Whose Bed Is It Anyway? (6 page)

She heard his low laughter and he dropped another, much larger piece over the pillow wall.

No matter if he'd only ever been teasing, she was all his. A man who provided the necessaries of life—a roof over her head and chocolate after midnight? What more did a woman need?

She refused to think of sex.

A couple of minutes later he spoke again. ‘How bad is your budget?'

Caitlin smiled wryly. No point in trying to hide the obvious. ‘Pretty bad.'

Frankly she wasn't bothered this instant because she'd seen that Broadway show tonight and she was staying in this incredible location, less than an arm's reach from the hottest guy she'd ever met. A guy who slept in little and
always
carried chocolate with him—

‘A month in New York with no money?' He summed up her life.

‘Yes, but that's okay,' she said doggedly. ‘I have a roof over my head. I have eyes.'

‘So you can do your seeing.' James shook his head and passed the rest of his chocolate over the pillows. Hell, he wanted her to ‘do' too. He wanted her to do
him
. And could anyone blame him when she was in one of his T-shirts again, all glowing from the shower with her long legs and sparkly eyes, full of smiles and simmering anticipation.

‘You should sleep,' she said, sounding apologetic.

As if that were going to happen when she'd looked like that. Tired but flushed—
excited
. He listened to the soft sounds as she settled into the bed—so she was ready to snooze? At least she had a little something sweet in her stomach now.

Hell
. He really wanted to lick the remaining taste of chocolate from her lips.

He drew a breath and held it as he tried to calm the riot inside his body. Good thing he'd built the pillows up so high, given the way his body was straining to attention. This was worse than he'd imagined it'd be. No way was he managing two weeks of this kind of torture. He'd phone Lisbet in the morning and insist on a placement somewhere—anywhere.

A few minutes later he heard Caitlin rustle again. Then again. Restless? As restless as he? He grinned in the darkness. He knew all about exciting days in foreign cities and sensorial overload. It took a while to relax, no matter how physically exhausted you were. You needed time to mentally unwind after such a stint of fierce sightseeing. The rustling sounded again.

‘You can't sleep?' he asked.

‘Sorry.' Her soft voice filled him with warmth. ‘Am I keeping you awake? I can't stop thinking.'

Yeah, he knew how that felt too. And he knew a cure—a focus on physical pleasure. Even the most stressed person could find that mindless relief that came after physical completion. But it wasn't something he did when on assignment. A few of the guys did. Some of the things they saw when on task compelled a need to affirm life. Or find an escape. So they hooked up with nurses. Or maybe visited a local late-night lady. But some of those women the guys visited had no escape. They needed money desperately enough to do anything. Emotions were fraught. James thought it was easier, safer for all, to steer clear altogether. He encouraged his team to do the same.

But here he was. Home. Safe. And unable to think of anything but Caitlin and what he'd do to her the second he got the chance. He was out of control.

‘Tell me about the show,' he almost begged her. Anything to stop the lusty images pelting through his mind.

‘It was amazing.
Crystal Sugar
. You seen it?'

‘No. Should I?'

‘Hell, yes,' she answered fervently. ‘It's incredible. I've never seen anything like it. Not even in London. The costumes were ah-may-zing.'

‘Costumes?' He grinned and listened to her talk on. So she was a showgirl at heart? It certainly hadn't taken much to pop that cork and get her flowing. Good. It was a perfect neutral topic. Because he wasn't going to get personal. They were just sharing a sleeping space. Nothing more complicated than that. ‘You wish you were up there onstage?'

‘Oh, no.' She sounded appalled.

‘Just a fan?' She seemed too enthralled for that.

There was a momentary pause. ‘I really do like the costumes. That's what I studied. Costume design.'

‘Wow.' She was a designer? ‘That's great.' But it didn't quite seem right to him. She looked more suited to limelight than lurking in the wings. With those aquamarine eyes, the blonde hair, the camera-conscious sleek figure, she was the epitome of starlet-in-waiting. ‘So that's what you want to do? You're not really a wannabe actress hoping to make it big here?'

‘Never.' Oddly, her laugh verged on hysterical. ‘No. I'm all for the costumes. I like the backstage stuff. I'd love to get a wardrobe technician job here.'

‘And a wardrobe technician...?'

‘Preserves the integrity of the costumes, keeps them pristine and looking the way the designer envisioned,' she answered.

‘They don't stay pristine?' He half laughed.

