The Ruthless Caleb Wilde

“Only good ones,” he said, as he took her in his arms and kissed her.

“Ahem. Sir? Madam?”

A liveried doorman stood beside the car, trying his best not to smile.

Sage blushed. Caleb grinned.

“I’ll need the valet to take my car,” he said.

“Of course, sir.”

The doorman reached for the door handle, which gave Caleb enough time to lean in and give Sage one last, quick kiss.

“Stop that,” she whispered, but her cheeks were rosy, her eyes were bright, and she was laughing.

Caleb stepped from the car, whistling, and tossed the keys to the uniformed kid who’d just shown up. Sage thanked the doorman as he offered her his hand and courteously helped her onto the sidewalk.

“Welcome to Hotel New York,” he said with a polite smile.

Caleb slid his arm around her waist.

“Should we tell him he has it wrong?” he whispered, his lips against her ear.

Sage looked up at her lover’s smiling face, and felt her heart flood with emotion.

When could she tell him what he meant to her?

Or was there such a thing as taking honesty a step too far?

His suite was beautiful.

Big. Bright. Airy.

“No funerals allowed here,” Caleb said solemnly.

The sitting-room windows overlooked Central Park, as did those in the bedroom. A small formal dining room opened just off the sitting room; a master bath Sage figured was almost the size of her entire apartment opened off the bedroom.

But what made her catch her breath on a long “ooh” of delight were the flowers.

Roses and tulips, orchids and daisies, varieties she couldn’t possibly have named, standing tall and elegant in crystal vases, nodding gracefully in white ceramic bowls, drooping like elegant ballerinas in pale blue pottery jugs.

“Oh, Caleb,” she said, her face glowing with pleasure. “Did you arrange for this?”

Was he blushing? He hadn’t even known he could blush, but he could feel the heat rising into his face.

“Do you like them?” he said, his voice gruff. “I wasn’t sure what kinds of flowers you liked best, so—”

She flung herself into his arms.

He held her close. Closer still. Buried his face in her hair and felt—felt his eyes blur.

What was happening to him? Because something definitely was. What had started as The Right Thing was turning into something more.

“I wanted this day, this night, to be special for you,” he said.

She looked up, her eyes brilliant with tears.

“You’re what’s special,” she said, “you, Caleb, you—”