Intimate (19 page)

She couldn’t
contain a few little sobs—the only release at her disposal—and she covered her
face with her hands in an attempt to fight them back.

Before she knew
what was happening, Caleb was in front of her again. His fingers gently covered
her wrists, pulling her hands away from her face. “God, don’t. Marissa, please
don’t cry. I’m so sorry. I got carried away, but I should never have pushed you
so much. You know, don’t you, that I wasn’t trying to force you into—”

“Caleb,” she
interrupted, grabbing at fistfuls of his shirt. “Of course, I know you weren’t pushing
me into it. I asked for it. I wanted it. But I guess I’m just not ready for
this yet.”

“I know. I guess
I knew all along.” He looked briefly torn. “Give me a minute. Then we can sort
things out.”

He walked
awkwardly into her bathroom, and she went over to her couch before her knees
buckled. She was shaking uncontrollably now, and the heavy feeling in her gut
hadn’t gone away.

She was curled
up in a tight ball when he joined her a few minutes later. “Are you all right?”
she asked, scanning him anxiously.

His face was
relaxed now, but he looked drained and exhausted. “Yes,” he told her, sitting
down next to her and pulling her against his side. “No matter what anyone says,
we aren’t slaves to our physical urges any more than women are.”

“I know,” she
whispered, nestling against him. Now that all the throbbing energy was gone, he
was safe again. She snuggled as close as she could get, her chill immediately
lessening. “But I still feel bad for leading you on.”

“I should have
known better. I just wanted you so much that I refused to admit things were
moving too quickly.”

They were
silent for a few minutes before she finally asked, “So you’re really not mad at
me?”

“Of course not.”
He sounded a little offended. “If anything, you should be angry with me.”

“I’m not. I feel
even more warm and fuzzy about you now.”

He smiled. “In
that case, we’ll call the evening a success.” He gave her a quick kiss on the
lips. “I’m going to leave now, if that’s all right. You look tired, and I’m not
sure I’m up to any more deep discussion.”

Reluctantly,
she released him, knowing it wasn’t fair to make use of his body for endless
snuggling when she wasn’t ready to give him anything else. “You look tired too.
Try to get some sleep tonight.”

“You too.”

“Do you ever think about
changing jobs?” Marissa asked.

Caleb eyed her
face over his glass of water, feeling a clench in his gut and wondering how
she’d known. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Just because.
You said before you’re bored with playing for the orchestra. So I was wondering
whether you still are.” She looked confused, as if she hadn’t expected an
interrogation. “I know you aren’t used to keep a steady job like this, so I was
thinking you might be wanting to do something else. I just want you to be happy
with your job.”

He knew this
was the perfect time to mention James’s jazz band. He
was
thinking about
changing jobs, doing something different, giving up on the orchestra. But, if
he told her now, he’d also have to tell her why he hadn’t told her before.

And he’d lose
his escape route, if everything with her fell apart.

He remembered
how he’d felt when she’d pushed him away last night. How painful it had felt in
every way.

He just
couldn’t let himself be completely trapped in a situation that had such potential
for tearing him apart.

He thought
about his parents’ marriage—how much freedom and how little pressure they both
felt. He wondered if he could ever get to that point with Marissa.

That was what
he wanted.

“I’m happy with
my job,” he lied—instinctively, automatically, without hesitation. The way he
always lied about anything that might worry or disappoint her. “I’m not looking
around.”

She looked
relieved, and he let out the breath he’d been holding.

Their server in
the small café came over to take their orders just then.

When the man
left the table, Caleb noticed a shift in Marissa’s mood and manner. She adjusted
uncomfortably in her seat, as if she had to say something unpleasant and was
trying to work up the courage.

“Is there
something you want to say to me?” he asked mildly, when she didn’t start
speaking.

“Not really. I
don’t want to. But, yeah, I guess we should talk about it a little bit more.
After last night.”

It was only
then he realized she’d completely changed the subject.

Watching her
discomfort with bringing up the topic, he started to feel a little awkward
himself.

“You still
won’t tell me about whatever happened when you were a kid that prompted all of
this?” He kept his voice cool. As if he weren’t desperately invested in her
response.

“It’s all too
messy and complicated. I really am trying to work things out with my therapist.”
She sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap. “I know this isn’t fair to
you.”

Caleb scowled
and felt an unexpected wave of resentment. “What’s not fair? That I couldn't
jump you the minute we got together? Do you really think I’m so selfish and
demanding as to expect that from you?” She opened her mouth to launch an
immediate defense, but he spoke over her. “Marissa, not every couple starts
having sex immediately. Waiting a month or so isn’t unusual, and that includes
couples who aren't faced with your particular…” He couldn’t find the right
word.

