Hot Water (19 page)

And then he leans in and kisses me softly, brushing my lips with his own.

I can only stand there, mouth parted slightly, feeling the heat of those gorgeous lips upon mine, as goose bumps pile on top of my goose bumps in the abundant shade.

“I’ve wanted to do that again, forever,” he whispers.

My knees will probably buckle and I will fall apart in front of him if he does not take me into his arms. But I also know how much he would hate me if he knew my secret. “We probably shouldn’t . . .” I murmur again, but my lips betray my head, because as I utter those words I move closer to him and our lips touch again.

He pulls away, and I realize my hand is in his. He squeezes it. “You’re right,” he says, looking around. I know instantly what he is looking for. I suppose he always must be on his guard, since the newspaper seems to find his every move interesting enough to include in their society pages. My heart jumps when I realize I’m kissing what the paper had called
the city’s sexiest bachelor for ten years straight
. Trevor’d been the only guy I kissed, and we’d been together only a handful of times. I’m probably doing things horribly, horrendously wrong compared to all the other women Caden’s been with.

But he smiles at me, touching the side of my face tenderly. For so long, he’s been so angry, so gruff . . . and that used to make my knees weak. This peek at his elusive sweet side makes me positively breathless. “You’re beautiful when you blush.”

His expression, of complete desire, makes my insides quiver. I wish I could package and keep that expression forever, because I’ve never had anyone make me feel so important. So needed. He not only cares about me,
he wants me
. How am I going to tell him what I need to say? Knowing he could never look at me that way again, after that?

He leans in and whispers, “Do you think you could . . .” his voice is almost that of a little boy, excited and soft. “Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“Dinner?” My voice cracks. If I do that, if I go out in public with him, then the cat will be out of the bag. People will find out. Everyone will know that he and I are . . .
a thing
. Maybe not a big thing, or a serious thing . . . but that doesn’t matter. It means he will undoubtedly find out the thing I can’t bring myself to tell. The thing that will make him hate me. “But everyone . . .”

“Everyone?” his eyes search mine.

“So soon after you broke up with Andrea? The press . . . I don’t want to be a part of that.”

He nods. “Ok. I’ll make dinner. In my apartment. Okay?”

A smile touches my lips. “You can cook?”

“I love to cook. Come to my office after hours and we’ll go in the limo.”

He looks at me, that hair falling in his face, those dark eyes pleading.

And under that stare, every bit of resolve I have to do the right thing, the thing I know I need to do, dissolves. All other words leave my vocabulary. So I say the only answer that’s possible at that moment.

 “Yes, sir.”

Chapter Twenty

Cicily

“I can’t believe you’ve been MIA from your best friend,” Bow moans to me when I call her. “I’ve been missing you like crazy.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper into the phone. “But I just . . . had to talk to someone.”

“You sound serious,” she says. “What’s up?”

I swallow. I can’t believe I’m saying these words out loud. Maybe, saying them, it will help them feel less like a dream. “He kissed me.”

“I thought you guys did that before?”

“Well, we did. But this time he . . . really kissed me. And not in a,
I just want to get in your
pants
kind of way.”

She shrieks. “That’s hot. Details?”

“We walked in the park. And he just . . . out of nowhere . . .” I bite my lip. “He wants to cook for me. Tomorrow night. At his apartment.”

“He’s making you dinner? How are you going to pull that one off?”

I shrug. I told my mother I was going to one of the intern’s houses for dinner, and she was happy with that. She didn’t even ask me which intern, so I know she has no way of following up. All I need to do is make sure everyone leaves, and then Caden and I can leave together. It’ll work. “Under control. I’m just . . . so nervous.”

“Well, yeah. Does he even know how old you are?”

“No,” I mumble. “Maybe it’s not such a big deal? I’ve been googling, and there are plenty of girls who date much older guys. I can just play it off like I thought he knew.”

She laughs. “Good luck with that. I mean, really, he’s so much older. There’s no way in hell he would be okay with going out with an eighteen year old.”

My hopes plummet. She’s probably right. To think otherwise would just be fooling myself. “You think? I mean, in a couple of days, I’ll be nineteen.”

“And . . . he’s corporate. I can’t believe you have anything in common.”

