parents back in the days when they’d thought he’d amount to something.
Those times had passed. The thing was going on a wing and a prayer, the paint on the hood faded, the bumpers uneven from various impacts, one wheel sporting a mismatched rim because there hadn’t been money to get the proper replacement. And yet Rolly was happy enough with it.
Always would be.
Which was sad, and kind of nice, too.
Getting behind the wheel of his truck, Duke refused to let himself think too much about where he was going and why. The emotions were too complex for him to process—and maybe he didn’t like the directions they were pulling him in.
He had started this thing with Cait to get in the way of that singer with the fake-ass, sensitive, Mr. Nice Guy act.
Now, though, that goal seemed very secondary.
And that was terrifying. The woman was supposed to be a lay, nothing more. That was not how things were trending, though—and he had no clue how to handle it all.
Life had already taught him that love was a dangerous fallacy, and women, as with all people, were incredibly fickle. Like he needed to relearn all that?
Yet it was with a singular fixation that he drove into Caldwell, peeling off the Northway when he got to a residential area full of small houses and little neighborhood shops. The address Cait had given him was not one he was familiar with, but then, this was where young families lived—and he’d never been a part of one of those.
Counting the numbers down, he pulled over in front of a white clapboard with clipped bushes, a tended-to lawn and a detached garage out in back. Her SUV, the Lexus, was parked off to the side.
For some reason, he couldn’t get out, and he passed the time staring at her house. There were two windows upstairs, one of which had a light on in it. Downstairs, there was a broad bay to balance the offset front door, and plenty of illumination, including a glowing fixture right over the entrance.
Kind of like a postcard, and yeah, he could have called this. Cait struck him as the sort of person who’d have a tidy home.
He nearly kept going.
Gripping the steering wheel, he thought … this was wrong. Not his larger purpose, no. But this part of it, the part with her.
Cursing, he glared out at the road ahead of him. “Goddamn it.”
Man, this inner conflict bullshit was
Collateral damage happened. And she was an adult, capable of making her own decisions—and it wasn’t like he’d coerced her into the sex. Far from it.
“Shit.”
Forcing his hand forward, he turned off the engine and got out because he didn’t know what else to do with himself. The instant he faced the house, however, a surge went through him and clarified things, reminding him that there was another dimension in play in all this.
God, the sex.
He hadn’t expected it to get so out of control. When he’d seen her behind that cafe, he’d felt the attraction— then at the club, he’d followed through on it. But he’d assumed those hard-core orgasms had been because of the satisfaction to be had in taking something G.B. wanted. At the boathouse last night, however, he’d begun to think there was more to it than that.
And now, as he walked up and pushed the doorbell, he was sure of it.
He wanted to see her naked this time; take her on something soft like a bed so he didn’t have to worry about bruising her; do her from behind and then with her straddling him.
The extent to which he needed the sex was a warning—
The door opened—and oh, shit, there she was. And for a split second, the impact of her in that loose navy blue dress flushed his brain, his senses overriding his thought processes entirely.
“Hi,” she said roughly.
As her hand went up and fiddled with the collar, she seemed off.
Frowning, he looked behind her, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else in the house. Maybe that was the problem?
“You okay with this?” he asked. “We can go somewhere public if you’d rather.”
After all, she’d only met him a matter of days ago—
“No. I want you here. As long as you … you know, you’re all right with it?”
In lieu of an answer, he stepped forward, took hold of her, and kissed the breath out of her. He just wanted to have her against him, and only intended for a quick reconnect—but of course, once he got his hands on her, that went right out the window. With her breasts against his chest, and her mouth under his, his body got hungry.
Starved, was more like it.
Fucking hell, her lips were so soft against his, and the way she yielded to him, her spine arching into him, made him want to lay her out right on the floor and—
Duke pulled away and shut the door so they didn’t give her neighbors a show. And as he paused to stare down at her, the fact that she was breathing hard and looking up at him as if he were already naked in her eyes?
Just where he wanted her.
“Hi,” he drawled, brushing back some of her blond hair. “Miss me?”
The smile on her face made his sternum ache. “Yes, I did.”
“I smell dinner?”
“Lasagna. Just homemade—I didn’t know whether you would …” As she let that fade, she put her hand on his face, shaking her head. “God, every time I see you…”
“What.”
“I just forget what you look like. Until you’re in front of me.”
“Good or bad.”
For a moment, her expression changed as if she were taken somewhere else in her head. But then she shook things and seemed to refocus. “Good, very good.”
Duke did some touching of his own, running his fingertips down her neck. “Do you think we’ll make it through dinner this time?”
Man, he was amazing, Cait thought as she absorbed the sight and feel of her lover. To think her memories seemed vivid? They so didn’t compare to the real thing.
Wait, he’d asked her a question, hadn’t he.
Something about making it to dinner?
“I don’t know,” she said slowly as erotic flashbacks made her feel dizzy. Still, talking like civilized people for half an hour was probably a good short-term goal. Then they could … “Ah, let me show you around—not that there’s much to show.”
That awkwardness, the discordant, off-kilter stuff that she’d felt at the diner after the boathouse hookup, came back—and made her wonder about having him to her home.
He was, after all, still a stranger, technically.
Too late now, though.
Before she got a chance to lead any kind of tour, Duke glanced over her head with a remote expression. “Nice place. But I like the looks of its owner even more.”
“You haven’t seen anything.” She flushed. “I mean, of my home.”
He shrugged. “This place could be the Taj Mahal and I’d think the same thing.”
She pivoted away so the blush that hit her face wasn’t quite so obvious. At least the sexual connection was still alive and well between them. “So … this is the living room.”
She stopped the narration there or she was liable to point out such exotic features as the couch, the TV, the lamp on the side table … the frickin’ rug.
