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The Ruthless Caleb Wilde
Sandra Marton
Caleb Wilde, infamous attorney, has a merciless streak and a razor-sharp mind… Years of relentless work have hardened Caleb’s heart – until one New York night changes everything. Now he’s haunted by the memory of tangled sheets, unrivalled passion and one woman – Sage Dalton. The siren of his dreams is, in reality, the woman who played him for a fool – but still nothing can satiate his burning desire for her.So when he learns that Sage has something very precious that belongs to him, a gift from their one night, Caleb will stop at nothing to claim it!‘I love all of Sandra Marton’s books. Fantastic reads!’ – Lisé, Civil Servant, Cornwall



“I’m not in the mood for games, so if there’s someone here—”
A figure, blurred by the sunlight, stepped through the door from the adjoining room.
“Hello, Sage,” a husky male voice said.
She knew that voice. It haunted her dreams.
“No,” she said, while her heart tried to claw its way out of her throat.
“How nice to see you again.”
“No,” she repeated, the word a papery whisper.
She stumbled back as the figure moved away from the light and became a man.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Lean.
“Caleb?” she whispered.
His smile was cold and cruel, and it transformed his beautiful face into a dangerous mask.
“Smart girl,” he said.

THE WILDE BROTHERS
Wilde by name, unashamedly wild by nature!
They work hard, but you can be damned sure they play even harder! For as long as any of them could remember, they’ve always loved the same things: Danger … and beautiful women.
They gladly took up the call to serve their country, but duty, honour and pride are words that mask the scars of a true warrior. Now, one by one, the brothers return to their family ranch in Texas.
Can their hearts be tamed in the place they once called home?
Meet the deliciously sexy Wilde Brothers in this sizzling and utterly unmissable new family dynasty by much-loved author Sandra Marton!
In August you met
THE DANGEROUS JACOB WILDE
Dare you try to resist
THE RUTHLESS CALEB WILDE
this month?
Look out for Travis’s story in 2013!

About the Author
SANDRA MARTON wrote her first novel while she was still in primary school. Her doting parents told her she’d be a writer some day, and Sandra believed them. In secondary school and college she wrote dark poetry nobody but her boyfriend understood—though, looking back, she suspects he was just being kind. As a wife and mother she wrote murky short stories in what little spare time she could manage, but not even her boyfriend-turned-husband could pretend to understand those. Sandra tried her hand at other things, among them teaching and serving on the Board of Education in her home town, but the dream of becoming a writer was always in her heart.
At last Sandra realised she wanted to write books about what all women hope to find: love with that one special man, love that’s rich with fire and passion, love that lasts for ever. She wrote a novel, her very first, and sold it to Mills & Boon
Modern™ Romance. Since then she’s written more than sixty books, all of them featuring sexy, gorgeous, larger-than-life heroes. A four-time RITA
award finalist, she’s also received five RT Book Reviews magazine awards, and has been honoured with RT’s Career Achievement Award for Series Romance. Sandra lives with her very own sexy, gorgeous, larger-than-life hero in a sun-filled house on a quiet country lane in the north-eastern United States.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE DANGEROUS JACOB WILDE
(The Wilde Brothers)
SHEIKH WITHOUT A HEART
THE REAL DIO D’AQUILLA
(The Orsini Brides)
THE ICE PRINCE
(The Orsini Brides)
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Ruthless
Caleb Wilde
Sandra Marton


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE
CALEB Wilde was doing his best to look like a man having a good time.
No question, he should have been.
He was in New York, one of his favorite cities, at a party in a SoHo club so trendy that the entrance door was unmarked.
Not that trendy was the description he’d have chosen.
Pretentious struck him as closer to the truth, but hey, what did he know?
Caleb smothered a yawn.
His brain had gone on holiday.
Not because of the noise, even though the sound level in the enormous room was somewhere in the stratosphere, but what else would it be when the DJ was so famous he signed autographs between sets?
Not because of the booze, either. Caleb had been nursing the same tumbler of Scotch almost the entire evening.
And it was definitely not because the party was dull.
The client he’d flown in to see was throwing it to celebrate his fortieth birthday. The room was packed with Names. Hedge-fund managers. International bankers. Media moguls. Hollywood glitterati. European royals. Second-tier, but royals just the same.
And, of course, the requisite scores of stunning women.
The problem was, Caleb was too tired to appreciate any of it.
He’d been on the go since before dawn. A 7:00 a.m. meeting with a client in his Dallas office. A 10:00 a.m. meeting with his brothers at the Wilde ranch. The flight to New York on one of the family’s private jets. Late lunch with this client, the birthday boy. Drinks and dinner with an old pal from his shadowy days working for The Agency.
Caleb smothered another yawn.
Tired didn’t come close. He was damned near out on his feet, and only courtesy had brought him here tonight.
Well, courtesy and curiosity.
He’d celebrated his own birthday not very long ago. A barbecue at the ranch with his brothers and his new sister-in-law, phone calls from his sisters, one from the General—it came two days late, but hey, when you had a world to run, you were always busy.
Everything had been fun, relaxed and low-key. Nothing like this.
“This guy is a little long in the tooth for trendy clubs,” Caleb had told his brothers this morning.
“Because,” Travis had said solemnly, “you certainly are.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, no, not exactly. I mean—”
“We know what you mean,” Jacob had said as solemnly as Travis. “You’re a dinosaur.”
“Absolutely. We can hear your bones creak.”
His brothers had exchanged looks. Then they’d started to laugh.
“You guys sound like a pair of chickens,” Caleb had said with what he hoped sounded like indignation.
“Cluck-cluck,” Jake had cackled, and that had done it. The three of them had grinned, done the obligatory elbow-in-the-ribs, high-five thing grown men do when they love each other, and Caleb, on an exaggerated sigh had said, yeah, okay, he’d make the sacrifice and go to the party.
“And report back,” Travis had added, waggling his eyebrows. “’Cause we equally ancient wise ones want all the details.”
Caleb lifted the Scotch to his lips now and sipped at it.
So far, the details were just what he’d expected.
From the balcony, where he’d settled once he’d found his host and engaged in the necessary two minutes of shouted conversation, he had a view of everything happening on the dance floor. It was crowded up here but nothing compared to the situation down below.
The DJ high up on a platform. The pulsing lights. What looked like a thousand sweaty bodies gyrating in their glow.
And the women, all of them spectacular, lots of them interested enough to give him smiles and glances that only a dead man wouldn’t be able to interpret.
No big surprise there.
It wasn’t his doing, it was the Wilde DNA, a mix of Roman centurion and Viking blood tempered by more than a touch of what was probably Comanche or Kiowa.
The Wilde sisters teased him and his brothers about their looks, and showed no mercy.
“Oh, oh, oh,” Jaimie would say, in a perfect imitation of a swooning Victorian maiden.
