Along Came Trouble (Camelot 2)

He didn’t know whether she meant no, he hadn’t coerced her, or no, she wouldn’t answer his question. Probably some of both.

“You like me.” He rose from the chair and slowly closed the distance between them. As he drew near, her nipples hardened under the T-shirt. She couldn’t look at him, but it turned her on to have him in range. He could understand that. She did the same thing to him.

He reached out and slid both palms up her legs, under the shirt, over her hips. Pulled her close with his hands moving up the smooth plane of her back, the shirt bunching up over his forearms as her bare stomach brushed against his. She didn’t move away. He wanted her naked again. He wanted her to meet his eyes.

Leaning down, he spoke in her ear. “You like me a lot, Ellen. So why won’t you go out with me?”

She closed her eyes and whispered. “I don’t want a relationship.”

He kissed her throat. “With me?”

“With anyone.”

That made sense. The last one hadn’t gone so well, and she had a lot of responsibilities to juggle. But it was too late. They already had a relationship, and he wasn’t giving her up easily. He wanted her too much, was already risking too much, to let her brush him off.

“You want me to touch you.” He palmed her breast, moved his thumb over her nipple, satisfied when she arched her back and sucked in a deep breath. “Say it.”

“Yes.”

“You want me to take you back to bed.” He pushed the shirt up and lowered his mouth to her breasts.

“Yes.” Breathless now.

Guiding her onto the mattress, he stretched out beside her. Moved his hand between her thighs and dipped his finger into her wet heat. “You want me to be your lover.”

When he kissed her, she plunged her tongue into his mouth and twined her arms around his neck. Murmured against his lips, “Yes.”

“And then you want me to go home.”

She opened her eyes, and he watched her pupils contract as they adjusted to the light. Watched desire do battle with fear. Waited for her to deny it.

“Yes.”

Damn it.

This wasn’t about him. But whatever the asshole had done to her, it was Caleb’s problem to deal with now. He wanted to ask her what had happened. What had made her so stingy with her trust.

Instead, he pulled the shirt over her head and kissed her. He touched her exactly how she wanted to be touched, exactly where she wanted him to touch her. He kept his eyes on her as he brought her to a wild, hard, beautiful climax.

If he could, he’d do this for her every day for the rest of his life. But she’d have to let him.

As she lay there afterward, panting and naked, glowing and gorgeous, he settled down on one elbow next to her and said, “What we’re going to do now, honey, is negotiate.”

Negotiate?

Crap.

She couldn’t even lift her arms, she was so saturated with sex pheromones. Endorphomones. Sexophins. Whatever.

The way she’d understood it, there were rules. She’d seduce Caleb, they’d roll around on the mattress for a while, and then he’d kiss her on the cheek and say, Thanks, baby, that was hot, and he’d go home. Maybe he’d sext her in a day or two, and they’d do it again.

Simple.

But instead he’d given her two toe-curling, soul-scorching orgasms, and then he’d put his arm around her and held her. She’d flipped and flipped through her mental playbook, but damned if she could find the page for that.

So she’d done the logical thing and fled to the bathroom, and she’d come back out channeling Princess Buttercup, all remote and haughty and go-home-now-Farm-Boy, but wow did that ever not work. He’d had her flat on her back inside of two minutes, and the third royal orgasm served up in five.

How could she negotiate when her thighs were still quivering?