Along Came Trouble(46)

He tried, but it was hard. The way she’d smiled before she went inside . . . like she was planning to have him for dessert. How was he supposed to keep his mind on the job?

Distract yourself, *.

It wasn’t as if he lacked for distractions. He knew he must look like a brainless drone out here, standing and staring, but Caleb had a lot to think about, first and foremost his sister.

The more he thought about Katie, the more ashamed he was of how he’d handled their conversation. He hadn’t stopped to think why she was telling him—hadn’t considered what kind of reaction she was looking for from him.

She wanted him to understand, and he didn’t. Not completely. Didn’t she know a good man from a bad one? He was no saint, but if he ever committed an act so unfeeling, he would expect a dawn appointment with the firing squad. Or at least a sound beating.

If Katie had given him the chance, he’d have been happy to administer the beating. As it was, he had no outlet for his frustration. He couldn’t fix a wrong done to her a year ago—or closer to a decade ago, if you counted the wedding itself, which he did. All he could do was wish it hadn’t happened.

Next to useless.

Uselessness was his least favorite feeling. Funny how being back in Camelot kept forcing it on him. His mother. This job. Katie and Levi. Ellen’s problems with her ex. He wanted to fix things, to help all of them out, but he couldn’t think of much of anything to do.

The sound of the shower cut off, and there was Ellen in his head again, dripping wet. Bending over to towel off. His hands on her ass, her hips, her breasts.

He was so screwed.

For a little while after lunch, he’d thought he had the Ellen situation sorted, but it had gotten complicated on him all over again. For starters, he’d underestimated how strong his own attraction to her was.

Willpower-flattening strong.

But he’d also misunderstood what he wanted from her. A few hours ago in the driveway, she’d flattened her hand on his chest and asked him not to push her around. Not to manipulate her. Not to mess with her head. She’d phrased it as a demand, but her eyes had been so haunted. Richard had done all of that to Ellen, and worse. When her ex-husband drove up, she’d gone as tense and nervous as a mouse who’d just caught sight of a cat.

It was the first time he’d seen her cowed. It only lasted a second before she shifted into Amazon Ellen mode, but that second was long enough to make him despise Richard Morrow.

No one had the right to make his Ellen feel anything less than amazing. Independent. Strong. Intelligent. Beautiful.

His Ellen.

That was when he understood how far gone he already was. He hadn’t even kissed the woman, and he already thought of her as his.

He needed to slow this thing way down. Give her some space, give her reasons to trust him. Make sure she knew he wasn’t in this to take advantage of her. Because his gut told him Ellen was special. If he played his cards right, the two of them could have something together—something deeper, more important than anything he’d experienced with another woman.

He needed Ellen to know he wasn’t like Richard or Levi or any other variety of schmuck. And as ridiculous as it was, that was why he was out here. Not to fulfill the threat he’d made earlier, but to tell her with his body, with his presence, that he was a solid bet. That he wasn’t going anywhere. That he respected her.

It would probably help him deliver that message if he could stop hitting on her for five f*cking seconds, but she was so much fun to tease. When he’d told her he wanted to spank her, she’d actually blushed, which was insanely hot.

A smart man would apologize for sending Bill and Matthias over and ask her out to dinner. He’d keep his fists balled up in his pockets and stay out here on her porch all night long. He definitely wouldn’t push her up against the siding and kiss her hard and deep, letting his hands do all the exploring they were itching to do.

Caleb wished he were a smart man.

The screen door opened, and Ellen appeared in indecently short shorts, a white V-neck T-shirt, and no bra.

“So what kind of pizza did you bring me, anyway?” she asked, turning her back on him to inspect it. “Pepperoni and . . . ?”

“Hawaiian.” The T-shirt had a few darker spots on the back where her skin had wet the cotton. Her legs were four miles long, and the higher his eyes traveled, the better the view got. “Hope you like ham and pineapple.”

“What if I told you I was a vegetarian? Or I already had dinner?”