“Be still, my heart,” Emily would sigh, her hand plastered to the center of her chest.
“So tall. So dark. So dangerous,” was Lissa’s line, delivered with all the drama of an old-time movie star.
And this was perfect Wilde territory. So many beautiful women …
Except, tonight, Caleb wasn’t interested.
“Ah’m jest a country boy from Tex-ass,” he’d told the blonde who’d slithered over a little while ago.
That had gotten rid of her, fast.
Actually, he’d been pretty hard on her, but then, what kind of female batted her lashes at a man and asked, in a breathy little voice he figured was supposed to be cute, was he somebody rich and famous that she was supposed to recognize?
In truth, he was. Rich, for sure. Famous, too, in corporate and legal circles.
Her approach was at least honest.
It certainly was different.
Another time, he might have smiled and said he was both, and what did she intend to do about it?
Not tonight.
Right now, he thought, glancing at his watch, what he wanted was for another thirty, thirty-five minutes to slip past. Then he could find his host, if that was possible, tell him he’d had a great time and he was sorry as hell but he had an early-morning appointment back in Dallas …
“… for you?”
Caleb turned around. There was a girl standing just in back of him. Pretty, not spectacular, not in a crowd like this but still, she was pretty. Tall. Blonde. Big blue eyes.
Lots of makeup.
Too much for his tastes. Not that his tastes mattered.
Pretty or not, he wasn’t in the mood.
“Sorry,” he said, “but I’m going to leave soon.”
She leaned in a little. Her breasts brushed lightly against his arm and she pulled back but the contact, quick as it was, shot straight through him.
She spoke again. He still couldn’t hear her, thanks to the music, but he could certainly take a second look.
What the hell was that thing she was wearing? A dress, or something that could have been a dress if you’d added another twelve inches of fabric. It was black. Or deep blue. Iridescent, anyway, glittery, or maybe it was the effect of the light.
Either way, the dress looked as if it had been glued on her. Skinny straps. Low bodice. A sinfully low bodice, revealing the curve of lush breasts.
His gaze drifted lower, to where the dress ended at the very tops of her thighs.
To his amazement, he felt his body and brain coming back on-line.
He smiled. The girl didn’t.
“I’m Caleb,” he said. “I didn’t get your name.”
Those big blue eyes turned icy.
“I didn’t give it.”
So much for that. She might be in the mood for games. He sure as hell wasn’t.
“In that case,” he said in his best, intimidate-the-witness tone, “why are you talking to me?”
“I’m paid to talk to you,” she said, her voice as cold as her eyes.
“Well, that’s certainly blunt but I promise you, lady, I am absolutely not inter—”
“I’m paid to ask what you’re drinking. And to bring you a refill.” This time, the look she gave him was filled with stony satisfaction. “I’m a waitress, sir. Trust me. I wouldn’t have looked at you twice if I weren’t.”
Caleb blinked.
Over the years, a couple of women had told him off. There was the girl in fifth grade, Carrie or Corey, something like that, who’d slugged him after he’d made fun of her over some silly thing at recess. And a mistress—a former mistress—who’d told him exactly what he could do with the farewell sapphire earrings he’d sent her after she’d told him it was time they set a wedding date.
Neither had put him in his place better than this, or even as well.
He supposed he ought to be angry.
He wasn’t.
The fact was, he admired Blondie’s gumption. An old-fashioned, down-home word, gumption, but it was eminently suitable.
That face, that body, that dress … she’d probably been hit on a dozen times tonight until she’d finally thought, enough!
He wasn’t foolish enough to think she could have avoided the problem by wearing something else.
Caleb had worked his way through law school, rather than touch his father’s money or the money he’d inherited from his mother.
He’d delivered pizza, waited tables at Friendly’s, worked at an off-campus bar.
There’d been a dress code for the wait staff at the bar.
For the men: white shirts, black bow ties, black trousers, black shoes.
For the women: black ribbons around their throats, low-cut white T-shirts a size too small, swingy black skirts that barely covered their asses and black stiletto heels.
Or they were fired.
Sexual discrimination was alive and well in twenty-first century America. As a lawyer, as a man, Caleb knew that.
Still, he figured he deserved better than being treated like some kind of predator.
He told that to Blondie.
She raised her chin.
“Is that a ‘no’ to another drink?” she said coldly.
“That’s exactly what it is,” he said. Then he turned his back to her, drank a little more of what remained of his Scotch and settled in to observe the scene for the next fifteen or twenty minutes.
It was pretty much the same as it had been since he’d arrived. The only thing that had changed was that the dancing had grown faster. Maybe hotter was a better word.
Lots of bodies rubbing. Lots of moves that were almost as much fun done vertically as they’d have been if done horizontally.
The crowd was really in to it.
The wait staff, too.
He hadn’t noticed them before. Now, his eye picked them up without trying. Good-looking guys, shirtless, wearing tight black trousers, laughing with the customers who were obviously joking with them, accommodating the women who flirted with them.
Good-looking women, in duplicates of Blondie’s outfit—tight, low-cut, short, glittery dresses that left bare long, long legs made even longer by sky-high stilettos.
None of the women were as good-looking as Blondie.
Or maybe none of them carried themselves the same way.
She was easy to spot, even in the crowd. She had her hair piled up on top of her head in a mass of curls. Plus, there was the way she held herself. Tall. Proud. Her posture almost rigid.
Forget what she was wearing, that I’m-too-sexy-for-this-dress thing.
It was her bearing that spoke loudest, and what it said was, Keep Away.
Caleb found his eyes glued to her.
He saw what happened when she approached one of the tiny tables ringed around the dance floor and one of the bozos seated at it laughed up at her, said something, and put a hand on her hip.
She pulled back as if that hand was a scorpion.
He saw what happened when she fought her way through the mobbed dance floor with a small silver tray of drinks in her hands and another bozo cupped her bottom.
Somehow, she managed to take a step in just the right direction and sink her spiked heel into his instep.
Without spilling a drop.
Caleb smiled.
The lady could handle herself …
At least, she could until the same bozo followed her, crowded her into a small, miraculously vacant corner, and said something to her.
She shook her head.
The guy said something again. And touched her. One fast, quick grope at her breasts.
Caleb’s smile faded. He stood straighter, tried to see more of what was happening but people walked by, got in the way …
Okay.
Blondie had slipped free. She was moving as fast as she could, heading for what had to be a service door.
The guy went after her.
He got to the door at the same second she did. Caught her by the shoulders. Yanked her back against him. Ground his body against hers.
She fought back.
It was useless.
The man was too big, too determined, probably too high or too drunk. Now he had one hand on her breast, the other, dammit, the other between her thighs …
Anger flashed through Caleb’s blood.