‘Not always, no,' she answered primly. ‘The dances are energetic so sometimes things tear. And get sweaty.'

Ah. He really didn't want to think ‘energetic' and ‘sweaty' right now. Not when he'd only just mastered his own mind. For a nanosecond.

‘They're really heavy,' she continued. ‘And hot. And they take hours of work.'

Hot
. Like him, then. ‘You're fully into it.'

‘That's what I want to do, yes. I've finished a design course in London. Now it's time to get the job.'

‘But first you have this month in New York.' Spending all her money on seeing the shows and half starving in the process. He heard her draw in a deep breath and let it out in a sleepy sigh.

‘Yes.'

He rubbed the heel of his hand hard over his forehead and told himself she was answering the comment he'd actually muttered aloud, not answered the question he ached to put to her. Now other questions pressed. How did she know George? Why had he offered her the use of the condo? Why was she so wary of the media? But the question bugging him most of all was whether he'd still taste that chocolate if he kissed her now.

He wanted to kiss her everywhere.

Yeah, the lustful thoughts hadn't gone far for long.

‘Goodnight,' she murmured. ‘Sleep tight.'

He wryly smiled in the darkness at her last sweet mumble. With temptation lying a mere breath away, sleep wasn't going to win in a hurry.

FOUR

An endless, high-pitched
screech shattered the silence. Bleary-eyed, James squinted up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell the noise was. Then it dawned. A phone. A real phone. Who used a land-line these days?

On auto he reached a hand out to find it and encountered a lump of something soft. Then he remembered the pillows. The reason for the pillows.

Shit.
He flinched. It was too early. Caitlin would still be asleep.
Should
still be asleep after her big day yesterday. He jerked over and fell off the bed in his haste. Damn. He'd been clinging to the edge for fear that while asleep he'd act out his dreams and desires and move too close to her. Blinking fast, he peered round the floor to find the phone. The thing was right underneath the bed. One of the builders must have plugged it in thinking he was being helpful. He snaked an arm and hauled the receiver off the hook and put it to his ear.

‘Yes?' he bit out in a furious whisper.

‘James?' George's surprised tones burst loud from the handset. ‘I didn't think you were back for another couple of months.'

Well, that was obvious, given the appearance of Caitlin in his bed. But James fought to suppress the irritation. How could George know James was going to be back if James hadn't told him—didn't ever tell any of them? It was his own fault for being so crap at communication. ‘It was a surprise to me too.' He pressed the receiver closer to his ear and lowered his voice yet more. ‘I didn't know we loaned the condo out.' It was their private escape.

‘You're not the only Wolfe who helps out people in trouble,' George answered.

James paused as his pulse did a quickstep. Then he couldn't resist asking, ‘She's in trouble?'

‘She's had a rough time. So be nice and don't make her life any harder than what it is.'

Harder than what? James gritted his teeth. He knew there was something up. He should have asked her more. ‘Who is she? What happened?' He held his breath, aware she was only a few feet away and probably awake and listening to every word.

‘Why don't you ask her? Actually talk to a person for a change.' George laughed, clearly missing the tension stringing out James. ‘How are you both squeezing in there? I thought the refurb was going to take a few weeks.'

‘Longer. But we're managing,' James hedged. ‘I'm only here for a day or two. Where are you?'

‘The cottage.'

At
home
? ‘Really?' The knowledge kicked him under the ribs. His twin was back. With his family.

‘Uh-huh. And Mum's coming. She's going to want to talk to you—'

‘George, no, don't. Tell her I'm—'

‘Tell her yourself.'

‘Tell me what?' A third, distant, voice echoed along the line.

Damn
. ‘Hey, Mum.' James pressed his body into the rug and closed his eyes tight.

‘James! You're in New York?' His mother sounded breathless in surprise. ‘When are you coming to see us?'

There it was. No preamble. No niceties—no ‘how was your trip'. It was straight into the expectation. The demand. And it was fair enough—she was his mum after all.

‘It's been so long since we've seen you,' she added.

‘It's been busy.' He gripped the handset tightly.

‘But not now?'

‘No, still busy. I'm only in town a couple of days. I'm not going to have time to—'

‘Months, James. It's been months.' She spoke quietly.

He turned up to Thanksgiving, to Christmas, to his parents' birthdays. Couldn't that be enough? But it wasn't. He knew his absence bothered them. But he couldn't sit back and relax. He liked to stay busy.
Needed
to. James covered his closed eyes with his hand.

‘Is a quick visit too much to ask?' his mother asked.