“…psychosis,” she
finished for him glumly.

He frowned at
her choice of words. “I’m not going to rush you, but it’s not because I’m some
noble martyr. I
want
to have sex with you, and I’ll be thrilled when we
can. But I’m not some Neanderthal who wanders around at the will of his cock.
Sex isn’t the only part of our relationship I’m interested in.” He took a deep
breath, spoke the next words, hoping they didn’t sound too trite. “I care about
you, and that means I want to be with you in ways that aren’t only sexual.”

The tension in
her face eased, and she smiled at him, obviously touched. Then a flash of
amusement transformed her expression. “How long did you work on that little
speech?”

“I did a little
thinking last night after I left you. I might have composed a short homily of things
I wanted to say. Some of them I might have mentioned just now.” There was
safety in humor, but sometimes it was purely defensive. So he added, “But that
doesn’t make it less true.”

 “I know. And I
really do appreciate it. I
am
trying to work through all of my issues, but
I’m so afraid I’m going to mess things up with you in the process. Or that I'll
end up losing you by taking so long.”

He could see
that she meant it. See that she was terrified. And Caleb actually found the
knowledge rather gratifying.

He wasn’t used
to having a woman not want him. He wasn’t used to being insecure. But at least
this was proof that Marissa really
did
want to be with him—so much that
she was genuinely frightened of losing him—even if she didn’t yet want to
be
with him.

“You won’t.” He
wished he knew what to do. How to fix this. “How hard is it? To be with me, I
mean. I'd hate to think you were suffering whenever we're…close."

“It's not like
that at all. Caleb, I love being with you. And I’m sure you know by now that I
love all the kissing. I only start to panic when what we’re doing begins to
feel like sex.”

God, it hurt
every time she said it. What had happened to her as a child, that sex was so
traumatic? And why the hell wouldn’t she just tell him?

Clearing his
mind of the emotional confusion that had no immediate remedy, he focused purely
on their practical dilemma.

 “Why don’t we
try this?” he suggested. “We’ll agree in advance that for a certain length of
time we won’t have sex. And then we’ll make sure we hold ourselves to that.
That way you won’t have to panic whenever things start getting more intense.
You’ll know we’re not going to have sex, so you can just try to learn to enjoy
it.”

“Maybe that
would work. But what if we really get into things and decide we want to have
sex right away?”

If only such a
thing would happen. “We still wouldn’t have sex,” Caleb said calmly, hoping he
wasn’t telling her another lie. “If we leave the possibility open, then you’d
still panic, wouldn’t you?”

 “Yeah. I
probably would. All right. Let’s try it. We’ll agree not to have sex for a
while and try to work our way into it slowly. How long do you think? A month?”

Caleb swallowed.
Prayed that she didn’t insist on a whole month. It sounded like a nightmare to
him. “Why don’t we start with a week? At the end of the week we can agree for
the following week. That way we won’t trap ourselves for too long.”

Sounded
perfectly logical. Didn't sound desperate at all.

Marissa
chuckled, her face looking relaxed and natural again. “Optimistic, aren’t you?
You think you can get me into bed in a week?”

“You might be
surprised by how much I can accomplish in a week.”

When Marissa
blushed in response, Caleb felt some of the tightness ease in his chest.

Perhaps it was atypical
to need a plan to consummate their relationship, but it actually encouraged
him, helped him see what was waiting at the end of it.

They could do
this.
He
could do it.

Surely seducing
Marissa wouldn’t be the hardest work of his life.

*
* *

Six days later, Marissa was
reclining back against a cushion on the arm of her couch, and Caleb was pretty
much lying on top of her.

The evening had
begun innocently enough—a little Chinese take-out, a little TV, a little tame
cuddling—but it had eventually deteriorated into a full-fledged make-out
session.

They’d done
pretty well this week. Caleb had been purposefully reining in his desire.
Taking it slow. Making himself leave whenever he started to lose control. It
was difficult and frustrating, but he convinced himself it was worth it.

He was not
going to do what he’d done last week—give into lust so completely that he lost
sight of everything else. He'd had her pushed up against a wall last week and
had barely noticed that she wasn’t with him in it. If she hadn't stopped him,
he would have just kept going.

He would have …

He wasn't going
to do that again.

This evening,
however, they’d gotten a little carried away. Caleb's only comfort was that Marissa
had been the one to start it.

Now they were
both sprawled out on the sofa. Kissing—open-mouthed, urgent, deep.

He made sure to
assess her reactions this time. And tonight her tongue was just as seeking as
his was. She wasn’t just clutching his shoulders this time. Her arms were
twined around him, trying to pull him down more fully on top of her.