Didn’t anybody see what was happening? Was he the only one who understood that this wasn’t a man making a fool of himself, that it was—hell, it was attempted rape?
He swung away from the balcony railing, dropped his glass on the first table he passed, went through the crowd and down the nearest staircase pretty much the same way he’d gone through linebackers in his days as a tight end on his high-school and college football teams.
Where was she?
He was tall, six foot three, but it was almost impossible to see past this mob.
The service door had been in the back of the room. On the left. He headed in that direction, not bothering with “sorry” or “excuse me” as he shoved his way across the dance floor, just doing whatever it took to get where he needed to be.
It seemed to take a lifetime but finally he broke through the crowd.
Saw the door.
But that was it.
Blondie was gone. So was the guy.
Caleb looked all around him. Nothing.
Okay.
He drew a couple of deep breaths. Some good Samaritan must have seen what was happening and put a stop to it.
Or the guy had figured he’d had his fun and given up.
Or …
Holy hell!
Somebody opened the service door, stepped back fast and let it swing shut. Elapsed time, maybe three seconds … but long enough for him to see everything he needed.
The door didn’t lead to the kitchen. It led to some kind of big, dimly lit closet. A storage area, probably.
Inside, the blonde waitress was pinned against a wall, struggling against a man who towered over her.
Caleb ran to the door. Shoved it open. Said something hard and loud and absolutely ugly.
The man swung toward him.
“What the hell do you want?” he snarled. “This is none of your business. Go on, get the eff out of here!”
Caleb looked at the woman. Her eyes were enormous, her face pale despite the heavy layers of makeup. One strap of her dress was torn and the bodice was falling down.
“Are you all right?”
“He was going to—” Her voice broke. “He was going to—”
“Hey, pal. You deaf? I told you to get the eff out of—”
The man was just about Caleb’s size. He had a muscled body, same as Caleb.
But there was a difference.
One of them was all lust and ego.
The other was all righteous rage.
Caleb went straight at him.
It didn’t take very long. A couple of quick rights, a left to the gut and the son of a bitch staggered and clutched his belly.
“I was just having some fun,” he said.
Caleb’s smile was all teeth.
“So am I,” he said, and hit him one last time.
That was the blow that did it. The guy fell back, hit the wall and went down it, slow and easy, until he lay right where he belonged.
On the floor, at the waitress’s feet.
Caleb looked at him, wiped his hands on his trousers, then looked at the woman. She was even paler than she’d been moments ago.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Her eyes flew to his.
“It’s okay,” he said.
He saw her throat constrict as she swallowed.
“He’s—he’s been after me all night.”
The words were a rusty whisper. She was starting to tremble. Caleb cursed softly, stripped off his suit coat and held it toward her.
“Put this on.”
“I tried to get rid of him but he wouldn’t leave me alone.” A shudder went through her; she looked at Caleb again. “And then he—he grabbed me. And—and he pushed me in here.
And—and—”
Caleb stepped forward, started to wrap the jacket around her. She jumped at the feel of his hands.
“Easy,” he said as softly as if she were one of the fillies he used to tame when he was a kid, working with the ranch hands at El Sueño.
Carefully, he draped his jacket around her shoulders. It covered her from her throat to her knees.
“Come on,” he said. “Put your arms through the sleeves.”
She did. And even more carefully, making sure he didn’t let his hands brush against her, he snugged the lapels together and closed the buttons.
She trembled, but she let him do it.
Her attacker moaned.
Caleb looked down at him. The man’s nose was pouring blood, and angled crookedly across his face. One eye was swollen shut.
Not enough, Caleb thought coldly.
The woman seemed to sense it. She touched his arm.
“Please, could you get me out of this place?”
“Shall I call the police?”
She shook her head.
“No. The publicity … And—and he didn’t—he didn’t … He never had the chance to—to do more than—than touch me. You got here before he could—” She drew a deep breath. “I just want to go home.”
Caleb nodded. It was an excellent idea—until he thought of shoving through the crowd outside.
“Is there a back entrance?”
“Yes. That door, behind you … It leads to a delivery bay.”
In his rage, he hadn’t noticed the door but he saw it now, in the rear wall.
“I’m going to put my arm around your shoulders,” he said. “Just to play it safe. Okay?”
She looked up at him. Her face was streaked with mascara. Her mouth was trembling, and he thought he had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.
“Okay?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
Caleb put his arm around her. She stiffened but she didn’t pull free. They walked to the door; he pulled it open.
The street outside was dark and deserted. He’d stepped into enough streets like it, back in his Agency days, to feel every sense come alive.
“Stay close,” he said softly.
She burrowed against him as the door clicked shut. She felt delicate, almost fragile in the curve of his arm.
He wanted to go back into the club and pound his fist into the face of the bastard who’d hurt her again.
But he couldn’t.
She needed him.
And he needed wheels. He’d come here by taxi but from the looks of things, it might take a long time for one to cruise by.
They walked to the corner. Caleb took out his cell phone and hit the pre-programmed number for the private car service he used when he was in New York. He was in luck. One of their limousines had just dropped off somebody only a couple of blocks away.
He held her close while they waited. A couple of minutes was all it took before a long black car pulled to the curb. The driver sprang out and opened the rear door.
The girl turned toward Caleb.
“Thank you.”
He smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
He was tempted to say he’d introduced himself earlier but she obviously didn’t remember the incident. Besides, he wasn’t proud of it.
“Caleb,” he said. “And you’re …?”
“Sage.”
The name suited her. Sage grew wild on El Sueño. It was strong and enduring. And beautiful. Like her. Why had he ever thought her only pretty? Even now, with black gunk under her eyes, she was lovely.
“Well,” she said again, “thank you for …” She paused. Her face took on color. “Oh.”
“What is it?”
“How much will the ride cost?” She patted a tiny sequined wristlet that he’d assumed was a bracelet. “I keep my money and my keys with me. Nobody trusts the lockers so—so, the thing is, I have money but I don’t think it’s enough to pay for—”
“Why would I let you pay?”
“No. I mean, I couldn’t permit you to—”
“I was going to call for a car anyway,” he said, lying through his teeth. “Seeing you home will just be a slight detour.”
“Seeing me …?” She shook her head. “Going with me, you mean?”
Caleb nodded.
“Oh no,” she said quickly. “Really, that isn’t—”
“It is,” he said, softly but with steely determination. “I’ll take you to your door, make sure you’re safely inside, and then I’ll leave.”
She nibbled at her lip. He could almost see what she was thinking. Was he going to turn into her worst nightmare, too?
“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up his hand in the time-honored Boy Scout signal because he couldn’t come up with any real way to convince her that his intentions were honorable.
Besides, giving things a light touch was better than giving in to the anger still boiling inside him.
Finally, she nodded. “Thank you again.” She turned, started to step into the limo. At the last second, she swung toward him. “I should tell you … I live in Brooklyn.”
