Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

No matter if he’d only ever been teasing, she was all his. A man who provided the necessaries of life—a roof over her head and chocolate after midnight? What more did a woman need?

She refused to think of sex.

A couple of minutes later he spoke again. ‘How bad is your budget?’

Caitlin smiled wryly. No point in trying to hide the obvious. ‘Pretty bad.’

Frankly she wasn’t bothered this instant because she’d seen that Broadway show tonight and she was staying in this incredible location, less than an arm’s reach from the hottest guy she’d ever met. A guy who slept in little and always carried chocolate with him—

‘A month in New York with no money?’ He summed up her life.

‘Yes, but that’s okay,’ she said doggedly. ‘I have a roof over my head. I have eyes.’

‘So you can do your seeing.’ James shook his head and passed the rest of his chocolate over the pillows. Hell, he wanted her to ‘do’ too. He wanted her to do him. And could anyone blame him when she was in one of his T-shirts again, all glowing from the shower with her long legs and sparkly eyes, full of smiles and simmering anticipation.

‘You should sleep,’ she said, sounding apologetic.

As if that were going to happen when she’d looked like that. Tired but flushed—excited. He listened to the soft sounds as she settled into the bed—so she was ready to snooze? At least she had a little something sweet in her stomach now.

Hell. He really wanted to lick the remaining taste of chocolate from her lips.

He drew a breath and held it as he tried to calm the riot inside his body. Good thing he’d built the pillows up so high, given the way his body was straining to attention. This was worse than he’d imagined it’d be. No way was he managing two weeks of this kind of torture. He’d phone Lisbet in the morning and insist on a placement somewhere—anywhere.

A few minutes later he heard Caitlin rustle again. Then again. Restless? As restless as he? He grinned in the darkness. He knew all about exciting days in foreign cities and sensorial overload. It took a while to relax, no matter how physically exhausted you were. You needed time to mentally unwind after such a stint of fierce sightseeing. The rustling sounded again.

‘You can’t sleep?’ he asked.

‘Sorry.’ Her soft voice filled him with warmth. ‘Am I keeping you awake? I can’t stop thinking.’

Yeah, he knew how that felt too. And he knew a cure—a focus on physical pleasure. Even the most stressed person could find that mindless relief that came after physical completion. But it wasn’t something he did when on assignment. A few of the guys did. Some of the things they saw when on task compelled a need to affirm life. Or find an escape. So they hooked up with nurses. Or maybe visited a local late-night lady. But some of those women the guys visited had no escape. They needed money desperately enough to do anything. Emotions were fraught. James thought it was easier, safer for all, to steer clear altogether. He encouraged his team to do the same.

But here he was. Home. Safe. And unable to think of anything but Caitlin and what he’d do to her the second he got the chance. He was out of control.

‘Tell me about the show,’ he almost begged her. Anything to stop the lusty images pelting through his mind.

‘It was amazing. Crystal Sugar. You seen it?’

‘No. Should I?’

‘Hell, yes,’ she answered fervently. ‘It’s incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. Not even in London. The costumes were ah-may-zing.’

‘Costumes?’ He grinned and listened to her talk on. So she was a showgirl at heart? It certainly hadn’t taken much to pop that cork and get her flowing. Good. It was a perfect neutral topic. Because he wasn’t going to get personal. They were just sharing a sleeping space. Nothing more complicated than that. ‘You wish you were up there onstage?’

‘Oh, no.’ She sounded appalled.

‘Just a fan?’ She seemed too enthralled for that.

There was a momentary pause. ‘I really do like the costumes. That’s what I studied. Costume design.’

‘Wow.’ She was a designer? ‘That’s great.’ But it didn’t quite seem right to him. She looked more suited to limelight than lurking in the wings. With those aquamarine eyes, the blonde hair, the camera-conscious sleek figure, she was the epitome of starlet-in-waiting. ‘So that’s what you want to do? You’re not really a wannabe actress hoping to make it big here?’

