CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Full of nervous energy, Sarah cleaned off the table, loaded the dishwasher, and washed the remaining dishes. When the countertops were so clean that she could practically see her reflection in them, she walked over to the couch and sat down next to her knitting.
How could her grandmother have possibly thought she had the skills to finish this sweater? And yet, Sarah couldn’t stand the thought of letting her down. Helping out at the store for a few days was one thing. Tackling this sweater, she could already see, was another thing entirely. Sarah knew how to run a business, but dealing with multiple strands of yarn while trying to knit them into an intricate pattern was going to take some serious concentration.
Normally, Sarah thought as she picked up the needles and pattern and tried to make sense of them again, she was a master of concentration. But when Calvin was around, her thoughts ended up fluttering around like little lost butterflies.
He had gently accused her of not telling the truth earlier about being jealous of the women who swarmed around him. He was right. She wasn’t a liar. It was just that these feelings were confusing.
As soon as he finished putting Jordan to bed, Sarah needed to head back to her own bed too. If she were smart, she would get out of his house right now, swim across the cold lake if she had to, put some distance between them before she did something stupid again. Before she made another—bigger—mistake by giving in to feelings that couldn’t possibly make rational sense.
But she couldn’t leave without at least saying thank you for dinner and good night, could she?
The train of her thoughts was too dangerous for her to keep following them. This impossible sweater in her lap, for all its difficulty, was much safer.
Denise had marked where she’d left off on the pattern in the hospital, and Sarah forced herself to begin there, to take one stitch and then another. She couldn’t let herself look any farther ahead than one stitch. Couldn’t let herself worry about whether or not she’d be able to get to the end without it being a mass of holes and tangles. Couldn’t worry about making sure the sweater turned out perfectly. Because if she did any of those things, she might as well save herself time and frustration by stuffing the yarn, needles, and pattern into the garbage can right now.
“Seeing you with those needles makes me realize how much you look like your grandmother.” Calvin’s warm voice caressed her spine, made her skin tingle all over.
How long had he been standing there by the door, staring at her with those dark eyes? She’d been so focused on trying to pull in the correct strands of yarn that she hadn’t realized he had come in.
His large hands were hooked into the pockets of his jeans, and a small shiver ran through her as she was filled with the foolish anticipation of having them on her again…and that dark, sinful gaze shining with love for her as she came apart in his arms.
“Your eyes must be playing tricks on you,” she finally replied. “I don’t look anything like them.”
“Do you really not see it?”
“My mother and grandmother are so small and feminine. They’ve always been able to make the most beautiful things with their hands. Not just with yarn, but with paint and fabric.” She loved them both, so very much, but she’d still always felt a world apart from them. Not only did they have curves she’d never inherited, but they’d always chosen to live happily on a small scale, whereas she never stopped shooting for big. Just like her father had taught her. “I’ve never fit in with them.”
“You have your grandmother’s eyes.” Calvin knelt in front of her, his knuckles brushing against her cheekbone. “Only yours are brighter.” He brushed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “You have the same mouth as your mother, only your lips are plumper.” He slid his thumb down to her chin. “But this chin is all your own. So stubborn.” He brought his mouth closer to hers. “So sweet.”
A lump had formed in her throat at everything he saw, all the things no one else ever had. “You know just what to say,” she whispered against his mouth. “And just how to say it.”
“No, I don’t.” She lifted her eyes to his in surprise. “If I did, I’d know what to say to get you to stay for more than one night at a time. For more than a week or two before heading back to the city.”
The air grew still between them, the tension riding high at his words, at their barely banked desire for each other, at the control she was constantly trying to exercise over it. She had to pull away, walk away from this. From him. She needed to do it right now. She should have done it last night.
There was no way she could lie to herself and call this a hometown fling. Not when being with Calvin was so much more than that. It was why she’d stayed away from him for so long. Because she’d known that if she ever let her defenses down, he’d be right there, stealing even more of her heart than he already had.
But hadn’t she been strong for years? Hadn’t it eaten through her soul to be that strong for so long? She’d spent so long worrying about complications. Couldn’t she have one more night with him? One final night where he was hers and she was his?
She’d have to be strong again soon, she knew that. But with her grandmother in the hospital, with her career suddenly having more to do with yarn than Fortune 100 business development, with Calvin’s eyes seeing things no one else ever had, as her fingers curled with tension into the sweater in her lap—suddenly all she could think was, One stitch at a time. No looking forward. No worrying about making it to the end.
She looked into his eyes, held his gaze, and let him see all her desire, all her longing. “I’m here now.” For one more night.