From the way she said it, she could have been talking about Outer Mongolia.
“That’s okay,” he said as somberly as possible. “My inoculations are all up to date.”
She stared at him for a couple of seconds. Then she laughed. It was a wobbly laugh, still, hearing it made him feel good.
“You’re a nice man,” she said softly.
Him? Nice? Caleb Wilde, ex-spy? Caleb Wilde, corporate attorney? He’d been called smart, even brilliant. Daring. Hell, ruthless …
“Thank you,” he said, and meant it.
“You’re welcome.”
They smiled at each other. She cleared her throat.
“I don’t—I don’t like to think what would have happened if you hadn’t—”
“Then don’t,” he said quickly. “Don’t think about it, and we won’t even talk about it. Deal?”
He held out his hand.
Sage looked at it. Then, slowly, she put her hand in his.
His fingers and palm swallowed hers.
No surprise, Sage thought as she got into the limo. Her rescuer was big. Not just tall but big in the way of men who were physically fit.
She was tall, too. And she was wearing spiked heels. Still, she had to tilt her head back to look at his face.
And what a face it was.
He was incredibly handsome, not in the pretty-boy way of far too many men in this city but in a way that was ruggedly masculine.
Not that any of that mattered.
Big. Brave. Fearless.
And he’d come to her rescue when nobody else had even tried. Loads of people had seen what had happened, that a man had half dragged, half carried her into that storage room.
She’d fought and kicked and pounded her fists against her attacker but the people watching had either decided it was just part of some kinky sex game or they hadn’t wanted to get involved.
Someone had even opened the door, laughed and said “Hey, sorry to intrude!”
If this stranger hadn’t come along …
“Sage?”
She blinked and looked at him.
“Your address,” he said gently.
For a heartbeat, despite all the things she’d been thinking, she hesitated.
Caleb put his hand over hers on the smooth leather seat.
“I promise,” he said. “You can trust me.”
And Sage, who had been on this earth long enough to know better, smiled tremulously at her knight in shining armor and decided that she could.

CHAPTER TWO
TRAFFIC built as they traveled through Manhattan but it thinned again once they crossed over the Brooklyn Bridge.
Now the limo moved swiftly through the dark streets.
Sage was silent. That little laugh Caleb had managed to win from her was long gone. She sat huddled in the corner of the wide leather seat, her face turned to the window. All he could see of her was the back of her head and the rigidity of her shoulders beneath his jacket.
And her long, very long legs.
Hell.
He had no business thinking about her legs. Not at a time like this.
She’d had a terrifying experience. Somehow, thinking of her as a woman was wrong right now.
What she needed was … what?
He felt helpless.
She hadn’t wanted to call the cops and he understood that, but surely she needed … something.
Hot tea? Brandy? Someone to talk to? Someone to hold her? She’d let him do that but only for a minute.
He was a stranger. A male stranger. The last thing she’d want was to be in his arms. The trouble was that his every instinct told him to reach for her, draw her close, stroke her hair, let some of his strength leach into her.
She was too quiet. Too withdrawn. After that one little laugh at his pathetic attempt at humor, she’d told the driver her address and she hadn’t spoken a word since.
If only he could draw her out. Get her talking about something. Anything. He’d searched his brain for a way to start a conversation but “What do you think of the weather?” seemed woefully inadequate.
Besides, she wasn’t in the mood for small talk.
The truth was, neither was he.
His jaw tightened. He was still angry as hell.
He’d let the piece of crap who’d attacked her get off easy. A man who’d force himself on a woman deserved to be beaten within an inch of his life.
Caleb let out a long breath.
Except, wiping up the floor with the bastard would only have upset her more. The best thing had been to get her out of there ASAP, and that was what he’d done.
He looked at her again. She’d drawn her legs up under her. And she was trembling.
He leaned forward.
“Driver? Turn off the AC, please.”
Sage turned quickly toward him.
“No, please. Not on my account.”
Caleb forced a quick smile.
“Heck,” he said, trying to sound casual, “I’m doin’ it for me. I’m freezin’ my tail off. You northerners must have a thing for goose bumps.”
Her eyes, wide and almost luminous in the shadowed interior of the limo, searched his face.
“Really?”
“Hey,” he said, doing his good-ol’-boy imitation for the second time that night, doing whatever it took to keep her talking, “Ah’m from Tex-ass.”
The gambit didn’t work. She nodded, said “Oh,” and went back to staring out the window.
Caleb gave it a couple of minutes. Then he tried again.
“So,” he said with enough false cheer to make him wince, “we’re in Brooklyn now, huh?”
It was a stupid question. It deserved a stupid answer. But she was too polite for that. Instead, she swung toward him.
“Yes.”
He nodded wisely. “What part do you live in?”
“It’s called East New York.”
“Interesting name.”
That won him the tiniest twitch of her lips.
“It’s an interesting neighborhood.”
“Meaning?”
“Have you ever been in Brooklyn before?”
“Does a housewarming party in Park Slope maybe seven, eight years back, count?” That won him a faint smile. He wanted to pump his fist in the air but he settled for smiling at her in return. “No, huh?”
“No,” she replied. “Definitely not. Park Slope is upscale. It’s full of lawyers and accountants and … What?”
“That’s who I was visiting that night,” Caleb said. “A lawyer buddy whose wife is a CPA.”
“You’re not going to tell me you’re a CPA!”
“You’re right, I’m not.” He smiled. “I’m an attorney.”
“I wouldn’t have picked you as either.”
“Why not?”
Why not, indeed?
Well, because lawyers and CPAs were supposed to be coolly logical, weren’t they?
But this man had acted on pure instinct. He’d protected her. Saved her. She hated the very concept of violence but seeing him put her attacker down had thrilled her.
His behavior was so masculine. Tough but tender. The sexiest possible combination. True, she didn’t know much about men, well, except for David, whom she adored, but it was impossible to imagine him taking care of her like Caleb.
She was pretty sure he was the guy who’d given her a hard time on the balcony, but when it came to basics, he was the only man who’d looked past her awful costume and come to her rescue.
Now, he was trying to get her to relax. That’s what these conversational forays were all about. She appreciated the effort but what she really wanted was to curl up in a tight ball and pretend she wasn’t here, the way she used to when she was a little girl.
He wouldn’t let her do that.
And he was probably right.
Pretending a thing wasn’t happening hadn’t worked when she was a kid. And it wasn’t working right now.
“… still waiting,” Caleb said.
Sage blinked. “Waiting?”
“Sure. To hear whether it’s good or bad that you wouldn’t have picked me for a lawyer.”
He was smiling. Her heart gave a tiny extra beat. He had a wonderful smile. And he was incredibly good-looking.
“That right hook of yours,” she said, shoving all that nonsense out of her head, “isn’t the lawyerly type.”
