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“What does she—”
He rolled over and kissed her, because it was way too intimate of a thing to have this discussion naked and in bed with the woman he was fucking. He didn’t do connections; he didn’t do sharing and hugging time.
He wasn’t about to start now.
“We were talking,” she said, breathless.
“I know, but I want to do this instead.”
“You always want to do this.”
He laughed and ignored the uncomfortable weight that settled in his chest. “And you’re complaining?”
“Not really.” He kissed her again. “Good.” Then again. And again until nothing else mattered but this. But the two of them and this bed and this moment.
And when they were done, she got up, got dressed, kissed him goodbye and left him alone in his bed. Just like he liked it.Dammit.
“If you like it so much, why are you so miserable?” he asked into his pillow.
Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. Because, like always, he was alone.
Chapter Eight
She went to Caleb’s house every night for two weeks, and never stayed. And it was starting to bother her. Which was silly, because he’d made it very clear what his rules were. And she really, in many cases, didn’t mind following his rules. Taking his orders…whatever.
But this was starting to feel sad. Every time she dressed to leave his house, it was worse and worse. And she was sleep deprived. She didn’t manage to leave his place until the early hours of the morning, then she had to drive home, and try to settle down and go to sleep. She was getting an average of three hours sleep a night and she was starting to climb the walls.
The alternative was asking to use one of his extra bedrooms so she could stay the night. But that seemed even worse.
Hey, I know I can’t sleep with you, but could I crash on your couch? Oh, and thanks for the orgasms, by the way. Maybe tomorrow you can tie me up? Or perhaps I could interest you in some afternoon delight in a semi-public location?
No. No no no. She liked a little kink with her pleasure, it turned out, but humiliation was off the table.
At least humiliation in that context. Sexually, she’d ruled very few things out. She was self-discovering, after all.
Though, none of this would be a problem soon. Because she’d finished the app. She hadn’t told him yet. Which was silly, and immature, but the minute she told him…he would be done working in her office. Their affair time would be over. She wasn’t ready yet.
Soon, but not yet.
It was a Saturday, so she hadn’t seen him yet today, and the anticipation had her all sweaty. Well, that and the little gesture she’d come bearing.
She tightened her grip on the picnic basket in her hand—packed by her favorite restaurant—and pushed the doorbell, waiting for Caleb to come.
He wasn’t going to like her bringing food. She could sense that already. He seemed to try and cut their personal interactions short. They saw each other in the office, he made noise about looking at her app, and in truth he’d had some very good ideas.
Caleb seemed to understand the client a little better than she did, which, considering the client was women who subscribed to a women’s magazine, that was a little sad, but whatever. And his suggestionshadbeen very valuable.
He was smart, even if he did do his best to play it down. She wasn’t sure why he did that. The more she got to know him, the more confused by the playboy-reprobate-lazy-rich-boy thing he had going.
Because he was more than that, even if he tried desperately to not let her see it.
The door opened and she smiled widely, holding up the basket. “I brought food.”
His gaze flicked over her, that perfected air of cool interest not fooling her for a bit. He wanted her, and he was dying to get her naked. She was confident in that. More than that, she could see it.
For some reason the veneer seemed extra false. Like being suddenly conscious of a painted backdrop in an old film, and then not being able to see anything else.
Caleb Anderson was full of shit. And she knew it. Had known it for a while, really. And yet it had only just become clear to her how false, how brittle, his playboy facade was.
