Along Came Trouble: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance (41 page)

“Yeah, that was my favorite part. It was a long time coming. But I liked it when you explained eminent domain to my dad, too.” He glanced around the room. “You probably want a
tour, don’t you?”

“Uh, sure.” She couldn’t really focus on anything but Caleb and the heat in his eyes.

“You’ve already seen the dining room and the living room. Kitchen’s over there,” he said, with a quick jerk of his head. “Bedrooms are this way.”

“Where’s the bathroom?”

He pointed with his elbow. “There.”

“Let me see.”

His brow furrowed, but he spun her around and walked her in that direction. When she took his good hand and led him inside, he said, “None of my fantasies about what we were going to do when Katie left included the bathroom.”

“Sit down.”

Caleb obediently lowered the lid and took a seat on the toilet. Ellen rifled through his vanity cabinet until she found a box of Band-Aids and some antibiotic ointment. She set them on the countertop and washed and dried her hands, then filled the sink with warm water and wet a washcloth she found on the towel rack.

“Give me your hand.”

He raised it, a near-smile playing over his lips as she rested his palm against hers. Her index finger brushed over the tender skin of the inside of his wrist, and she felt the beat of his pulse. It matched the pounding of her own heart.

Ellen reached for the washcloth, squeezed hard to wring it out, and brought it to his knuckles. She cleaned them off as gently as she could, but they wept all over again. Caleb didn’t flinch. He watched her work, accepting this fussy bit of tenderness with more solemnity than she would have expected. She hoped he knew what this meant to her, what she was trying to say to him.
I want to take care of you. I want you to take care of me
.

She patted his hand dry and smoothed ointment over his cuts before wrapping three of his knuckles in Band-Aids. An awkward job. Fingers were so easy to hurt and so hard to fix.

When she’d finished, she clasped his hand in hers and laid it over her heart as she leaned down to kiss him. Their eyes met and held, the soft, dry brush of their lips more significant than any kiss she’d ever offered him.

Caleb cradled the back of her head in his free hand and pulled her closer to deepen the kiss, transforming it from her apology into his own affirmation with the sweep of his tongue into her mouth. She sank into his lap, and he kissed her forever, deep and long. They apologized and confessed, forgave and made promises, all without saying a word.

When he let her go at last, she felt so much better that she wanted to cry, but she smiled instead.

Caleb lifted her off his lap and stood. “We haven’t finished the tour yet.”

“Shouldn’t we talk?”

He grinned. “You came to my house. You couldn’t shut up about how great I am to my mom. You babied me with Band-Aids. I think I’ve got your number, honey.” His hands moved up inside her shirt to her waist.

“How’s that?”

“I think you still have the hots for me.”

“Pretty flimsy evidence.”

He slid his hands up over her breasts, and she gasped when his thumbs found her nipples. “You’re letting me touch you,” he murmured. “You like it.”

Leaning over, he kissed her throat. “You look beautiful,” he said. “And ever since Henry spilled water on your lap, I’ve been trying to guess what you’re wearing under that skirt.”

She smiled as his mouth blazed a warm trail up her neck. “I came here to meet your family. I’m wearing the most boring white cotton underwear you can possibly imagine.”

He groaned and brought her hand to his crotch. “Doesn’t sound boring to me.”

At the feel of the hardening length behind his zipper, desire swept through her, familiar and strong, and she made a helpless noise as her hand tightened around him. “Caleb, I—”

“I was going to come over to your house,” he said, and he began backing her out of the bathroom into a wide, bright hallway. “As soon as the party ended. And I was going to insist that you give me another chance. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about that photographer, and I’m sorry I stuck my nose into your business with Richard. I know you can handle yourself, honey, and I promise I’ll let you. I know you probably don’t want me to love you yet, and that freaked you out. But give me some time. Don’t push me away.”

Her back bumped into a door, and Caleb lowered his head and kissed her, slow and sweet at first, then gradually harder, more aggressive. The low flame of desire between her thighs built to a bonfire. Ellen wrapped her arms around his neck and plastered her body against him, all her doubts burned up in the need to be as close to him as she could get.

He opened the door. “My room.”