‘Never.’ Oddly, her laugh verged on hysterical. ‘No. I’m all for the costumes. I like the backstage stuff. I’d love to get a wardrobe technician job here.’

‘And a wardrobe technician...?’

‘Preserves the integrity of the costumes, keeps them pristine and looking the way the designer envisioned,’ she answered.

‘They don’t stay pristine?’ He half laughed.

‘Not always, no,’ she answered primly. ‘The dances are energetic so sometimes things tear. And get sweaty.’

Ah. He really didn’t want to think ‘energetic’ and ‘sweaty’ right now. Not when he’d only just mastered his own mind. For a nanosecond.

‘They’re really heavy,’ she continued. ‘And hot. And they take hours of work.’

Hot. Like him, then. ‘You’re fully into it.’

‘That’s what I want to do, yes. I’ve finished a design course in London. Now it’s time to get the job.’

‘But first you have this month in New York.’ Spending all her money on seeing the shows and half starving in the process. He heard her draw in a deep breath and let it out in a sleepy sigh.

‘Yes.’

He rubbed the heel of his hand hard over his forehead and told himself she was answering the comment he’d actually muttered aloud, not answered the question he ached to put to her. Now other questions pressed. How did she know George? Why had he offered her the use of the condo? Why was she so wary of the media? But the question bugging him most of all was whether he’d still taste that chocolate if he kissed her now.

He wanted to kiss her everywhere.

Yeah, the lustful thoughts hadn’t gone far for long.

‘Goodnight,’ she murmured. ‘Sleep tight.’

He wryly smiled in the darkness at her last sweet mumble. With temptation lying a mere breath away, sleep wasn’t going to win in a hurry.

FOUR

An endless, high-pitched screech shattered the silence. Bleary-eyed, James squinted up at the ceiling, wondering what the hell the noise was. Then it dawned. A phone. A real phone. Who used a land-line these days?

On auto he reached a hand out to find it and encountered a lump of something soft. Then he remembered the pillows. The reason for the pillows.

Shit. He flinched. It was too early. Caitlin would still be asleep. Should still be asleep after her big day yesterday. He jerked over and fell off the bed in his haste. Damn. He’d been cli

nging to the edge for fear that while asleep he’d act out his dreams and desires and move too close to her. Blinking fast, he peered round the floor to find the phone. The thing was right underneath the bed. One of the builders must have plugged it in thinking he was being helpful. He snaked an arm and hauled the receiver off the hook and put it to his ear.

‘Yes?’ he bit out in a furious whisper.

‘James?’ George’s surprised tones burst loud from the handset. ‘I didn’t think you were back for another couple of months.’

Well, that was obvious, given the appearance of Caitlin in his bed. But James fought to suppress the irritation. How could George know James was going to be back if James hadn’t told him—didn’t ever tell any of them? It was his own fault for being so crap at communication. ‘It was a surprise to me too.’ He pressed the receiver closer to his ear and lowered his voice yet more. ‘I didn’t know we loaned the condo out.’ It was their private escape.

‘You’re not the only Wolfe who helps out people in trouble,’ George answered.

James paused as his pulse did a quickstep. Then he couldn’t resist asking, ‘She’s in trouble?’

‘She’s had a rough time. So be nice and don’t make her life any harder than what it is.’

Harder than what? James gritted his teeth. He knew there was something up. He should have asked her more. ‘Who is she? What happened?’ He held his breath, aware she was only a few feet away and probably awake and listening to every word.

‘Why don’t you ask her? Actually talk to a person for a change.’ George laughed, clearly missing the tension stringing out James. ‘How are you both squeezing in there? I thought the refurb was going to take a few weeks.’

‘Longer. But we’re managing,’ James hedged. ‘I’m only here for a day or two. Where are you?’

‘The cottage.’

At home? ‘Really?’ The knowledge kicked him under the ribs. His twin was back. With his family.

‘Uh-huh. And Mum’s coming. She’s going to want to talk to you—’

‘George, no, don’t. Tell her I’m—’