His Secret Child. BEVERLY BARTON
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was such a flirt. Such a charmer. Those things about Caleb hadn’t changed. “Oh, all right, I’ll sit in the swing with you for fifteen minutes and then you’ll go home and I’ll go in to bed.”
“Mmm.” He grinned mischievously. “We could skip the fifteen minutes in the swing and forget about my going home and just head straight to your bed.”
She knew he was joking, or at least halfway joking, and wondered how long it had been since he’d laughed and kidded around since the accident.
She sat with him, their side-by-side bodies filling the narrow swing. He slid his arm around her shoulders. She allowed him to touch her, to bring her body close to his, and for a moment she closed her eyes and pretended that there was more than loneliness prompting his actions.
“How long’s it been?” he asked, his voice low and husky.
“How long’s what been?” she replied.
“Since you got some.”
Sheila giggled. “What a question to ask me. You’re certainly not a romantic are you, Caleb?”
“Nope. So?”
“‘So’ what?”
“So, how long has it been since you got some?”
“For your information, I don’t get some,” she said. “I have sex. I make love.”
“Okay. How long’s it been since you had sex or made love?”
“Do you think that’s any of your business?”
“Maybe not.” He slid his left hand beneath her hair and caressed the nape of her neck. She shuddered. “What if I tell you how long it’s been for me? Then will you tell me?”
“Maybe I don’t want to know,” she said.
“Sure you do.” He nuzzled the side of her neck. She shuddered again. “I haven’t had sex in a year. Not since before the accident.”
His tongue circled her ear. Her mouth formed a surprised oval as she silently gasped. “I—I find that hard to believe. I’m sure there have been dozens of women who—” He kissed her ear at the same moment he speared his fingers into her hair and grasped her head. “Caleb, don’t do this to me.”
“I could have gotten it on with some of my nurses and even with a willing fan or two who sneaked into my hospital room, but I was in no shape to fool around. And when I recovered enough to go home to my apartment, I went through several months of deep depression.”
“I’m sorry. Tallie told me how worried she’s been about you.”
“Fess up, honey,” he said. “I told you, so now it’s your turn to tell me. How long’s it been?”
“Five years,” she said softly.
“Five years!” He grabbed her chin and turned her to face him. “Are you saying you haven’t had sex with anyone since your husband died?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“But why?”
“Because I don’t have sex with a man unless he’s important to me, unless I care about him and. . . Don’t look at me that way.”
“What way?” he asked. “How am I looking at you?”
“Don’t.” She jumped up from the swing and headed for the front door, but Caleb caught her before her hand reached the knob.
He encircled her body with his arms and pulled her back up against his chest. “You need me as much as I need you. We could be so good for each other.” He turned her around and lowered his mouth to hers.
Not only did she want his kiss, she accepted it with enthusiasm, opening her mouth for his invasion. Hot and demanding and all-consuming, his tongue pillaged while his big hand held her head in place and his body pressed intimately against hers. His sex pulsed against her mound, requesting permission for entrance.
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