Along Came Trouble(74)

The answer turned out to be three. He sucked chocolate syrup off her nipples and gave her an orgasm with his hand between her legs. Then he painted his name down the front of her torso with his finger and licked it off so slowly that by the time he got through with the B, she was wild to have his mouth on her. She applied a rather generous amount of chocolate between her legs, and he brought her to a climax cleaning it up. When he turned his attention back to her breasts, she decided enough was enough. Pushing him onto his back, she hustled a condom into place and impaled herself on him with a cry of delight worthy of a porn star.

She’d been a very good girl for a very long time, but Caleb made being bad so much fun. She rode him hard until they were both sweaty and sticky, and then she came for the third time, and he followed her.

Afterward, she laid her head on his chest, wrapped her arm around his naked waist, and waited for the questions, slightly apprehensive because he’d obliterated her defenses so completely. What kind of security guard did that? Three orgasms, and she’d tell him where the Lindbergh baby had gone. What happened to planes that disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle. Whether or not there really was a Bigfoot. She didn’t have the answers to these questions, but she was willing to make something up for his sake. He deserved a prize for making her feel this fantastic.

When his breathing had settled—long before hers did, naturally—he began tracing patterns on her back with his fingertips, caressing her from shoulder to hip, down her thigh to her knee, then back again. In his arms, she became a precious thing. Cherished. Wanted.

Her throat tightened with emotion she didn’t want to think about.

She liked him.

Okay, actually, she more than liked him. She kind of adored him—how he made her feel, his company, his conversation. But it didn’t have to mean anything. He was an indulgence, like a massage. Temporary. People had these flings. She could have one, too, without getting in over her head.

Theoretically.

“What’s Jamie like?” he asked.

She smiled and kissed the smooth hollow under his collarbone. “You know, I get that question a lot.”

“No doubt. But I don’t want to know because I have a crush on your brother. I want to know what it’s like for you, being his sister.”

She had a standard response: Jamie was a very private person. Kind and public-spirited. Talented from the tips of his fingers to his baby toenails. A loving son and generous brother.

All true. He was also her best friend and her best advocate. It was Jamie who’d always told her how smart she was, Jamie who’d encouraged her to go to law school. Jamie who’d agreed that their mother’s worship of him and neglect of Ellen was completely wacked, and Jamie who’d done what he could to right the balance.

But he was far from perfect, and for some reason she didn’t feel like singing his praises to Caleb.

“He’s spoiled rotten.”

She’d never told anyone that before.

Right away, she backpedaled. “Don’t get me wrong. I love him to pieces, and he’s basically a great guy.”

“But . . .”

She hesitated. Caleb’s chest rose and fell beneath her cheek while his index finger traced the shape of her shoulder blade. Cocooned against his body, she could say anything. Even the truth.

With a deep breath, she took the plunge. “But, Jamie’s never been disappointed in his life. He always gets what he wants. He’s accustomed to the universe bending to his whims, and it gives him this protective bubble of entitlement that he’s been floating around in since we were kids.”

“Sounds hard to live with.”

“It is and it isn’t. I didn’t really think about it growing up. It was just the way life was. Jamie has this . . . charisma, I guess, and it wins everyone over to his side. You don’t mind doing things his way, because you feel so special being in his circle. I’ve never met anyone who’s immune to it. Even Richard, actually—Jamie hated Richard, but Richard just rolled over for him. It was unbelievable. He kept a bottle of Jamie’s favorite whiskey around for when he came to visit.” She snorted. “The only bottle of whiskey Richard never cracked, no matter how bad he wanted a drink. If that’s not a testament to his devotion to Jamie, I don’t know what is.”

“So everything becomes about what Jamie wants.”

She tilted her head back and met his eyes. Caleb got it. She wanted to kiss him for that, so she did, and his lips were soft and welcoming. Burying her face in his neck, she breathed him in.