He laughed. “Thank you … I think.”
Caleb saw her lips curve in a little smile. Excellent, but the silence crept back in. Not good, he thought, as his mind scrambled for some way to re-start the conversation.
Talking had been good for her. She still clutched his jacket to her hard enough that her knuckles were white, but at least her posture was a little more relaxed.
Say something, Wilde, he thought, and cleared his throat.
“So, if Park Slope is upscale, where you live is …?”
The limo slowed, pulled to the curb.
“We’re here, sir,” the driver said.
Caleb looked out the window. He stared at the street. At the buildings that lined it. Then he stared at Sage.
“This is where you live?”
Wrong tone to use. She stiffened, this time with indignation, but how else was a man to sound when he delivered a woman to her door and that door turned out to be in the middle of what could be called a slum only if you were feeling particularly generous?
They were in front of a four-story house. A charitable soul, or maybe a Realtor, might have said it was part of a historic-looking group of brick buildings.
Caleb wasn’t feeling charitable, and he sure as hell wasn’t a Realtor.
The building was one in a string of identical structures, strung together like beads jammed on a chain. He saw boarded-up windows. Rusted iron bars. Sagging steps that led to sagging stoops.
The street itself was long. Narrow. A couple of the streetlights were out.
The place looked like an ad for urban blight.
What he didn’t see were people.
It was late, sure, but this was the city that boasted that it never slept.
“Thank you,” Sage said.
Caleb swung toward her. The driver was at the door, opening it. She was getting ready to step out of the car.
“Wait a minute.”
“This was very kind of you, Mister … Caleb.”
He caught hold of her arm.
“I said, wait a minute!”
She hissed, jerked against his hand. Wrong move, dammit! He could almost see what she was thinking.
Carefully, he let go of her.
“I only meant … Are you sure this is the correct address?”
Her expression changed, went from fearful to defiant.
“Very sure. This is where I live.”
Caleb thought of a polite way to tell her that her surroundings were dangerous, but surely she already knew that.
It didn’t matter. She read his mind.
“Not quite Park Slope,” she said with a thin smile.
To hell with being polite.
“No,” he said bluntly, “it sure as hell isn’t.”
The faint smile vanished.
“Am I supposed to apologize because you don’t approve?”
“No. Of course not. I only meant …” He stopped, took a long breath, let it out and started again. “Where’s the subway?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to picture you making this trip each night, that’s why!”
“I—I usually walk home from the subway with a friend.”
“She works with you?”
“No. But our work schedules are similar.”
“Yeah, well, where would she have been tonight?”
It was an excellent question, and a complicated one, starting with the fact that “she” was a “he” named David.
Sage was definitely not in the mood to answer it.
“Look,” she said, “I admit that this is—it’s not exactly a great neighborhood. And, thanks to you, I didn’t have to deal with the subway. So thank you again, here’s your jacket, and—”
“Keep it,” he said gruffly.
“At least give me your address so I can—”
“You can give it back to me after I get you to your door.”
“No. That isn’t nec—”
Caleb got out of the limo and walked around it.
“No arguments. I’m seeing you inside and that’s that.”
“Do you always get your own way?”
“I do when it matters.”
He could almost see her weighing his words. Finally, she sighed. Some of the belligerence went out of her expression. Caleb held out his hand.
Sage hesitated, then took it.
His hand was warm, his grip powerful. She fought the desire to wind their fingers together.
The truth was, she’d run out of bravado.
His reminder that without him she’d have been walking home alone had done it, especially when she knew there’d been a recent string of assaults in the neighborhood on women who lived alone.
Not that she lived alone.
Not exactly.
The bottom line was that there was nothing to gain by pretending she didn’t appreciate his help.
“Thank you,” she said, as they climbed the steps to the stoop. “Again.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m glad to be able to help.” When they reached the front door, he held out his hand. “Your keys.”
She shrugged, as if it wasn’t important. “The lock’s broken.”
He wanted to say something. She could see it. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded, opened the door …
And said something low and unpleasant.
She couldn’t blame him.
She felt the same way each time she stepped into the dark, dirty entryway, inhaled the stink of beer and pee and marijuana, saw the banged-up doors that lined the hall and the wooden stairs that rose into the gloom.
Say something, she told herself, say anything.
“Well,” she said brightly, “this is it.”
He looked at her as if she were crazy.
“My apartment is on the fourth floor.”
Still nothing from him. Or—wait. There was … something. A tiny glint in his blue eyes.
“What in hell are you doing in a place like this?”
She thought of half a dozen answers. Any one of them would tell him things far more personal than he needed to know.
“I live here,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster, and she started toward the stairs.
She didn’t get very far before his hands closed on her shoulders and he swung her toward him.
“Dammit,” he said gruffly, “cut the act! It’s a good routine, pretending you’re tough and street-smart, but I was there an hour ago when the price of that act got too high.” She gasped as he lifted her to her toes. “Anything could happen to you here.”
“Nothing has.”
“Really? Is that what you call what went on tonight?”
“That had nothing to do with this.”
“You work in a dangerous place. You live in a dangerous place.”
“It’s called doing what I can to keep a roof over my head.”
“Don’t you have anyone who can help you?”
“I’m doing just fine on my own.”
“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I can see—”
One of the apartment doors swung open. Two men stepped into the hall. They were big and ugly; half of one’s face was a blur of homemade tattoos.
Sage had seen them before. They made a habit of saying things to her, ugly things; one always made a clicking sound with his mouth when she walked by.
They scared the hell out of her.
“Whoops,” the one with the tattoos said. “We breakin’ up the party?”
The other grinned, two front teeth gleaming gold.
“Sure looks like it’s gonna be fun.”
“Sure does. You think maybe they want company?”
Caleb’s hands dug into her shoulders. She could almost feel the tension radiating through him.
“Caleb,” she murmured. “Don’t.”
“Kay-Leb,” the tattooed one said in a falsetto, “don’t!”
Oh God!
“Caleb,” Sage said sharply. “Are you coming or not?”
“Yeah, man. You goin’ with her or not? ’Cause if you ain’t—”
Sage twisted free of Caleb’s grasp, grabbed his hand and all but dragged him to the stairs.
He tried to shake loose. She wouldn’t let him. She hung on with fierce determination and he knew that the only way he’d be able to loosen her grip would be to hurt her, and he’d sooner have slit his throat than do that.
“Dammit,” he growled, “I’m not going to run away from those—those—”
They reached the first landing. She moved close to him and put her finger across his lips.
“There are two of them,” she whispered. “And one of you.”
He laughed. It was a hard, terrible sound and she knew that the pair downstairs could never be his equal in a fight.
Still, she couldn’t let him run that risk for her. He’d already done enough, more than enough, to keep her safe tonight.