‘I'm sorry,' James spoke briskly. ‘I'm only in New York another day.'

‘Oh.' There was a pause. Then she rallied. ‘Where are you going next?'

‘Uh.' He tried to think up something plausible. ‘Conference in Northern Japan.'

‘Japan? Nice.'

James winced at the disappointment his mother was trying so hard to hide. But if he showed up at home she'd only be more disappointed. Better to keep his visits quick, painless and rare. ‘It should be interesting.'

‘Maybe we'll see you when you get back.'

He could hear his mother trying to smile.

‘Maybe,' he answered.

The line went dead. James banged the receiver down and cursed. He should never have picked the bloody thing up.

‘Well, well,' a sultry voice commented slyly.

James lifted his hand from his eyes and looked up from his awkward position on the floor. She was peering over the edge of the mattress, looking down at him like the cat who'd got the cream.

‘Who'd ever have thought that James Wolfe was capable of lying to his loved ones?' She inched forward so she hung a little further over the edge, a smile on her lips that spelled trouble. ‘Only another
day
in New York? Last night you told me you were on holiday for two weeks.'

‘I'm tired.' He shrugged. ‘I don't want to spend more time travelling.'

‘Diddums. First world problems.' Her blue eyes were too alert and all-seeing for this time of the morning.

‘Have you got a problem with me?' He tried to brazen it out.

‘Possibly. You're avoiding your family?'

He wanted to avoid that topic. ‘What, you're saying you've never told a lie?'

‘Sure I have.' She shrugged.

It was the smile that did it. He wanted it. Wanted to haul her close and kiss it from her. He lifted his hand and very gently touched her chin with his finger. ‘But I can't?'

‘You're the good guy, remember?' The colour of her eyes deepened, the black pupils swelling as she stared down at his.

‘What is it that's so bad about you? You look good to me.' He slid his finger along the edge of her jaw.

‘You're flirting again? More avoidance?'

‘With you, it's too entertaining not to,' he muttered. ‘It's amazing how little it takes to make you blush. For a supposed bad girl you embarrass easily.'

She was blushing now.

‘It's a skill I picked up backstage at all those shows.'

‘You're saying you fake it?' he scoffed. ‘Darling, you shouldn't be backstage, you should be front and centre. Right in the limelight.'

‘I have greater talents elsewhere,' she said smugly. ‘One can't turn one's back on one's gifts.'

‘Elsewhere?' He laughed and shook his head. ‘There's no beating you, is there?' He liked it. ‘You have a comeback for everything.'

‘I can do defence.'

‘I'm getting that.' He slid his hand round to cup the back of her neck. One touch wasn't enough. ‘Deflection, distraction. You've got all the d-words down pat.'

‘Especially determination.'

He stretched up and wrapped his free hand around her upper arm. So she couldn't back away. Because he couldn't back away. Not from this. Not now.
He
needed the distraction and the defence.

‘What about desire?' he asked roughly. ‘You can do that too?'

Colour scorched her face again. ‘Is that what you want?'

‘It's all about want,' he murmured, slowly, carefully applying pressure to pull her closer towards the edge of the bed. Towards him. ‘Isn't it?'

‘I think we want different things,' she whispered.

‘Not so different.' He pulled harder, until she slithered right off the mattress and onto him.

Caitlin gasped as she crashed down off the bed and landed in a sprawl right on top of him—arms and legs akimbo. He was harder than concrete. All his muscles were flexed.

Dear heaven.

She put her hands on the carpet either side of his head and levered herself up enough to look down into his face. The action pushed her pelvis harder against his. She gasped again as the rigid length of him pushed hard against her. But now he had one hand on the small of her back, keeping her body pressed to his and his hand circling the back of her neck was strong—pushing her head back down. Pushing until her lips met his.

Given her gasp, her mouth was already parted. So was his. Hot, hungry, he lashed out with his tongue, claiming her with no hesitation.

She heard his low growl, was aware a strangled groan had sounded deep in her own throat. But there was no stopping, no talking. No breathing.

It was all kiss. And not gentle. Not tender. Just raw, rampant hunger.

His lips moved, wide and wicked, slicking over hers as he swept his tongue inside her mouth again and again as if he could never get enough of her taste. His fingers pushed up into her hair, clasping it. She liked the tight hold he had on her. She liked the unrestrained need emanating from him. She was aware part of him was unhappy, still moody from that phone call. So she knew he was using her.

