between his fingers. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“You couldn’t control it,” she whispered.
Could he? He was being investigated for murder and yet all he could think of was trailing his mouth along the crook of Caitlyn’s neck. Of bringing her hair to his lips and breathing in her scent. Pushing her back against the couch and making wild love to her.
But he could do none of those things.
“You’re not going to put that in your article are you? I don’t know if some of my fans would understand.”
She shook her head and lifted her chin, offering cherry red lips ripe for tasting.
He dropped her hair, stood and stepped back, tampering the urge to take her right there on the couch. Chances are she’d push him away. No telling what she thought of him. First his mom and now Chad? Did she consider him a killer?
“You did the right thing, Cait. Everything’s fine. They’re gone. They’ll bother somebody else now.”
She offered a fragile smile, meant to convince him she was okay. His heart twinged.
That and something else, lower.
“I need to take a quick shower and get out of these clothes. Then we’ll talk.”
“S-Sure.”
As he showered, he stood under the spray and let the water pelt him. He imagined his concerns like marbles on a racetrack, water washing the debris away. He switched the water to cold. It hurt, but it hurt a lot less than his hard-on. Whoever claimed cold showers were the cure-all obviously hadn’t had his kind. The longing to wrap Caitlyn in his arms and remind himself of everything he’d lost was almost more than he could bear.
How was he going to get this ridiculous assignment to end without hurting her? He had to get her out of his life before the situation nose-dived. Before he did something stupid enough to make him believe they could pick things up where they left off.
Wasn’t going to happen. And no matter how strong his desire for her, he had to stay focused. Sleeping with her, losing her all over again, could harm the carefully controlled life he’d made for himself. Losing his mother wasn’t the only thing that had almost ruined him.
Losing Caitlyn had almost killed him. He couldn’t go through it again.
He braced both hands on the wall and turned the temperature up, welcoming the heat as water poured over his face and down his torso.
He would stand here as long as it took to convince himself his feelings for Caitlyn were memories—only memories—and that it was impossible for him to have feelings for her now, except friendship. Not a deep, abiding type of friendship but a here-and-now kind. He would always care about her as a person.
And what would happen when she realized the cops were here because they considered him a suspect?
Could he trust her not to write anything about the police searching his RV? He could just picture tomorrow’s headlines: ‘Wesley Webb Accused of Murder.’
He didn’t want to believe that about her, but he couldn’t afford to believe anything else.
*
“Why’s your boss so hung up on me?” Wesley grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, twisted the top, and handed one to Caitlyn. He hovered over his beer, his biceps taut and flexed as he placed both elbows on the bar and propped one ankle behind him on the stool’s bottom ring.
She repressed the urge to rise up beside him so his height wouldn’t overwhelm her, but she’d probably fall on her ass in her attempt to stand.
He’d taken a shower and came out wearing black athletic pants, a white t-shirt, and dark wet hair.
Dear Lord.
Water trickled down his neck and colonized his shirt, emphasizing his ripped chest. The cologne she sprayed on her sheets—the bottle of musk, vanilla, and nature she’d have to throw away when she got home if she planned to expunge him from her memories—assaulted her senses.
Calvin Klein smelled better on him.
Caitlyn lowered her gaze, took her pen and clicked it open once or twice, swinging herself back and forth on the
“You couldn’t control it,” she whispered.
Could he? He was being investigated for murder and yet all he could think of was trailing his mouth along the crook of Caitlyn’s neck. Of bringing her hair to his lips and breathing in her scent. Pushing her back against the couch and making wild love to her.
But he could do none of those things.
“You’re not going to put that in your article are you? I don’t know if some of my fans would understand.”
She shook her head and lifted her chin, offering cherry red lips ripe for tasting.
He dropped her hair, stood and stepped back, tampering the urge to take her right there on the couch. Chances are she’d push him away. No telling what she thought of him. First his mom and now Chad? Did she consider him a killer?
“You did the right thing, Cait. Everything’s fine. They’re gone. They’ll bother somebody else now.”
She offered a fragile smile, meant to convince him she was okay. His heart twinged.
That and something else, lower.
“I need to take a quick shower and get out of these clothes. Then we’ll talk.”
“S-Sure.”
As he showered, he stood under the spray and let the water pelt him. He imagined his concerns like marbles on a racetrack, water washing the debris away. He switched the water to cold. It hurt, but it hurt a lot less than his hard-on. Whoever claimed cold showers were the cure-all obviously hadn’t had his kind. The longing to wrap Caitlyn in his arms and remind himself of everything he’d lost was almost more than he could bear.
How was he going to get this ridiculous assignment to end without hurting her? He had to get her out of his life before the situation nose-dived. Before he did something stupid enough to make him believe they could pick things up where they left off.
Wasn’t going to happen. And no matter how strong his desire for her, he had to stay focused. Sleeping with her, losing her all over again, could harm the carefully controlled life he’d made for himself. Losing his mother wasn’t the only thing that had almost ruined him.
Losing Caitlyn had almost killed him. He couldn’t go through it again.
He braced both hands on the wall and turned the temperature up, welcoming the heat as water poured over his face and down his torso.
He would stand here as long as it took to convince himself his feelings for Caitlyn were memories—only memories—and that it was impossible for him to have feelings for her now, except friendship. Not a deep, abiding type of friendship but a here-and-now kind. He would always care about her as a person.
And what would happen when she realized the cops were here because they considered him a suspect?
Could he trust her not to write anything about the police searching his RV? He could just picture tomorrow’s headlines: ‘Wesley Webb Accused of Murder.’
He didn’t want to believe that about her, but he couldn’t afford to believe anything else.
*
“Why’s your boss so hung up on me?” Wesley grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, twisted the top, and handed one to Caitlyn. He hovered over his beer, his biceps taut and flexed as he placed both elbows on the bar and propped one ankle behind him on the stool’s bottom ring.
She repressed the urge to rise up beside him so his height wouldn’t overwhelm her, but she’d probably fall on her ass in her attempt to stand.
He’d taken a shower and came out wearing black athletic pants, a white t-shirt, and dark wet hair.
Dear Lord.
Water trickled down his neck and colonized his shirt, emphasizing his ripped chest. The cologne she sprayed on her sheets—the bottle of musk, vanilla, and nature she’d have to throw away when she got home if she planned to expunge him from her memories—assaulted her senses.
Calvin Klein smelled better on him.
Caitlyn lowered her gaze, took her pen and clicked it open once or twice, swinging herself back and forth on the
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