Sage acted on feminine instinct. “Yes, but what if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not.”
“What if you are?” she insisted. “What happens to me then?”
He looked at her.
And the downstairs door slammed shut.
The breath whooshed out of her. She went boneless with relief.
Caleb cursed softly, wrapped his arm around her and she slumped against him. She could feel his heart thudding; his body felt as if it had been forged out of steel.
Then, slowly, he let out a long breath.
“It’s okay,” he said softly.
She nodded, turned her face into the curve of his neck. It was okay, now that he was holding her.
What if he hadn’t been here?
She gave a little mew of distress. He held her closer. They stood that way for long minutes. Then she drew back.
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“I mean, how many times can one person say thank you?”
He bent his head to hers, brushed the lightest of kisses on her mouth. There was nothing sexual in the gesture; she knew he’d meant it to be reassuring, and it was.
What would it be like if he kissed her differently, if he kissed her in a way that meant something more?
“Sage? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, a little breathlessly. “I’m fine.”
“Okay,” he said briskly. “Three more flights and you can get me out of your hair.”
They climbed the remaining stairs; she stopped on the fourth-floor landing and pointed at the door ahead of them.
“That’s me.”
He held out his hand. “Your keys.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming,” he said dryly, “the lock on this door works.”
She nodded. Gave him her keys. Their hands brushed; hers trembled.
His eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
She shook her head. What could she tell him? Not the truth, that once she stepped through that door and he left, she’d be alone—and that, despite the deal they’d made, the promise she’d given that she wouldn’t think about what had happened at the club, she knew the scene would play and replay in her mind.
“You’re frightened,” he said bluntly.
“No,” she said quickly, “I’m fine.”
“To hell you are. And I don’t blame you.”
“Caleb. Really. I’m okay.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he undid the lock, then blocked the doorway with his body.
In his old life, he’d learned never to walk into a place that could prove dangerous without being vigilant. This was the USA, not Iraq or Pakistan, but anything was possible—and after what had happened at the club, what had almost happened downstairs just now, all his adrenaline was flowing.
“Home sweet home,” she said with a little laugh.
You could see all of it from where they stood but there was nothing sweet about it.
A shoebox of a living room. A bedroom. A bathroom. A minuscule kitchen. The place held old, tired-looking furniture but everything was scrupulously tidy.
“Stay here,” he said.
He went through the rooms, one by one, and finally came back to her.
“It’s clear.”
He knew this was the time to say goodnight but he couldn’t get the words out. And when she said, “I know it’s late but—would you like some coffee?” he said yes, absolutely, coffee was just what he wanted.
It was obviously the answer she’d wanted, too. She let out a long breath.
“Good.” She shut the door, set the locks. “To be honest—”
“You know what they say,” Caleb said, smiling. “Honesty’s the best policy.”
She gave him a hesitant smile. “I don’t—I don’t think I could sleep just yet.”
He put his hand under her chin and raised her face to his.
“You’re safe now,” he said softly.
“I know.” She smiled again. “That’s one of the dangers of being an actress. Having an overactive imagination, I mean.”
“Is that what you are? An actress?”
“Uh-huh. That’s why I work nights. At the club. It leaves me free for auditions.”
“Would I have seen you in anything?” he said, and they both laughed, knowing it was the most clichéd of clichéd questions.
“Lately? Well, there’s a commercial for Perrier and if you look really fast, I’m shopper number four at the checkout.”
Caleb grinned. “Shopper number four, huh?”
“I tried for shopper two because she gets a line, but the director thought another actress was better for the part.”
“His mistake.”
She grinned back at him. He wanted to cheer.
“When I get my first Tony or my first Oscar, I’ll point that out in my acceptance speech.”
They both laughed again. Then their laughter faded. Time seemed to stretch; the room filled with heavy silence.
And with awareness.
Her awareness of him.
His, of her.
He could hear his pulse beating in his ears.
He took a quick step back.
So did she.
“Coffee coming up,” she said brightly. “Just give me a minute to change, okay?”
He cleared his throat.
“No problem. I’ll just—I’ll just …” What would I just? Nothing sane, if I’m not careful.
She was gone five minutes, which was fine. It gave him time to get control of himself.
And to wonder what she was changing into.
Images flashed through his head. The kind he should have been ashamed of because there was nothing sexual about any of this, and she confirmed that when she reappeared wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants, her face scrubbed clean, her hair loose.
How could she be even more lovely without any artifice?
“… jacket.”
He blinked. She held out his suit jacket.
“I said, I’m afraid your jacket is creased.”
“Oh. It’s nothing. Just—just forget about—” He took the jacket, laying it over the back of an upholstered chair that had seen better days. Dammit, why couldn’t he come up with a coherent sentence? “Uh, I’ll just wash up, if that’s okay.”
“Oh, of course. I’ll put on the coffee. Do you think the driver would want a cup? I could take it down to—”
“He has a thermos. Drivers from that company always—” He shook his head. Amazing. After all that had happened to her tonight, she could still think of someone else’s needs. “But I’ll tell him you thought of it,” he said. “He’ll be pleased.”
Somehow, he made it to the closet-sized bathroom.
Caleb turned on the cold water.
He had to get his head together.
Sage was a good-looking woman. Hell, she was beautiful. Bottom line. So what?
She lived in a bad location. Worked in one, too. But he wasn’t her protector. He wasn’t her guardian.
And he didn’t want a one-night stand with her, either.
She wasn’t the kind of woman meant for casual sex.
He cupped his hands under the water and splashed it over his face.
“A cup of coffee,” he told the mirror. “And then you’re out of here, dude.”
He opened the door. Went into the kitchen. Drank coffee. One cup. Fast, while she did the same thing, because yes, it really was time to put an end to this.
“Excellent coffee,” he told her, with a quick smile.
“I grind the beans myself,” she said, returning his smile.
“Well,” he said finally.
He stood up. She did, too. They walked to the door.
It wasn’t much of a door.
Hollow, not solid. No peep hole. A chain, but a chain on a door like this was like loading a gun with foam-rubber pellets.
It looked good, but it didn’t serve any purpose.
“You forgot something,” Sage said.
Caleb swung toward her. She held out his jacket.
“Thanks,” he said, and took it from her. He hesitated. “Will you be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said quickly. Too quickly.
“Look, maybe you should call a friend. Maybe you shouldn’t be alone here tonight.”
“Really, I’ll be all right.”
Caleb looked at the sofa. It was ugly as sin and built for a doll house, but it had a big throw pillow at one end and a blanket folded over the back.
“Looks comfortable.”
She blushed. Why? Did she know what he was going to say? Because he knew, even before he got the words out.
“I’m staying,” he said. “On that sofa. Until morning.”
“No,” she said, “really, that isn’t—”
He took out his cell phone. Spoke to the limo driver. Told him he’d changed his plans.
