After a while, Sissy’s breathing became deep and even, and with her safe, he let himself follow her lead. The war was still going on; Devina was out there and so was the soul; time was passing.
But in this room … there was peace—and he was hard-pressed to say that he and Sissy didn’t deserve it, at least for a little while.
Chapter Twenty-three
Talk about your one-eighties.
As Cait sat at her desk and stared out at the overcast, gloomy morning, she was a shadow of yesterday’s productive artist: She’d been sitting here, staring at a blank page for well over an hour. And this was after she’d slept through her alarm, and then wasted another twenty minutes just lying in bed and enjoying the aching stiffness that lingered in her legs … and various other places—
Riiiiiing. Riiiiing.
Cait slammed her hand over her cell phone, grabbing it and turning the thing over. Local area code. Local exchange. This could be—
“Hello?” she said breathlessly.
“Hi, this is Cindy over at…”
As Cindy from Cindy’s Alterations and More informed her that the suit, pants, and two skirts she’d had taken in were ready, Cait wanted to scream. Instead, she led with, “Oh, thank you. Yes, I’ll be over to pick them up today, or tomorrow at the latest.”
Hanging up, she knew that waiting for a maybe-never phone call from Duke was not helping her workload. But it was impossible not to jump anytime that phone rang—which had been, like, twelve times. For whatever reason, anyone she’d dialed recently or contracted for work was getting back to her this morning.
Not Duke, though.
And perhaps it was a good idea to point out to herself that he might never call. Given that she’d only left him, what, seven hours ago, it was way too early to give up hope, but still. He wouldn’t have been the first man to take a number in postcoital bliss, only to have his head clear later and realize the woman wasn’t his type.
He hadn’t even written her digits down.
Riiiiiiing. Riiiiinnng.
This time Cait didn’t bother to check her screen. It was probably her accountant calling about taxes. Or a neighbor telling her they were putting on a back porch and going to be working right next to her office for the next twelve weeks. Or Flo from Progressive. The frickin’ gecko from GEICO.
“Hello.”
“I thought about you all night long.”
Bolting to attention, Cait gripped her phone as the rough male voice shot into her ear and went right through her body.
“Hello?” Duke said.
Oh, right, she was supposed to purr something in exchange. “Ah, hi.”
Wow. She was a real Angelina Jolie over here.
“I want to see you.”
Boom. No preamble, no sweet talk, and no awkwardness: Clearly the man talked in the same way he had sex. And what do you know, she responded the same way she had at the club: Instant. Arousal.
“Where?” Two could play the straight-up game.
“I have the night off. Dinner—the Riverside Diner. Six.”
Cait started to smile so wide her cheeks hurt. “Dinner, huh?”
“I have fairly good table manners. And I figure, since what we’re doing isn’t your style, it might make you feel more comfortable.”
The words were gruff, and the thoughtfulness a surprise—and probably because of both, she was especially touched.
“I’d love that.”
“Good.” There was a pause. “Don’t wear a bra.”
“Why,” she breathed.
“Why do you think.”
Cait closed her eyes and swayed, images of his head down at her br**sts, his mouth sucking and licking, hitting her hard. “Okay.”
“I want you under me again,” he growled.
That was his good-bye.
As she hung up on her end, she actually fanned herself with her hand, something she’d assumed people only did in TV commercials and bad sitcoms. And then she couldn’t hold it in. Bursting up from her workstation, she ran around her house like a crazy person, making a bizarre kind of eeeee noise as she completed the circuit back to her desk.
At which point there might have been some pirouetting.
Putting her hands over her mouth, she immediately started wondering what she should wear. She needed to go to the dry cleaner’s—there was a low-cut blouse that she could throw on. And maybe she could hit Talbots at the mall and see if they were having a sale. A new pair of slacks would be nice…
A quick check of the clock had her cursing. Ten o’clock.
Damn it. She was already out of time for the morning—
God, the way he’d moved inside of her, those massive shoulders bunching up above her, his body surging, his eyes glowing.
And that voice of his.
Sitting back down, she put her head in her hands. She couldn’t believe she was going to get to have that again in, what, eight hours. Well, maybe nine and a half, depending on how long dinner took.
Made fast food really damned appealing.
Arby’s, anyone?
As her phone went off again, she accepted the call immediately, hoping it was him dialing back just so they could have the same conversation all over again. “Hello?”
“Are you still speaking to me?”
Cait winced. “Oh, G.B., hi.”
As the first half of the night came back to her, the guilt rolled in along with a shiver of the fear, as if her insides were switching railroad tracks.
“I’m so sorry, Cait. Oh, my God, I couldn’t believe I got tied up like that…”
With his heartfelt explanation of everything washing over her, she scrambled for what she was going to say when he asked her out again. Originally, she’d been really happy that he’d invited her to the theater, but now? It was as if the road in front of her had a curve in it, and her new direction was away from him, not toward him.
“… lunch?”
“What?” she said, coming back to attention.
“I just wanted to know if you’d be free for lunch downtown? I’m back at the theater today, rehearsing for Rent—and I really want to make it up to you.”
“Well, I have a class to teach at eleven.” And if she didn’t get her butt in gear, she was going to be late. “It gets out at one. I could be downtown by one thirty—I’m not sure if that fits into your schedule?”
“I’ll make it work. Come to the theater—and this time I can get you back no problem, because it’s just a rehearsal, not a performance.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll see you then—”