No Love Allowed(37)

“There isn’t a frog, is there?” He glanced up, catching her failing at muffling laughter with her other hand. Mock growling, he pushed to his feet and yanked Didi into his arms. She yelped and pummeled his chest when he ran his fingers up her sides. The second he hit the underside of one rib her giggles turned into full-on laughter. “Gotcha!”

“Caleb, stop!” she pleaded, squirming in vain to get away from his tickle attack. “Stop!”

“That’s for tricking me into thinking there was a frog.”

“But you were so serious,” she said between gulps of air and breathy laughter. She pushed up onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, taking him into a tight hug.

The second her sweet citrusy scent filled his lungs, he tightened his grip on her hips so she would stay where he wanted her. He loved the feel of her curves against him, like she was made for touching. And crazy as it seemed, he wanted to be the only one touching her that way. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone else’s hands on her.

Then his eyes settled on her lips when she pulled back to look up at him. He caught himself wondering how they would feel against his own. How she would taste. He leaned toward her.

This was getting dangerous.

“Caleb?”

Her voice pulled him away from crossing the line, and he stepped back, reluctantly letting her go.

As if they hadn’t just been about to make out, Didi took his hand and returned him to the stool. Her easy dismissal confused him. Had she felt nothing? Shit. It had been the same at the picnic. She’d pulled away when he began leaning in. If Nathan hadn’t arrived with Natasha and Preston, he didn’t know what he would have done. Would he have pressed the issue and attempted the kiss like he wanted to do now? But he shouldn’t be feeling anything. That was the point of the ground rules.

Frowning at his lapse in control, he sat back down and focused on what he was there for. As part of their agreement, he would pose for her. Exactly what that entailed, he wasn’t quite sure. So he asked, “Is there a specific way you want me?”

The mischief he saw so often in her sparked again. “Oh, there are so many ways to answer that question.” She picked up a brush and bit down on the wooden end.

“You’ve got to be doing it on purpose,” he accused, narrowing his gaze at her in suspicion.

“What?”

He gestured at her face. “You keep drawing attention to your lips. It’s enough to drive a man insane.”

“Oh . . .” She pursed her lips and tapped the brush’s tip against the lower one. “You mean like this?”

Closing his eyes against the image she’d just seared forever into his brain, he groaned. “You are so cruel.”

She laughed again. He would never get tired of that sound, he found himself thinking. He opened his eyes just so he could see the playfulness brightening hers. The urge to pull her into his arms again was so strong it was all he could do to stay still on the stool.

“Just sit there,” she said. “You don’t need to do anything else. You’re handsome enough.”

“I knew you were only after what was on the outside,” he teased with a self-deprecating smile.

“Just be grateful I’m not insisting on you being naked.”

“How benevolent of you.” He reached behind him for the collar of his shirt and in one tug it was off and on the floor.

Didi’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open.

It was his turn to laugh.

“Good God.” She gasped, pinning him with a stare so direct he couldn’t help but stay still. The heat he felt only when he was around her crept up the column of his neck. “I’ve never seen abs ripple before. Do it again. Laugh!”

Suddenly self-conscious, he said, “I’m not your trained monkey.”

“Would it help if I give you a banana?”

He shook his head in dismay. “I’m not going to win against you, am I?”

She winked and gave him the finger pistol. “You’re learning. Now sit still and hush before I forget all your rules and jump you.”

Instead of complying he struck a pose, making sure to flex so he had definition in his arms, chest, and the abs she seemed to like. Then he said, “Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack.”

“What?” She stared at him, mystified.

His eyebrows shot up. “Jack and Rose? From a little movie called Titanic?”

“I haven’t been to the movies in a while.”

“We were still kids when it came out. It’s more than a decade old.”

“Then why mention it?”

“It was my mother’s favorite. . . .” He paused, catching himself at the admission. He hadn’t thought about his mother in a while. “Every movie night at our house, when it was her turn to pick, she’d always choose—”

“Titanic.”

The word struck him directly in the chest. The atmosphere in the room shifted. He could actually feel the air molecules tighten from the tension. As he studied her through hooded eyes, Didi picked up her palette, squeezed a dollop of a flesh tone from a tube onto it, and dipped the business end of the brush into the paint. She considered the blank canvas for a second before the brush landed. Her hand moved with precision and confidence, not a moment’s hesitation. He found himself transfixed. Reluctantly he caught himself admitting Didi affected him more than he’d ever thought possible. It scared him. Yet in the pit of his stomach, a thrill mixed with his fear. What was happening to him?