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With a wicked look, Caleb pulls me closer… and hikes up my skirt. I laugh, but then he drops to his knees, and the giggles die on my lips—soon to be replaced with a moan.
The past can stay buried, I decide, as he nibbles his way up my thigh.
Why ruin a good thing?
* * *
After a more-than-minor distraction,we wind up in the shower, Caleb cleaning me off with slow, languid strokes. “Take your time,” he tells me, as I rinse shampoo from my hair. “I need a moment to wow you with my pasta.”
“You already wowed me… Three times today,” I tease.
He spanks my ass lightly, and goes to dry off. I take my time, luxuriating under the spray, then finally wrap myself in a bathrobe and join him in the kitchen. The scent of homemade pasta sauce wafts through the cabin, and my stomach growls in response as Caleb shoots an amused glance over his shoulder, his bare muscled back catching my attention.
“Hungry?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
I set the table and then hop up on a counter to watch him cook. Music’s playing, a classic rock station; evening sun warms the room, and the simple domesticity of the scene suddenly takes my breath away.
It’s so normal.
Caleb fixing dinner, me pouring us some wine… We could be any couple, anywhere. No billion-dollar company hanging in the balance, or Mafia enemy set on revenge.
Just the two of us.
In love.
Caleb sways, humming along to the music as he stirs a pan on the stove.
“You like Springsteen?” I ask, surprised. He always seems too refined for music like this.
“Who doesn’t like Springsteen?” he replies. He takes my hand and tugs me down, sliding his arms around me to dance right there in the kitchen.
I laugh, sinking into his embrace. Treasuring the feel of him against me, and the light, easy energy in his smile.
It’s like we have an unspoken agreement: We’re on vacation.
The usual rules don’t apply.
Caleb whirls me, once, twice, one hand firmly caressing the small of my back.
Resting my head on his shoulder, I whisper, “You’re a good dancer.”
“I’m better at other things,” he tells me, slipping his hand under my robe. It delves under the fabric, grazing my upper thighs, finding my bare ass. He squeezes lightly. “Mmmm.”
“All my clothes are in the dryer, still.”
“That’s where they should stay.”
He tugs the cord at my waist, and the robe falls open.
His eyes rove over me. I would have thought by now that he would be used to the sight of my naked body, but still, he drinks in the sight of me like I’m a priceless work of art. Every time.
I shiver under his gaze.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, holding out a hand.
“What about dinner?” I ask, even as I follow him to the bedroom.