“I want you,” she whispered. “The whole you, Caleb. I was lying when I said I didn’t.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I want to ask you questions. Find out … find out your stories. The good ones and the bad ones.”

“I’ve got some pretty bad stories.”

She reached out and rested her palm against the side of his head, brushing her thumb over his temple. His hair was prickly beneath her palm. “But you’re a good man.”

Caleb closed his eyes for a second, but not before she saw his relief. As though he’d been waiting for her to tell him that.

When he opened them, he smiled. The rake’s grin again. He closed the door behind him and spun her around against it. “I’m not all
that
good.”

He dropped to his knees and lifted her skirt. “Tell me I can touch you.”

“Please.” He stroked her with two fingers through the cotton, and when the moisture of her body soaked them, he moaned with pleasure and moved in with his tongue. The sensation of the hot, wet fabric rasping over her clit made her cry out. “You taste amazing.”

“Caleb,” she pleaded.

“Tell me what you need.”

“You. I want you inside me. I need to feel you close.”

He undressed her and led her to the bed, where she helped him out of his clothes. Then it was just the two of them, naked and needy, kissing and touching, and she wanted to tell him everything she’d been holding back so there’d be nothing left to keep them apart.

As he reached for a condom, she said, “I don’t want to be your lover.”

He hesitated, and she clarified, “I want to be your girlfriend.” She plucked the condom out of his hand and began rolling it onto him. “Only nobody says ‘girlfriend’ anymore. You’ll have to call me your ‘significant other’ or your ‘partner’ or something.”

Caleb smiled. “We have a problem, then. I don’t want a significant other.”

“You don’t?” It didn’t seem as though he meant it. He had the fingers of one hand in her hair while the other hand urged her knees up and positioned his cock at her entrance. “What do you want?”

His response was to move inside her, one slow, shallow stroke after another, deeper and deeper until he was all the way in.

“Christ, you feel amazing.” He let out a ragged breath against her neck and propped himself up on his elbows. His eyes were hot and shiny, sparkling with pleasure and something that might have been mischief. “I want
you
, Ellen. I want you to be my wife.”

She let out a weak laugh, so overwhelmed she couldn’t begin to absorb such an absurd statement. “What is it with you and the big revelations right in the middle of sex? Like I’m not knocked flat enough as it is?”

He withdrew nearly all the way, then sank back inside her with a groan that she matched with an extremely unladylike oath. Caleb kissed her, deep and hot, and said against her lips, “I’m playing to my strengths. You don’t have so many defenses up right now. It’s kind of a sneak attack.”

“Very clever.”

“Thank you.”

He withdrew again, slid a hand beneath her to tilt her hips up, and plunged, harder and deeper. This time, the noise she made wasn’t even a word. But her lips found their way to his
name, so she latched onto it, saying “Caleb” as he began to move faster, “Caleb” as he took possession of her in his own bed, passionate and intense. “Caleb,” watching his face as her climax approached, fingers interlaced with his on either side of her head. They came together, one blindingly sweet, hot flash, and she didn’t look away this time, because there was nothing to be afraid of. This was the man she wanted to be with.

As their breathing slowed, she stroked his back and kissed him everywhere she could reach. His mouth, his face, his neck and shoulders. He held his weight on his elbows and looked down at her.

“I’m pretty sure I love you,” she said. It was easy to tell him. Astonishingly, ridiculously easy.

Caleb grinned. “What?”

“I love you.”

He cupped one hand to his ear. “Come again?”

She smacked his shoulder. “I love you, you big goof.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Tell me some more. I’m not tired of it yet.”

“You first.”

This time, he kissed her mouth gently, almost reverently. “I love you, Ellen Sydney Callahan. I want to marry you and take care of you and help you raise your son. I know you probably think it’s too soon for me to be sure about all of that, and I’ll have to give you time to hem and haw and drag this out for about five years until you agree, and that’s all right. I can survive it. Just say you’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Caleb smiled, but then his forehead furrowed. “Wait, was that okay, you’ll think about it, or okay, you’ll marry me?”

Ellen shook her head, laughing at him. “That was ‘Okay, Caleb Mortimer Clark, I think you’re pretty great, and it’s possible that someday, maybe, eventually, I’ll want to marry you.’ Okay?”