“It’s weird. But we do. He’s normally all stiff and business-y. At least, that’s what he shows the world, and the newspapers. And then, with me . . . it’s like he’s a totally different person. A goofball. When we’re together, he makes me laugh so hard. He has a stupid side. We can be our stupid selves together.”

“Aw. That’s cute. But still . . . he’s in the newspapers all the time. There’s a reason he keeps up the stiff, corporate image. Because his clients probably don’t want to work with a goofball.” She sighs. “Especially a goofball who dates teenage girls.
New York Today
would have a field day with that one.”

“I know.” I
am
so wrong for him. He just doesn’t realize it, because I haven’t been honest with him. “I should tell him I can’t do it. For our own good.”

I know it’s what I
should
do.

Caden

In the morning, I wake early and make sure everything is tidy in the apartment. I plan on a stir fry for dinner, since it’s easy and fast and will leave us lots of time for other things, should they present themselves. I make sure the pantry is stocked with everything to make dinner, and that there is plenty of wine on hand. I change the sheets, just in case.

I can’t even recall if I’ve ever been this excited about a date.

Hell, I am becoming a pussy.

I want this girl so bad, I can taste her. I’ve never felt that way, so diseased with desire for someone. She’s so sweet and innocent, maybe she’ll want to take it slow. But that’s okay.

With her, it feels more about the journey than the destination.

Yeah, no, I’m
definitely
becoming a pussy.

That morning, I take the trip out to Short Hills, to see my family. It’s the first morning I’ve felt like maybe they wouldn’t chew me out over cancelling my engagement. Not that they would—the worst lashing, I knew, would come from my father. The rest of my family would be disappointed, but they’d understand. It’s not like I never disappointed them before.

When I stop at Cam’s grave, I can just imagine him giving me the once-over.
So, thanks for giving dad another coronary
, he’d joke.

I smile at that as I sit back in the grass, remove my suit jacket, and place it beside me. “Yeah, I’m not dad’s favorite person right now. But was I ever?”

No, I was
, he’d say.
But the difference is, you never really wanted to be
.

Meghan would pout at me. She’d probably be looking for an excuse to dress up, and I’d have robbed her of this one. My mother would comment on all the wasted everything, money, time, emotion. But she would want the thing that would make me happy. They all would. So I say, “I’ve met someone, though. She’s incredible.”

Already? Are you going to mess this one up, too
? Cam would say. He’d look at me, doubtful. But the thing is, I never told him about girls. Not unless they were serious. And I can count on one hand the number of girls I’ve been serious about.

“No,” I say to him. “It’s not like that. I don’t just want her. I want to be everything to her. I mean, it’s killing me that she’s not here right now. It’s . . . different.”

You mean, it doesn’t feel like a death sentence
? He’d come around me, headlock again.

 “No. When I’m with her . . . the
rest
of my life feels like the death sentence.”

He’d narrow his eyes at me.
Wow, man. You sound like a girl. Don’t let dad hear you talking this way
.

“Thanks, buddy.” I lean back and stare at the cloud-laden sky. “So what do I tell him? What do I say to him to make it all right?”

I could just see him doubled over, laughing, and I know the answer. There isn’t anything I could do now that would be all right. I’m Caden, not Cam. That was my first mistake, and I’ve made a thousand more since then.

“But I still need to try, right?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

But only the wind answers in return. I touch the glossy surface of the gravestone, then stand and find my way back to the limo.

Cicily

Despite everything telling me I should cancel with Caden, I didn’t. In fact, on the way into the city, I repeated to my mother the lie about hanging out with the other interns, and she bought it. She said she was happy that I was “making friends”.

She’d have my head if she knew who I was “making friends” with.

At 5:45, the last of the interns leave, and I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience when I pack up my things and float down to his office. The hallways are empty and dark, and my heels reverberate on the thinly carpeted floor as I make my way to his office. His door is partly open when I arrive, and he’s on the phone. “Yeah,” he says into the receiver, smiling and waving me in. “We’ll see to that.”

He puts up a finger, then rolls his eyes.

“Okay, I’ve got to go. We can talk about this tomorrow,” he says. Blowing business off, for me?

He puts the receiver down and says, “Hey, you,” in a playful tone.

That playful tone is one I thought I’d never again hear from him, directed at me. He’s always been Angry Guy, or at least sad . . . he’s never been outright boyish and funny. It’s adorable. It’s probably more adorable because I know that he’s . . . mine.