A second later, Calvin was lifting her off the couch, her knitting sliding off her lap onto the cushions. “I don’t want to waste one more second with you.” And then he was making good on his words by kissing her as he took her back to his bedroom.
His mouth was magic, the first kiss he’d ever given her when they were teenagers having ruined her for anyone else. One small kiss was all it took for her knees to go weak, but there was nothing small about the way he was kissing her now. With such passion. With such possession. With so much sensuality, so much desire, that it turned her inside out—and made it impossible for her to hold back just how much she needed him. Just how much she wanted to possess him too.
Once inside, he pushed the door shut with his shoulder, then turned them so that her back was to the door. As she slid down his body, onto her feet, every inch of contact caused a slow burn across her body.
“I swore I was going to do this slow,” he said as he pulled her shirt off, along with her bra. “I told myself I was going to have some control this time.”
But Sarah was sick to death of control.
“Please,” she whispered as she helped him slide off her jeans and panties. “Love me, Calvin. Just love me.”
His dark eyes dilated to black, and then her hands were tugging at his pants, at his boxers and T-shirt. And after he quickly took care of protection then put his hands on her hips and said, “Wrap your legs around me,” it was the most natural thing in the world for her to trust that he would hold her.
To trust that he wouldn’t let her fall, no matter what.
And then he was pushing into her and she was opening up for him, wanting all of him. She buried her head in the crook of his shoulder as he filled her so completely that her breath left her lungs in a whoosh.
She lifted her head, had to look at him, had to say, “Calvin.”
He held her body still around his, his arms strong. Steady as he said, “I love you.”
That was all it took for the dam to break. She’d never felt so wild, so strong, so good. Nothing mattered but how good he made her feel, where there was no past, no future.
Only a stunningly beautiful present. One where release came roaring through her, so powerful, so breathlessly good, that it was all she could do just to hold on and let pleasure stream through her.
But even as she came completely apart, he held on to his control, his muscles, his tendons tight as he gripped her hips tight and helped her squeeze out every ounce of bliss as she rode him, rode the pleasure he was giving her. The pleasure that only he could give her. The same pleasure she wanted to give him. Because she craved him, craved everything about him. Not only the sound, the feel, the wonder of loving him, but also his smiles, his laughter, the way he loved so deeply. So truly.
And then he was moving them to his bed, not letting them part, not letting anything come between them, not even air, as he ran kisses down across her temple, down over her cheekbones, her closed eyelids, the tip of her nose.
With each sweet press of his lips against her skin, she felt herself coming alive, inch by sensual inch. His body was a wonder, his shoulders and arms corded and rippling with muscles, his chest broad, his abs defined by the deep shadows between them, all of it tapering down to slim hips.
“I can’t believe I’m here. With you.” Nothing had ever been this good, nothing could ever be as good as the incredibly sensual feel of his body inside her, his heat over her, his arms around her, his gaze so full of love as he looked into her eyes. “How do you do this to me? How do you make me feel so much?”
His low chuckle was full of sensuality. Full of such deep desire—and love—that she didn’t know how to take it all in. “My sweet Sarah.”
No one but Calvin had ever called her sweet. As far as she knew, no one else had ever thought it.
He’d given her so much already, and yet she was still so desperate for him. Desperate to run her hands over his chest, his shoulders, his back. Desperate to lean up from the pillows to press hot kisses over his tanned skin. Desperate to nip, to taste, to wrap her legs more tightly around him as he grew impossibly, wonderfully, bigger inside of her.
And then he was taking her hands in his, threading their fingers together, linking them in every single way, before lifting her arms to the sides of her head.
“Sarah.”
That was all it took. The whisper of her name. The way he was looking into her eyes, giving her everything inside his heart, holding nothing back. And it was so much more than she’d ever thought to have again. More than she’d ever dreamed was possible.
She was lost to emotion, lost to pleasure, lost to Calvin, when everything stopped—her breath, her heart, her thoughts—as she came apart beneath him. And then he was calling out her name as he found his own explosive release.
She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t move a muscle. Not when she was still reeling from the passion—and the emotion—between them. But then she felt him shift as he brushed a lock of damp hair away from her face.
“I’ve never seen anything, or anyone, as beautiful as you.”
And she had never felt as beautiful as she did when she was in his arms. But before she could find the breath to say the words aloud, sleep came at her like a runaway freight train, leaving her only barely aware of his words of love, of his lifting her and sliding her beneath the covers, warm and safe against his body before she fell asleep.