“Tell your boss to bill me, and to add two hundred dollars for you. Yeah. Sure. You’re welcome.”
“No,” Sage said again. “Wait—”
“Remember what I said about getting my own way when I want to?” Caleb unbuttoned his shirt cuffs, rolled them back. “Well, this is one of those times.”
“But I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m—
“I know some people,” he said briskly. “I’ll make some calls in the morning, see what we can do about finding you an apartment and a job.”
“Caleb. Really—”
He lifted his hand, brushed a strand of golden hair back from her cheek.
“Here’s something you need to learn about me,” he said in a low voice. “I can be as stubborn as a mule.”
His eyes swept over her face, lingered on her lips. The desire to kiss her beat hard within him, but he wasn’t going to do it. He was staying the night to protect her, not because he wanted her.
Liar.
He wanted her. Badly. But he wasn’t going to take advantage. No way was he going to do that. He could kiss her, though. Just once …
Dammit!
“Go to bed,” he said roughly. “Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She didn’t argue.
He wondered if that meant she was having the same problem, if she was thinking similar thoughts …
Caleb gritted his teeth.
No way was he going to try and find out.
Instead, he watched her walk into the bedroom and close the door. Then he sat down on the sofa, kicked off his shoes, lay back. He didn’t expect to sleep but, eventually, he dozed …
A sound woke him.
It was Sage, standing just outside her bedroom, watching him.

CHAPTER THREE
THE light from the street cast a soft illumination over her.
She wore the sweats he’d seen her in earlier. Her pale golden hair was tousled; her feet were bare.
She looked soft and sweet and so desirable he wanted to get to his feet, go to her and take her in his arms….
But he didn’t.
She was watching him with a stillness that told him she was trying to decide what to do next.
He could only hope that decision involved him.
He kept as still as she, though every part of him was alert to her presence. He slowed his breathing, looked at her from under the screen of his lashes.
His pulse was racing. So were his thoughts.
Was she coming to him? Was she going to bend over him and kiss him? Go into his arms and part her lips to his?
Or was she simply prowling her own apartment for far less dramatic reasons? Maybe she just couldn’t sleep.
Caleb waited for some answering sign. A couple of minutes went by before one came.
She looked away, then walked quietly into the kitchen.
He let out a long breath. It was a disappointment … and yet, it wasn’t.
He hadn’t stayed the night for sex. He’d stayed to protect her … and wanting to make love to her didn’t have a damned thing to do with that.
It was greedy. Completely selfish. Altogether male. And she deserved better, if for no other reason than that she’d put her trust in him.
He had to honor that trust.
Honor, not to put too fine a point on it, was the primary principle by which he lived. It was the same for all the Wilde brothers.
Their old man had been too busy building a four-star career in the military to have been much of a father, but he’d managed to instill a basic code of ethics in his sons.
Honor. Truth. Duty.
If a man committed to those things, he could look at himself in the mirror without flinching.
A dim light went on in the kitchen.
Caleb heard the refrigerator door open, then close. Heard the delicate clink of glass against a countertop, then the whisper of liquid.
She was having a glass of water. Or milk. She was doing her best to keep the sounds to a minimum but his every sense was attuned to her.
What now? Stay where he was? Go to her? See what she needed?
See if she needed him?
He bit back a groan.
He knew the right answer this time. Shut his eyes. Roll over. Pretend he was asleep. That wasn’t just right, it was logical….
But it was a little late to worry about logic, wasn’t it? Because, hell, would a logical man have offered, no, insisted on spending the night on a sofa in the apartment of a woman he hardly knew?
He sat up. Ran his hands through his hair. Thought about closing the first couple of buttons of his shirt, and man, wasn’t that crazy? Maybe he ought to put his jacket back on, too.
He rose to his feet and headed for the kitchen. He wasn’t particularly quiet about it—the last thing he wanted was to startle her—but even at six foot three, how much noise could a barefoot man make?
He paused at the doorway, saw her standing at the counter, an open container of milk close at hand.
Her back was to him.
Her hair streamed down her back.
Longing swept through him, hot and sharp. Go back to that sofa, he told himself. Just turn away and she’ll never even know you were here.
Instead, he cleared his throat.
“Sage?”
She spun around. The glass fell from her hand to the worn linoleum and shattered into what looked like a thousand pieces.
So much for not startling her.
“Sage. Honey.” Caleb rushed into the room. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”
“Oh God, Caleb! I thought—I mean, I thought—”
She was shaking. Her face was as white as the milk.
Shards of glass were everywhere.
“Don’t move,” he said. “You’ll cut yourself.”
Too late. A tiny scarlet rivulet had joined the spill of milk.
He held out his arms.
“Come on. Let’s get you out of there.”
She hesitated. Then she leaned toward him, wound her arms around his neck, and he lifted her into his embrace.
God, the feel of her!
Soft. Warm. She smelled fresh and delicate, like a spring afternoon.
He could feel her breath on his throat, her hair against his face. He could feel her breasts, her belly, all of her, pressed against him.
He ached to draw her even closer. To stroke his hand down her spine, tilt her face up to his …
Stop it, he told himself.
This was wrong.
His thoughts. His hunger. Completely, totally wrong.
Maybe that was why he spoke so briskly as he carried her into the bathroom and sat her on the closed toilet.
“Okay,” he said, switching on the light over the sink, “let’s see that cut.”
“It’s nothing.”
“You’re probably right.” He knelt and took her foot in his hands. “But let’s make certain, okay?”
Her foot was small. High-arched. Her toenails were the palest shade of pink.
He wasn’t into feet. Hell, what he was into was women. But he wanted to lift her foot to his mouth, kiss her instep….
A wave of hot longing shot through him.
Quickly, he stood up. Turned on the water in the sink, adjusted it in hopes the icy flow would warm.
“Okay,” he said again, and winced. Okay seemed to have become his favorite word. “Soap? Check. Water? Check. All we need now is a washcloth, a towel and a bandage.”
And a smile from Sage, who was looking at him with no readable expression on her lovely face.
He knew how to change that.
Bend to her. Bring his mouth to hers. Run his fingers into her silken hair …
“Caleb.”
Her voice was soft. He shuddered under its gentle touch.
“Yeah,” he said, forcing a big smile, “I know. My medical skills are limited, but—”
“Caleb.” She was looking at him, her head tilted back. He could see a pulse beating in the hollow of her throat.
“What?” he said in a hoarse whisper.
She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.
“My—my foot is fine. Really. Look. The bleeding stopped and the cut is so tiny it’s barely visible.’
He tore his gaze from her face. She was right. The bleeding had stopped. All that remained of the cut, just as she’d said, was the tiniest possible scar.
What would she do if he put his mouth to it?
He swung away from her.
One more second and he’d be hard as a rock. Then what would become of honor and trust?
