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“Terms for the house?” I must sound like an idiot, repeating his words back to him. But my libido currently has control of my brain.
Caleb stands up and puts some distance between us, and I finally manage to wrestle my brain back under control.
“If you’re actually buying that house and you seriously want me to work on it, then we need to come to some terms of agreement,” Caleb says as he collects our dinner plates. His voice is low and even. As if nothing had occurred between finishing the last of his vegetables and now. The clatter of cutlery is jarring in my head, like bells summoning me back to the word of reason.
Nothing had happened, reason sneers at me coldly. But then what did happen? He touched your face. And you melted into a puddle of need like a virgin on prom night.
The thrumming heat between my legs cools and I feel my cheeks flush with color.
A single—possibly platonic—touch and I’d been ready to turn things sexual. No wonder he’s clearing up and running for the kitchen.
“Right.” The word is barely a crackle in my throat and I have to clear it. “Right, terms. I need to talk to you about supplies, too. I um…”
As he disappears into the kitchen, I take the cold lengths of my hair and press them to my cheeks. Steady girl. Damn, but I could really do with that off button Caleb has.
If there had been any desire to switch off.I’m now seriously wondering if Caleb’s interest had been pure fantasy on my part.
When I hear the coffee machine gurgling in the kitchen, I raise my voice to be heard over it. Good. Caffeine. Perhaps it’ll help.
“Miller, the real estate agent, called me earlier,” I say, “to let me know that there’s no problem with the contract. And I know you want me to get off—er, get out of your spare room asap, so I’m thinking of ordering some of the materials tomorrow.”
Caleb reappears in the door a minute later, mugs in hand.
Every female instinct in me rebels at the sight of him, cool and collected.
Would it be too much to ask him to be just a little flustered?
“If you’re that determined, you’ll have to do it at the library. The internet here, hell across all the Forge, is occasionally good enough to deliver an email but I wouldn’t trust it with orders and transactions. The library is your most secure option. Or Gail’s Diner out on the 321.”
“You’re serious?”
“I told you, this is a backwater place. You sure you want to set your city-self down here?”
I can read it in his face. City-slicker lady, fazed by the lack of online shoe shopping. My hackles rise and I lift my chin. Little does he know that the Forge being cut off from the world—specifically from the headlines that read ‘Racing Legend Crosses Life’s Finish Line’—is precisely the point.
“I’m absolutely sure,” I say. “I’ll drop by the library after my shift tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a long day.”
And with as much dignity as I can manage, I stand, take one of the coffee mugs from him with a nod of thanks, and disappear upstairs to my little, rented bedroom at the very back of the house.
I don’t switch on the light, nor the little lamp with the blue shade beside the bed. I don’t even undress. I just leave the steaming cup untouched on the side table, collapse onto the sheets, and vow to forget everything that happened since Caleb got home.
A vow that proves utterly fruitless.
It takes me six hours of thinking about absolutely nothing else before I finally fall asleep.