She tore her
mouth away and turned her head to the side, gasping frantically for air.

Caleb knew he needed
to back off, since she’d made the first move to end their embrace, but he
couldn’t seem to part from her body yet. “Okay?” he asked hoarsely, wishing he
didn’t sound quite so overcome. Wishing his groin would stop throbbing for a
minute so he could actually focus on Marissa and what she needed.

“Yeah,” she
panted, her face still turned away. “I feel kind of crazy—like my insides won’t
settle down. I feel like screaming.”

He couldn’t
tell if this was a good thing or not.

Bracing himself
above her on the sofa and ruthlessly ignoring the urge to thrust his hips, he asked,
“So do you want to stop?”

She turned her
head back toward him—her skin damp and flushed and glowing. “God, no. I like
it. I want more.”

She pulled him
back into a kiss.

His tongue
darted into her mouth, playing with hers. One of her hands slipped up to the
back of his neck, stroking his skin to the rhythm his tongue had established.

Caleb moaned
deeply into her mouth at the sensations from her touch.

Unconsciously,
his hands inched up toward her breasts, and without thinking he eased his chest
off hers so he could palm the curves over her shirt.

She released a
little squeak as soon as he did.

Freezing, he
scanned her face. Her expression looked strange and twisted. “No good?” he gritted
out, willing himself not to keep fondling the luscious flesh under his hands.

She squirmed
beneath him, and her eyes appeared bewildered. “No, it
is
good. I'm
sorry. I just feel claustrophobic again. I’m so sorry.”

With a grunt, Caleb
made himself pull off her. He adjusted on the couch until he was sitting on the
edge beside her sprawled body. Winced a little as his erection got some
uncomfortable pressure from the movement. “Don’t be sorry. Baby, you know you
don’t have anything to be scared about. This isn’t sex. We’re not going to have
sex.”

She nodded and
stared at him, her eyes wide and naked. “I know.”

He gently slid
one of his hands up her belly and then over one breast. He rubbed it gently,
feeling the texture of her stretchy shirt and the hardening nipple beneath his
palm. “I just want to touch you,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice
soothing, hoping he was going about this the right way. “Let me try to please
you, Marissa. Please give me a chance. I promise we’re not going to have sex.”

She nodded
again, and then arched her back slightly as he continued to move his palm in
little circles against the taut peak of her nipple.

Caleb wasn’t
sure how much of her agreement was sheer determination and how much was actual
desire, but he wasn’t going to complain.

If only she
would let him show her how good he could make her feel, then maybe all of her
worries would start to dissolve.

If only it
could be that easy.

When he felt the
tension in her body relax, he moved his second hand up to her other breast. The
flesh was soft and full under his touch.

His erection
was still pulsing insistently, but he tried not to think about it. They weren’t
going to have sex. They’d made an agreement. Even if Marissa begged him to take
her now, he should keep his word and say no.

That was their
plan, after all.

He almost
laughed at the absurdity of his actually refusing her.

She jerked her
face away from him, toward the back cushion of the sofa. He couldn’t see her
expression very well, but could tell her face was contorted and her eyes were
squeezed shut.

He had no idea
if it was from pleasure or discomfort.

“Marissa,” he
said softly, one hand slipping back down to rub her flat belly. “You need to
talk to me. Tell me if you like this or not.”

She made a
strange gasping sound and arched her back again when his thumb unconsciously
started twirling her nipple. “I like it.”

Caleb released the
breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Are you sure? Are you still scared?”
he asked, still moving his hands slowly over her body.

“Yes,” she
admitted, despite everything a sparkle igniting in her eyes. “A little
groping—even your quality of groping—isn’t going to instantly fix me.” She
hissed as he took her other nipple between his finger and thumb. “But I’d call
this definite progress,” she finished breathlessly, her face tense with
pleasure.

Almost
strangling on his relief, he leaned over but then stopped, compelled to kiss
her but worried that his weight on top of her would make her claustrophobic
again.

“It’s okay,” she
said, reaching up to pull him down over her again. “Poor thing—you look like
you’re trying to defuse a bomb.”

That was
exactly how he felt. Like he was trying to disarm an explosive with absolutely
no training. And trying to do so with a raging hard-on.

But he tried to
focus on keeping Marissa calm. “Why would I defuse it?” he drawled, attempting
to remember the seduction techniques he used to be so proud of. “The explosions
are half the fun.”

He’d expected
her to roll her eyes at the weak pun, but instead he saw a strange, sad look.
He furrowed his brow, about to ask what had upset her.