Dirty Little Secrets (Dirty Little Secrets #1) (14 page)

“What’s going on here?” I ask, mostly teasing, but still kind of confused.
 

Caleb gives me a mischievous grin. “I’m making you dinner.”
 

“That’s why you rolled up your sleeves?” I say, as I pour two glasses of wine.
 

“Mmm-hmm. I mean business.”
 

“Here I thought you were trying to turn me on.”
 

Caleb laughs as he walks to the other side of the kitchen. “There is no trying as far as that’s concerned.” He winks before he disappears into the pantry, the smug bastard.

When Caleb comes out, he puts the items that he’s carrying down onto the countertop, one by one. He looks at me, gauging my reaction to the weirdest group of ingredients I’ve ever seen in my life.
 

“You’re using bread, hazelnut spread, apples, and…what is that? Cheddar? Is that all…going together?”
 

“This is freshly baked bread, I’ll have you know.”
 

“Baked by whom?” Surely Caleb did not bake this bread himself.
 

“By a lovely woman who mans the oven at one of the best bakeries on the Upper West Side. I bought the cheddar this afternoon from the cheesemonger, and the hazelnut spread came from a gourmet shop down the street.”
 

“Ooooh,” I say, trying to sound impressed and not as grossed out as I feel looking at the ingredients for what is sure to be an interesting dinner. “What about the apples?”
 

Caleb shrugs. “I have no idea where those came from.”
 

“And you’re going to let them taint this
gourmet
concoction that you’re gonna cook up?” It’s a last-ditch effort at goading him into not making whatever it is that he’s about to make. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to an orchard in Connecticut? Pick some fresh, organic apples?”
 

A slow smile blooms on his lips, and for a second I think I might be successful here, but then he pulls out a cutting board and knife. “Nope, these will do
just
fine.”
 

Okay, so, there’s no getting out of this. I’m looking forward to watching Caleb make whatever it is he’s about to make, I’m not so sure about eating it.
 

“Do you have an apron, or are you just going to risk getting that nice shirt dirty.”
 

“I’ll have you know that I
do
have an apron,” he says, teasing. “Well, I
did
have one. Felicity gave it to me as a joke.”
 

“What was the joke?”
 

“That I don’t know how to cook. The apron caught on fire when I leaned over a burner once.”
 

I stifle my laugh with the back of my hand. “Yeah, that’s generally not a good idea.”
 

“Unfortunately I found that out the hard way.”
 

“You know, telling me you’re a bad cook isn’t doing much to inspire confidence in this particular meal. Especially not with the ingredient list.”
 

“I may not be a good cook, but this? This is my specialty,” he says, opening the loaf of bread. He pulls a bread knife out of a drawer and begins slicing it. “And you’re gonna love it.”
 

“How, exactly, did a terrible cook like you get a specialty?” I ask, sliding his glass of wine across the island, so it sits in front of him.
 

He puts four slides of bread to the side, and finds a smaller knife in the drawer beside him. He cuts a few small slices into one of the apples, and says, “My mom used to make it for me. It was the only thing she knew how to cook herself.” There’s a wistful smile on his face, and it makes my heart ache. Even if Felicity hadn’t let the information about his parents slip earlier, I would’ve known there was a painful story behind this dinner. “Our cook taught me when I was a teenager. I don’t make it very often, but…” he shrugs, and I know that’s as far as the story is going to go tonight.
 

I could very easily look up information about Caleb’s family on the internet. Once I found out his last name, I discovered some cursory things, but I didn’t go digging very far. I figure he was at a distinct disadvantage between the two of us. Since Caleb is rich and has put together some fairly lucrative business deals, it isn’t hard to get the scoop on his past and his life. I’m not so easy to find on the internet, so I figured I’d level the playing filed by not looking up anything about him. Whatever I know about him is going to come from him (or, after this afternoon, his friends). No cheating.
 

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” I tell him. And I’m not even placating him this time. “So, what exactly is this sandwich?”
 

He spreads butter on the bread he’s sliced. “It’s hazelnut spread, cheddar, and sliced apples. Kind of like an exotic grilled cheese.”
 

The thought of it isn’t exactly appealing, but I’m gonna give it a try.
 

“My mom’s specialty was club crackers and fake cheese,” I tell him with a smile. “I’ll save you from that one.”
 

Caleb arches his brow. “Fake cheese?”
 

“Yeah,” I tell him, sliding my finger along the edge of the stem of my wine glass. “Processed cheese? Fake? The kind that’s really orange and delicious?”
 

“I’m not familiar with it.”
 

“Oh, well…Maybe I won’t save you from that one after all. It’s not a dinner, more like a snack.”
 

“I’d love to try it,” he says, grinning at me.
 

“You might wish you hadn’t felt that way after you do,” I reply, laughing.
 

Caleb turns and opens a few cabinet doors, looking for a pan, maybe. I find it funny that the man has no idea how to cook, yet spent who knows how much money on remodeling this place with top-of-the-line appliances, and the nicest cabinets and countertops I’ve ever seen in person. I know there’s a certain mindset that makes you want the best when you can afford it, but it amuses me that he doesn’t even know where his pans are. Pans that I’m sure are top-of-the-line, too.
 

Him cooking for me is a sweet gesture, made sweeter by the fact that he’s making something for me that reminds him of his mother. I’d take something intimate and personal like this over a thousand fancy dinners, and it occurs to me that I should probably make something for him some day soon. Considering I actually know how to use all this mind-blowingly amazing equipment. I make a mental note to find out what some of his favorite foods are; maybe I’ll surprise him one night when I know he’s had a long day at the office.
 

