The Ruthless Caleb Wilde

A muscle knotted in Caleb’s jaw. She was looking at him the same way she’d looked at him the night they’d met, equal parts trust and fear in her lovely face.

“Challenging, maybe.” He drew her closer. “But we’ll be fine, Sage. What we’re doing is right. For the baby. And for us.” He hesitated. “What I said before. About us being good together. It’s—it’s more than that. I, ah, I care for you. You matter to me. You—you—”

There were words swimming around in his head, but none that made sense, which meant it was safer to kiss her than to try and say anything more.

“I’ve been a fool,” he said gruffly. “I asked you to marry me, and then I tried to go on as if nothing had changed.”

She nodded. “I understand. It’s—it’s a huge thing we’re doing. Getting married. Raising our child together.”

“Yeah. It is. But it’s the right thing, and we both know it.” He stroked her hair back from her face. “I don’t want to take charge of your life, Sage. I only want to—to find the best way to make this work.”

Sage sighed. His arms tightened around her; she put her head on his shoulder and leaned into him, into all that strong, protective, masculine warmth.

“It’s hard for me,” she said softly, “hard to, you know, walk away from everything familiar.”

He nodded. Told himself the way to do this was to keep it light.

“I know. Heck, who would willingly give up this magnificent apartment?”

She drew back a little, her palms against his chest, and looked at him.

“And your neighbors. That pair of charming gentlemen I was fortunate enough to meet, for instance. I can only imagine how you’ll miss them.”

That won him a tiny smile.

“And the view. The ambience. The furnishings.”

“Hey,” she said, “this is vintage stuff.”

“Especially that sofa. It must date back fifty years.”

“Seventy-five,” she said, “according to the Salvation Army, but who’s counting?”

Caleb grinned. “Have we left anything out?”

Her smile flickered to life again.

“Only the mouse that lives behind the kitchen sink.”

“Ah. You didn’t tell me you had a pet.”

She laughed. Really laughed. He grinned, and then he rose to his feet and brought her to her feet, too. His grin faded; his eyes turned so dark a blue they were almost black.

“We’re going to be okay,” he said softly. “You’ll see.”

“It’s just … I grew up poor, Caleb. In a small town. Just the opposite from you.”

“You haven’t seen Wilde’s Crossing,” he said with a quick smile. “Talk about small—”

“You know what I mean. We come from such different backgrounds …”

“We do,” he said gravely. “Like Jake and Addison. Different as night and day, but what can you expect when a Texan marries a Yankee?”

That won him another smile.

“Seriously, Addison had to make so many changes—”

“Not Jake?”