The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(51)

Desire and emotion swirled in his hazel irises.

My heart lurched. Look away, Nellie. Block it out.

This was Cal. Trusting him was as foolish as it was dangerous.

“Keep your eyes open as I fuck you.” He spoke like he could read my mind.

Did I object? No. I wanted to watch. I wanted to see him come undone.

Stroke after stroke, he pushed us higher and higher, until the edge was as close for me as it showed on his face. He barely blinked. Neither did I. We stayed locked together until we came together, our bodies shuddering in a simultaneous rhythm.

Cal collapsed on top of me, our bodies slick with sweat as we regained our breaths. His heart thundered against my own, and before I was ready, he slid free, shoved off the bed and disappeared to the bathroom.

With the condom dealt with, I expected him to get dressed and make a hasty exit.

Instead he returned to my side, yanking back the covers of the bed and forcing me to move. Then he flopped onto the sheets, burying his face in a pillow as he lay on his stomach and sighed. An arm snagged out, wrapping around my waist to haul me closer.

“Are you . . . cuddling?” I liked cuddling. But with Cal? We’d never cuddled.

“Sleeping.” He closed his eyes, pulling me closer. “I’m tired. I’ll leave in a bit.”

There was a hell no on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t work it free. Because I really, really liked cuddling. And it had also been a long, long time. What was the harm in a quick nap? I closed my eyes and relaxed too, snuggling into my pillow as Cal dragged the quilt over our naked bodies.

Fifteen minutes. We’d sleep for fifteen, maybe thirty minutes, then I’d take a shower and he could go to his camper.

Fifteen minutes.

Then I’d put my guard back up.

And kick Cal out of my house.





Night had fallen when I jerked awake. The heat from Cal’s body had turned my bed into a sauna.

I pushed up on an elbow, the covers falling to reveal my breasts.

Cal was sound asleep beside me.

Lifting a hand, I reached to touch his shoulder and shake him awake, but stopped short. He looked at peace, his face relaxed and his hair mussed. He looked like a man who’d needed to sleep for a decade but had been waiting to find the right place to rest and had finally found it in my bed.

He looked like he belonged here.

That notion had me slipping free of his arm draped across my hips. My bare feet hit the floor, and I tiptoed to the closet, not daring to turn on a light as I felt around for a pair of sweats and a hoodie. Then I clutched them to my naked chest, easing the bedroom door closed and willing it, for once, not to squeak.

It squeaked. Damn.

I held my breath, listening for Cal to stir. But the room stayed silent and there was no rustling on the bed. I hurried to my office, still not bothering with a light as I pulled on my clothes, then snuck downstairs, filling my lungs once I stood in the safety of my kitchen.

Oh, God, what was I doing? In all the years of this strange back-and-forth with Cal, there hadn’t been a single hookup where he’d spent the night. Any time I’d gone to him, I’d made sure to leave the minute my orgasm haze had cleared.

I paced the length of the kitchen, shoving hair out of my face and pulling out the few pins that hadn’t worked themselves free. They clattered as I dropped them on the island.

The clock on the microwave glowed green at three fifty in the morning. Beyond the windows, the porch lights from the neighborhood homes brightened stoops, but otherwise, the street was dark.

Sleep would be impossible with Cal upstairs, so I went to the kettle on the stove, filling it with water and setting it to boil. I took the teapot off before the spout could whistle and filled a mug with my favorite green tea. Then I carried it to the living room couch where I curled into a corner and flipped on the TV.

With the volume at the setting just above mute, I didn’t hear much of the movie playing, but the lights kept me company. The dull murmur helped keep the worries in my head from screaming too loud.

This meant nothing. It had to mean nothing. Cal was just tired. The bed in the Winnebago wasn’t large enough for a man his size. He’d been in Bozeman and maybe he hadn’t slept well wherever he’d been staying.

It means nothing.

I repeated it to myself over and over and over, until the sunrise filtered into the room.

The creak of the lowest stair stole my attention. I looked up to see Cal walk into the living room with his shoes in one hand. He’d pulled on his shirt but hadn’t closed the buttons. The waistband of his jeans was undone and the denim draped down his long legs.

Of course he’d have the gall to look sexy. The bastard.

“I meant to leave.” He yawned. “Didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“It’s fine,” I lied.

He raked a hand through his hair and sat on the opposite end of the couch, leaning forward to pull on his shoes. “You didn’t run me out of your house. And you haven’t tried to run me out of town in a while. What gives?”

I shrugged. My make-Cal’s-life-agony plan had fizzled early on. “I don’t like doing mean things. I don’t like feeling guilty.”

“Because you’re not an asshole.”

“You drew that straw in high school, remember? You’re the asshole. I’m the smart one.”