I blink. This is surely a dream, like the one I’d had outside his office. It can not be really happening. It cannot be that the great Caden Williams, the guy of my countless forbidden fantasies, is looking at me, wanting me. I keep blinking, until I feel the first dull pangs in my forehead. Great. From the way the aura is twisting everything in my vision, I can already tell that this is going to be a big one.

Caden leans forward. “Everything all right?”

I massage my temples. “Migraine.”

He tilts his head. “You get them a lot?” When I don’t answer, he says, “I have something for that. Come with me. Lie down.” I look up and blink as he puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me down gently, onto a leather settee, kind of like what a psychiatrist would use.

“What are you—“ I start, but he shushes me and sets my head down on a soft pillow.

“Okay, let me get my
Best of Kenny G
CD, and we’ll be all set,” he says softly.

I wrinkle my nose.

“Kidding.” Next, I feel him at my feet, removing my ballet flats. “Just relax.”

Suddenly, I feel the softest touch on my temple.

“You’ve done this before,” I whisper.

“The trick is hitting your pressure points,” he answers. “I had an old girlfriend who used to get them, back in college.”

It feels incredible. “Andrea?”

“No. We only started dating a few years ago. I thought I knew her. But I really didn’t.” He laughs. “I don’t really want to talk about her.“

“Should we be doing this . . . here?”

“Why not?” He moves onto my neck. “Anyway, this is medical treatment. Completely aboveboard. I am a trained professional.”

“You’ve had a lot of girlfriends, though. The city’s sexiest bachelor forever, and all that,” I titter nervously. I’m not sure why I’m interested in the long line of girls he’s been with. It’s most definitely longer than mine.

“Yeah, that’s what they
say
,” he says with a roll of the eyes and a self-deprecating laugh. “You must have had a lot of boyfriends, too, right?”

“A few,” I lie. I can’t say I’ve never really had a serious relationship. Never really wanted anyone the way I’d wanted him. Maybe it gets boring after a time. He’s experienced so many girls that this probably means nothing to him. But it’s all new to me. I can’t keep the goose bumps from springing everywhere on my body.

I know I get creases in my forehead when I worry, and obviously, he must notice them. He must notice the flush in my cheeks. “I don’t want to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, though, so . . .”

“No, it’s fine,” I say. But it’s more than fine. It’s intoxicating. “Actually . . .
please
don’t stop.”

He says, “You’re confusing me now. Was that, ‘Please! Don’t! Stop!’ or ‘Please don’t stop’?”

I sigh contently.

“The last one, I see.” He laughs.

“You like making women putty in your hands, I see.”

“It’s not entirely unrewarding for me.” I can hear the smile in his voice. I feel his breath there, and I know he’s close enough to kiss me. His fingers trail down toward my shoulders, and I know I’m trembling. “I am not sure I can stop myself from kissing you again.”

 “No, you don’t understand.” I pull my hand away from him. I have to talk, and now. Come clean. “I have something to tell you. Something that . . . I don’t think you’ll want me after I say it.”

He raises his eyebrows, then laughs. “Oh, Cicily . . . believe me. I’ve thought about you often and in so many different scenarios. And I can’t think of one in which I wouldn’t want you.”

Really? He’s so beautiful. So perfect. And I’m tingling everywhere, and all the parts that are tingling win out over my brain.

 He leans in, trailing kisses along my jawline. “God, Cic,” he breathes. “I’m crazy about you. I can’t stop it. I want you so bad.”

And I want him. Never have I wanted anything more. Yes, I’d convinced myself I felt that way about Trevor, but this is that feeling, times a million. With Trevor, there were always doubts. Now, it seems completely right. So that’s probably why I gather the fabric of his tie and pull him toward me, urging his body against mine. He kisses me deeply, his tongue mingling with mine. His body, the strong curve of his every muscle, feels so amazing against me, and I just want more of it. Before, it had been Trevor, initiating everything. But I’m on autopilot, knowing exactly what I want to do. I reach down and pull his dress shirt out from his pants. He obliges me by loosening his tie, then sitting back and pulling it and his shirt over his head, baring his chest and a beautiful set of abs. I know my jaw hangs slack at the sight of him. How is it possible that these parts of him I’ve never seen until now—could be even more beautiful than the rest of him?