He drew a steadying breath, thought about cold rivers, cold lakes, cold streams.
“Washcloths,” he said. “Where do you keep them?”
“Honestly, Caleb—”
“I can clean the cut with tissue but then you’d be that old joke, a woman blissfully unaware her sexy outfit is spoiled by a trailing plume of toilet paper.”
She laughed, as he’d hoped she would. Good. Laughter. That was what he needed.
“Oh, I’m certainly wearing a sexy outfit,” she said. “All right, you win. Washcloths are in that cupboard, on the middle shelf.”
He nodded, got a washcloth from a neat stack of them, then checked the water running into the sink. It was still cold but better than it had been, and he dumped the cloth into the basin, swished it around, then wrung it out.
“Perfect,” he said, squatting down in front of her and lifting up her foot again.
Sage smiled.
“What?” he said, glancing up and catching the smile.
“Only that you were right. You really can be stubborn.”
He grinned.
“Told you.”
He dabbed at the cut. Sage went back to watching him. His hands were big. They were clean, the nails neatly trimmed, but they weren’t the hands of a man who earned his living at a desk. They were strong hands. Powerful. Masculine.
What would they feel like on her?
A rush of heat swept through her. Dammit, hadn’t she thought about him enough tonight? Weren’t images of this man, this stranger, what had kept her tossing in her bed?
Ridiculous, was what it was.
And it had to stop.
She cleared her throat.
“I, ah, I guess I made quite a mess.”
He looked up again.
“My fault. I scared the life out of you.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you. I just—I couldn’t sleep.”
“Bad dreams?”
She shook her head. “No. I just couldn’t—”
“I couldn’t, either.”
“No wonder. That sofa’s—”
He looked up at her again.
“It didn’t have a thing to do with the sofa.”
His voice was low. Rough. She stared at him. Then, slowly, a soft pink glow suffused her cheeks.
She knew what he was telling her. She was what had kept him awake.
How would he react if she told him it was the same for her?
Her heart gave an unsteady bump. Their eyes met and held. Then he rose quickly to his feet.
“Almost finished.” His tone had become brusque. “Let me just dry that cut and put a bandage on it.”
“It doesn’t need a bandage.”
“It does. Are they in the medicine cabinet?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
There was no point in arguing with him. By now, she knew that.
Her knight was a determined man. It was, she had to admit, an admirable quality, especially when all that determination was devoted to taking care of her.
Nobody had ever done that before.
Well, except, sometimes, for David—but that wasn’t the same thing at all.
Caleb made her feel … protected. More than that. He made her feel cherished, which was a silly word to use because he was a veritable stranger.
And yet, that was how she felt with him.
She watched as he took a towel from the rack, took the box of bandages from the cabinet, opened one, then squatted in front of her again.
His touch was gentle. Everything about him was gentle. It surprised her, considering his size, considering the way he’d dealt with her attacker and the pair of animals in the entry hall a couple of hours ago.
And he was intensely focused. On her foot, on the inconsequential wound.
Was he always that way?
Would he be so tightly focused on a woman in bed?
She made a little sound in the back of her throat. He looked up.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No,” she said quickly.
“You sure?”
Sage nodded, even though she was no longer sure about anything. How could she be, when one night, one man, had seemingly turned her existence upside down?
She wanted to touch him.
Stretch out her hand. Stroke his hair. It was short. Inky-black.
She wanted to touch his face, too. Trace her finger over those high cheekbones, that strong nose, that sensual mouth.
She wanted to look deep into his eyes, see if they were really blue, or were they black?
And those lashes. The color of soot. Thick. Long.
A woman would kill to claim those lashes.
A woman would kill to claim him.
Heat raced through her again, quick and dangerous. Was she crazy? This wasn’t her thing. Picking up a stranger. Fantasizing about making love with him …
“Don’t,” he said.
His voice was low, the way it had been before. Now it was rough, too, like sandpaper.
Sage blinked. She felt her pulse beating high and fast in her throat. He was watching her, his eyes and mouth narrowed.
“Did you hear me? I said, don’t look at me like that.”
She knew what he meant. The tension in the tiny room had grown thick. She knew what he was doing, too. Warning her. Giving her the chance to turn back.
I don’t know what you mean, was the simple answer, delivered not provocatively but with girlish innocence.
She was an actress. A good one, despite the paucity of credits in her résumé. She could deliver the line and make it believable.
The hell with that.
“Don’t look at you how?” she said, nothing girlish or innocent in the words but rather, a woman’s honest acceptance of what she wanted.
He made a sound that was almost a groan of despair.
“Sage,” he said, “do you know what you’re doing?”
“No,” she whispered. “But I know what I want.”
His eyes turned black as a moonless night. He reached for her, or she reached for him, and when he rose to his feet, she was in his arms.
He kissed her.
Not the sweet whisper of his mouth against hers as it had been before.
This time, his kiss was hungry.
His tongue sought entry and she gave it, willingly, eagerly, wanting his passion. And he gave it. No hesitancy. No caution. He was the man she’d come to know tonight, all male, all heat, all demand.
And she loved it.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. He lifted her off her feet, holding her to him, her breasts soft against his hard chest, her hips pressed to his, his erection powerful against her belly.
Her toes curled with the pleasure of it, and when his mouth left hers, she buried her face against his throat.
“Oh God,” she said. “Oh God, Caleb …”
“Are you sure?” he said hoarsely.
“Yes. Yes. Yes—”
He took her mouth again, carried her into the bedroom, stood her next to the bed.
She reached for the hem of her sweatshirt.
He caught hold of her hands. Kissed them.
“I want to undress you,” he said.
He did. Slowly. Raising her sweatshirt as she raised her arms. Pulling it over her head, then tossing it aside.
She felt the kiss of night air on her breasts, then the heat of his mouth, and she cried out in shocked wonder at the feel of it.
She grabbed his shirt. He shook his head.
“Not yet,” he whispered, knowing that he had to see all of her before this went any further, that his control was slipping away like honey from a spoon.
“Not yet,” he said again, and he hooked his thumbs into her sweatpants and drew them down her hips, down her long legs.
Ah, lord, she was exquisite.
High, rounded breasts. Slender waist. A woman’s hips, lush and lovely. Those long, elegant legs. And at the juncture of her thighs, a mass of gold curls, waiting for his caress.
“Sage. You’re so beautiful….”
She reached for him again. His shirt was half-unbuttoned and now she undid the rest, her eyes never leaving his, their hot glitter burning him like flame.
He shrugged off the shirt. She gave a little hum of delight and skimmed her hands over his muscled shoulders and chest, his six-pack abs.
He’d always taken care of his body, playing sports, training for the Agency, riding his horses. He’d done it because he believed in keeping strong and, yes, he’d done it for vanity, too.

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