The Ruthless Caleb Wilde
Her eyes narrowed.
What did he have to be angry about?
“What are you doing here?”
He glared at her. She was a mess. Wet, stringy hair. That same old bathrobe. Bare feet …
Rage, more potent than any he’d ever known, swept through him.
“How come this door doesn’t have a peephole?”
“I don’t know,” she said coldly. “You’d have to ask the manufacturer.”
“It’s ridiculous to have to open a door before seeing who’s standing outside it.”
Sage folded her arms.
“Thank you for that report from Consumer Complaints. Is that why you came back? To discuss doors?”
“No. Of course not. I—I—” He swallowed hard. His anger was receding; something was moving in to take its place but he wasn’t sure what it was, except that it scared the hell out of him. “Sage. We need to talk.”
“Try another line, Caleb. I’m all talked out.”
“We need to talk sensibly.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Okay. He was right. They’d done some shouting but little talking and they did, after all, have a shared interest here.
“Five minutes,” she said coolly, and opened the door wider.
Caleb stepped over the threshold and shut the door after him.
“Okay.” He paused, searched for the right words. “For starters, about the financial thing—”
“I’m not going to talk about that again.”
“Fine,” he said gruffly. “Don’t talk. Just listen. I want to take care of you. Is that so terrible?”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
“Maybe not,” Caleb said. “Maybe it’s just me. Maybe taking care of you is what I need …”
Dammit, he t
hought, and he forgot logic, forgot everything except what he felt for the woman standing in front of him, so strong and beautiful she made his soul ache.
He said something rough, pulled her into his arms and kissed her, hard at first and then with heart-stopping tenderness.
“Don’t,” she said, “oh God, Caleb, don’t …”
It was a protest without meaning because she was kissing him back, the salty taste of her tears on his lips and hers.
He held her closer; the race of their hearts merged.
“Sage,” he said thickly, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to say anything to hurt you.” He cupped her face, looked into her eyes. “This isn’t about financial responsibility,” he said. “It’s about us. You. Me. The baby we made together.”
“You’re a good man, Caleb Wilde. I know that you want to do the right thing—”
“I want more than that. I want the real thing.” He brushed his lips over hers. “I want us to be a family.”