The Ruthless Caleb Wilde

“You crazy man,” she said, “buying me all this!”

“Just so you know,” he said, straight-faced, “I have a no-returns policy.”

She laughed. So did he. He put down the snifter, opened his arms and she flew into them. Her laughter turned to tears and when he asked why she was crying she said it was because she was so happy.

“Right,” he said, gathering her closer, feeling her tears on his throat.

No wonder the idea of baring his soul to her scared the crap out of him.

That was why finding the right time, the right place to give her the ring and tell her he loved her was so important.

Women didn’t operate on the same emotional plane as men. They were impossible to predict, impossible to comprehend, and, God, holding her like this was everything.

But it wasn’t enough.

So he kissed her. Caressed her. Took her to bed.

And he knew it was crazy but he wanted to tell her he loved her when he could concentrate on finding the right words, and he couldn’t concentrate on anything but this, this, when she was naked beneath him; this, when he was deep, so deep inside her …

By the time sanity returned, they were running late.

The concierge had snagged him last-minute dinner reservations at Daniel and front-row-center tickets for a play that had just opened to glowing reviews.

The restaurant was perfect, as always; the service impeccable, the meal itself elegant—but it wasn’t the place to give her the ring and tell her he loved her because if he did, they’d never make it to the theater, and the entire evening, from start to finish, was all for her.

At the theater, while she watched the actors, Caleb watched her, loving her total concentration, her absolute stillness. He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed her fingers.

“Hey,” he said so

ftly, at the end of the first act, and she gave him a private, tender smile that leached the fear right out of him.

She loved him.

He was certain of it.

All he had to do was get through the next couple of hours and then he could tell her what was in his heart.

At last, they were going home. Well, not “home” but to the penthouse suite that had become their own private world.

They rode the elevator in the best kind of silence, she with her head on his shoulder, he with his arm tightly around her waist. When they reached their door, Caleb opened it, then swung her up into his arms and elbowed the door shut behind him.

He was done with waiting.

It was time.

He kissed her. Set her down slowly on her feet …

And saw the blinking red light on the sitting-room telephone.

No, he told himself, dammit, no! He was not putting this off for another minute …

“There’s a message,” Sage said.

Caleb shook his head. “It’s only a message if we listen to it.”

She laughed. “A lovely thought, but don’t you want to find out what it is?”

“No.” He locked his hands at the base of her spine. She leaned back, raised her arms, draped them around his neck, hands linked at the nape. “I’m not interested in messages tonight. That’s why I shut off my cell phone hours ago.”