But she didn't care. She was using him too. Because nothing had felt so good in so long. He'd lit a fire and in seconds it burned beyond her control. She soared towards it—the pleasure, the possible release. The sheer thrill of his touch and the way it made her feel.

Pure euphoria.

She was on him. All over him. She writhed, her hips restless and circling, eager to feel all his hard strength under all of her body. The kisses were chaotic. No smooth skill or seduction. It was hunger. Frantic, fast passion. One taste not enough. Nor two. Nor three. The chemistry was incredible—irresistible. She gripped his hair with both her hands, keeping him in place as much as he was her. Keeping her mouth sealed to his. She tangled her tongue round his as he slammed his hand on the small of her back again to keep her in place right over his heat. She couldn't stay still—she yearned. Ached for it all.

Her body readied in an instant. She was wet, hot, slippery as she rocked her hips in helpless abandon, seeking closer, complete contact. She spread her legs wider, so she could feel his strength between her sensitive upper thighs. His bare, hair-roughened skin heated her more.

She wanted. She wanted, wanted, wanted. She moaned as he kissed her. Moaned as she thought of the more to come. Moaned as it wasn't happening quick enough.

She wore the T-shirt, he wore the boxers. There wasn't another item of clothing between them. She wriggled to accommodate him, fitting into place to feel his blunt, hard erection pushing right where she desperately ached. She cursed the cotton covering him. If it weren't for that he could be inside her already. She burned for him to fill her, to propel her furiously towards release. His fingers slid down over the T-shirt, over her butt until he encountered the bare back of her thigh. She ground down harder on him in instinctive reaction. His fingers began to trail back up her leg, this time sliding under the tee. As he encountered the bare skin of her buttocks he groaned, his body flexing in automatic response—a powerful, passionate thrust that made her gasp even as he plundered her mouth with his tongue. For a long moment they lay locked—straining together, his tongue thrust deep, his blind cock seeking to drive deeper still, while she bore down on him, open and wet and willing.

He tore his mouth free. ‘
Hell
.' He grabbed her hips hard and pushed her up—away from him. ‘Stop.'

Panting, she looked down at his gleaming body. What the hell was he on about? She was seconds from orgasm and she wanted that orgasm. Badly.

‘Caitlin,' he grunted, his breathing rough and loud. ‘I can't...'

His words came choppy; his fingers bit into her flesh. There was no mistaking the rigid determination on his face. He didn't want to do this. Didn't want her.

Of course he didn't.

Caitlin froze as if she'd plunged through a crack in an ice-covered lake.

‘This is a bad idea,' he said. ‘I wasn't going to let this happen. I told myself—' He stopped again and dropped his head on the floor. It clunked.

Oh, so what, it had been her fault? Instinctive defensive anger flared. He'd been the one to pull her onto him. He'd been the one all standing to attention already. But maybe it was just his morning glory she'd been making the most of? Maybe he woke every day with a super huge, hot erection and it had nothing to do with her at all?

Oh, hell. She knew that already. All he'd been doing was blowing off steam after that awkward phone call of his. There wasn't anything more than that to it.

‘Don't beat yourself up about it.' Awkwardly, she scrambled to her feet and then scooted back over the bed, getting as far away from him as she could until she hit the mussed-up pile of pillows. She drew on an icy cloak of indifference and attempted to minimise. ‘It was just a kiss, James.'

He sat up, his head popping up over the mattress. ‘That wasn't just a kiss,' he said drily. ‘What it was, was pretty damn...uh.' He shook his head a fraction. ‘But it's been a while for me...'

Oh, please. She didn't want him to lie or make up excuses or be polite and let her down gently. If he didn't want her, he didn't want her. No problem.

But cold mortification seeped into her marrow. Because she'd wanted him. And he knew just how much she'd wanted him—she'd been moaning non-stop.

‘Yeah.' She nodded, acting up the amused ‘it-was-nothing' scene. ‘So your judgment is warped. Kissing anything with lips would be good for you.'

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then he laughed. He stood and to her immense relief yanked on the nearest T-shirt. Grey, of course. Then he looked at her again, his voice dropping into spoof depths. ‘So, how was it for you?'

She shrugged, determined to sass her way through the embarrassment. ‘Just a kiss. Not that great.'

‘You
do
tell lies.' He laughed again. ‘Defence.' He nodded. ‘I've got it. But—' his expression went serious ‘—you know this shouldn't happen. Flirting is one thing, sleeping together another.'