Yes. Randi actually fainted when they did her first ear. So they did the other one before they revived her." Juliet grinned at the memory.

"And your hair." He idly stroked the soft dark strands. "I remember going to some high-school function of Sophia's and seeing you triplets there. All three of you wore your hair long then, almost to your waist. When did you decide to cut it?"

"I decided that the style was too schoolgirlish for an eighteen-year-old," she said. "I had my hair cut for the first time the month before we left for college." She stared at him, clearly baffled by the odd questions. "Are you brushing up on the Post family history or something? It's not necessary, you know. I'm not going to quiz you."

"Can I safely assume that Olivia and Miranda had their long hair cut in a similar fashion shortly after you did?" Caine persisted.

"Yes, within a week. Liwy decided that long hair was too much trouble when she saw how easy my short style was. Randi hated the idea, but she made an appointment anyway. She cried the whole time the hairdresser was cutting."

"I see."

Caine's enigmatic gaze perplexed Juliet further. She sat up a little, supporting herself on her elbows. "What do you mean, 'I see'?" she demanded.

His big hands cupped her shoulders. "Just verifying a hunch, sweetheart." He shifted his weight, turning toward her and pushing her back down against the pillows. "I've always been adept at picking up nuances and subtle trends in the pregame films."

"What?"

"Another one of my atrocious football metaphors, sweet. Lie down, Juliet." With one lithe movement, he was in bed beside her. He pulled up the covers before switching off the bedside lamp. "Tonight we're going to pretend we're married."

Juliet's heart began to thunder against her ribs. His phrasing was a little odd, but she decided that it was rather nice. She heard him fumbling in the dark and felt the mattress springs bounce as he moved about. What on earth was he doing? She didn't dare ask. Growing more nervous by the moment, she lay on her side of the bed, flat and still, her breathing shallow and her pulses racing as she waited for him to reach for her.

He didn't! The minutes passed. The waiting was interminable. She shifted slightly. Her eyes had gradually become accustomed to the darkness and she cast a covert glance at Caine, lying beside her. They were not touching, though Caine dwarfed the bed. He had tucked the top sheet and blanket between them, creating a definite barrier.

"Caine?"

"Go to sleep, Juliet."

She sat up abruptly. "But we—you—you said ..."

"I said we were going to pretend we're married, Juliet. And we are. We're in bed strictly to sleep. Now. lie back down and go to sleep."

She didn't move. "You're not serious! Are you?" she added uncertainly.