Caleb finally finds the pan he was looking for, and I watch him as he carefully assembles the sandwiches, a small smile on his face all the while. I get a pretty nice view when he turns his back to me to put the sandwiches in the pan, and I lean back in my chair and enjoy the view while I sip on the rest of my glass of wine.
 

Once the sandwiches are cooked, he takes the time to plate them neatly. I have to admit, these smell pretty good. They look pretty good, too.
 

He puts a handful of chips on one plate, and then the other. “These are homemade,” he tells me proudly.
 

“In whose home?” I tease.
 

He reaches over and takes the chips off of my plate and heaps them on to his.
 

“Hey!” I reply, reaching over and snagging one before he can pull his plate away.
 

“Make fun of the cook, and this is what you get!”

He’s grinning as he walks around the island and takes his seat next to me.
 

“Okay,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “Tell me what you think.”
 

I take a bite. I have to smile, because as weird as I thought it would be, this sandwich? It’s amazing.

“Good?” he asks, practically sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting for my reaction.
 

“Delicious,” I tell him honestly.
 

“Yeah?”
 

I nod enthusiastically. “Yeah.”
 

He turns in his chair, ready to eat, and I can see that he’s just so pleased. Happiness is radiating off of him, and I think it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
 

“Hey,” I say, sliding my hand up his shoulder.
 

When I lean over and kiss him, he smiles against my lips.
 

“Thank you for sharing this with me.” The sandwich, the story behind it. Everything.
 

He cups my cheek and says, “You’re welcome.”
 

When it’s dark outside, and I’m in Caleb’s bed, lying in his arms, it’s easy to forget about everything that exists outside of the walls of this apartment. It’s difficult not to get lost in him, in the way he makes me feel when he touches me, the hot brand of his lips against my skin. Even when we’re apart, I remember the way the soft scratch of his chin feels against the crook of my neck when he nuzzles in and kisses me there.
 

I think about the way it feels when Caleb holds me, when he cradles me against his body. To say that I’m missing him right now is an understatement. Sure, he’s right
here
but my whole body is aching for him. We haven’t had sex since before I was robbed, and I miss the weight of him on top of me. I miss the way my thigh muscles stretch when I’m straddling him. I miss the feeling of him inside me, and the way his body stiffens and his face goes slack as he calls out my name when he comes.
 

To say I’m desperate for him would be putting it mildly.
 

That’s why I’m kissing my way along his chest, licking his abs, and nibbling on his skin. My hands are everywhere, and Caleb has—thankfully—not turned me down yet, although there’s this niggling fear in the back of my mind that he’s going to do that the very second I give him a chance to come to his senses. Good thing I don’t plan on giving him that kind of chance.
 

He’s really into it, and pretty far gone, from what I can tell. His chest is rumbling with quiet sounds of pleasure, and his fingers are threaded through my hair, cupping the back of my head.
 

When I slide my hand down to grip his cock, that’s when I know I’ve taken this a little too far, a little too fast.
 

He stiffens, and not in the good way.
 

“Mia,” he says reluctantly. His voice is tight, like he’s doing everything in his power to keep a tight leash on his control.

“Don’t tell me that we can’t,” I warn, and I keep kissing my way across his body.
 

“We can’t. Not yet.”
 

I lean up on my elbows, so I can look him in his lust-filled eyes when I plead my case. “My head is fine, Caleb. You’re not going to fuck me into a concussion.”
 

The backs of his fingers tenderly slide across my still swollen cheek. He’s hesitating a little, considering my argument. I’ve got him turned on enough that it’s probably difficult for him to remember all the reasons he’s convinced himself that we shouldn’t be doing this. The way he’s looking at my cheek, though…that’s when it hits me.
 

I roll off of him—onto my back—and desperately try to make the sting of tears behind my eyes disappear. I don’t want to cry in front of him, that’s not fair.
 

“I get it,” I say, rubbing at my eyes. “Me looking like this isn’t hot for you.”
 

“Mia,” he replies gently. “No. That’s not it. I don’t care what you look like, I…look at me. Will you look at me, please?”
 

I roll over onto my side, and reluctantly my gaze finds his. He gives me a gentle smile, then presses his lips against mine.
 

“You’re beautiful, and I want you. I think that much is fairly obvious.” He gestures at his groin, and I can’t help but laugh. “Just…I’ll feel better if we wait a day or two. Can you do that for me?”
 

Caleb pulls me in, snuggling me against his chest. “Yeah,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment. “I can do that.”
 

“I’ll make it worth the wait.” His voice is all low and seductive, and it’s really not fair.
 

“Don’t tease me if you’re not going to follow through.”

“Fair enough,” Caleb says, and I can hear his smile in his voice. He shifts our bodies so that we’re both lying on our sides. His legs settle behind mine, and he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me back against him, cuddling my head beneath his chin.
 

“We can do other things, you know,” he says, planting a kiss on my neck.
 

“Don’t tease me.” I sound irritated as I swat at his arm, and I am. I’m so irritated with him for not having sex with me, that it makes me even more irritated that he thinks he can just kiss me like that without the promise of something more.
 

“I’m sorry.” He twines our fingers together, and says, “Tell me something about you.”

“That’s one way to derail things,” I reply, laughing.
 

He gives me a squeeze. “C’mon. Tell me.”
 

“Like what?”
 

“Like…something I don’t know.”
 

Oh, there’s so much he doesn’t know about me, and if I tell him any of the most recent big developments in my life, he’s going to push me out of his strong, warm arms. He’s going to ask me to leave his bed, his apartment, and his life. He’s clearly feeling a little sentimental today, after making me dinner and sharing the story about his mother with me. It makes me want to share some of the things I hold dear with him, although I think that’s a conversation that I’m going to have to ease my way into.
 

Maybe I should start small, and see where this goes from there.
 

“When I was a kid, I had a pet rabbit named Piglet.”