“Mortimer?”

“I don’t know your middle name. It’s probably a sign that it’s way too soon for you to be talking about marrying me.”

Caleb smiled and rolled them to the side, wrapping his arms around her so tight she could hardly breathe. “Andrew,” he said against her neck.

“Nice to meet you, Caleb Andrew Clark.” She pushed her fingers through the soft bristles of his hair. “That’s going to look nice on the wedding invitations five years from now.”

“Yeah?” He kissed her again, as happy as she’d ever seen him. Happy, sexy, wonderful, and completely hers.

“Yeah. Hey—” She sat up, struck by a very appealing vision. “Would you get married in uniform, by any chance?”

He shook his head. “I’m not in the army anymore. Why, you have a thing for guys in uniform?”

“Just the one, Sarge.”

As he leaned over to kiss her again, she heard the sound of the garage door opening, accompanied by Henry’s happy babble.

“Damn,” Caleb said. Ellen’s eyes shot to the door. “It’s okay. I locked it,” he reassured her.

“This is going to happen a lot, you know,” Ellen warned him, running her hand over his chest. “Parenthood isn’t as sexy as you might think.”

“I know. But I’m up for it.” His eyes told her he meant it, and her heart told her not to worry. Caleb could handle fatherhood. He could handle anything she threw at him. “Besides,” he added, “Hank has to go to bed sometime, right? And I’m a patient man.”

He rolled off the mattress, tossed her clothes into her lap, and disappeared into the bathroom with his pants. When he came out, she was standing in the middle of the floor pulling her shirt over her head, and he took advantage, planting warm, wet kisses on her stomach while her arms were all tangled up. Ellen giggled. “Stop it.”

“You’re not really going to make me wait five years, are you?” Caleb dragged her into his arms and pressed his forehead against hers. “Because I’m not sure I’m that patient.”

“Maybe three or four.” She managed to keep a straight face when she said it, but the truth was that she’d already made up her mind. Improbable as it seemed, she knew who she wanted to wake up next to every morning for the rest of her life. She didn’t really care how long it took them to get the paperwork signed.

He did, though, and she liked winding him up.

Wrapping her arms around him, she said, “Don’t look so glum. Think about it this way. We both want to get married someday. Now we get to do the fun part.”

“What’s that?”

Parroting his own words back at him, she smiled and said, “What we’re going to do now, honey, is negotiate.”

Epilogue
Three months later

Ellen sat on her front porch with her feet up, sipping a glass of iced tea and watching Caleb rake up leaves while Henry followed him around with his own tiny rake. It was windy—typical for October—and their voices drifted to her on unpredictable currents, so that she caught only snippets of Henry’s questions and Caleb’s patient responses.

Jump now, Cabe?

Not quite yet, buddy. Give me another second to make the pile bigger
.

Then, later,
I’m raking! Cabe, look! I’m raking!

I see you, Hank. That’s awesome. You might want to rethink your technique a little …

Caleb had spent weeks gently correcting Henry every time he mixed up “I” and “you,” and then one morning a switch flipped, and Henry woke up fluent in pronouns. Naturally, Caleb took credit for teaching him, and Ellen smiled and praised them both.

Language development didn’t actually work that way, but she couldn’t help wondering if maybe it did, for Caleb. He had his own fluency in these kinds of things, a talent for coaxing other people into giving him their best. After all, he’d helped Ellen dismantle her own barriers between “you” and “me,” coaxing her slowly out from behind her castle walls until one day she realized that her whole perspective on self-sufficiency had changed.

Her eyes traveled down the slope of the yard to stop at the fence skirting the property line. As fences went, it was handsome enough. Eight feet tall, cedar, stained and weatherproofed, with a deep new flower bed stretching along its length.

She’d negotiated hard for that flower bed. Caleb spread the mulch for her, and she’d selected the plants from the nursery and put them in the earth on her hands and knees. New hostas, bleeding hearts, lungworts. He’d moved her tulip tree and bought her a second one to stand nearby at the corner of the property. None of it looked like much now, but it would grow. It would thrive.