“I know you are.” God, he looked so certain. “But I’m not asking you to be fearless—and that wouldn’t be possible anyway. I’m just asking you to let me stand next to you while you face it.”
The words hit me harder than any declaration of love could have. Because he wasn’t promising to fix me or save me or make the fear disappear. He was offering to be there while I figured it out.
“Are you sure you still want me?” I drifted closer. “After everything I’ve put you through? Everything I’m probably going to keep putting you through?”
“Zadie.” His hand found the back of my neck, fingers sliding into my hair. “I’ve never been more sure about something in my entire life.”
The sound that left me might have been a whimper. Or maybe it was the last of my resistance finally giving way.
His mouth crashed into mine with a force that stole my breath. Not aggression. Not exactly. This was the dominance of a man who was done asking, done apologizing, and done pretending he’d settle for anything less than all of me.
And God help me, I didn’t want him to settle. I wanted him to take.
His tongue swept into my mouth, his hand tightening in my hair, angling my head exactly where he wanted it. I opened wider, gave him more, and the growl that rumbled through his chest made my thighs clench.
My hands were everywhere—his arms, his shoulders, his jaw. I couldn’t stop touching him. Couldn’t stop pulling him closer.
Then his hands dropped to my waist, and in one fluid motion, he hauled me out of my chair and into his lap. I gasped against his mouth as my weight settled over him, his cock a hard ridge under my thighs.
He groaned at the contact, and something snapped loose inside me. I ground against him in slow, desperate circles, and he gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, pulling me down tighter against him. We were panting, clawing, and I was two seconds away from sweeping the dishes to the floor so we could finish this on the dining room table.
“Well, it’s about fucking time.”
Our mouths broke apart, both of us startling at the sound of Chantel’s voice. She was standing at the foot of the table with her arms crossed and a smirk balanced somewhere between smug satisfaction and genuine delight.
“As happy as I am to see this,” she continued, “there are children in this house. Might want to keep it PG.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks, but Caleb’s hands kept me locked in place. He nuzzled my ear, nipped at the lobe, then placed a deliberate kiss on my cheek before lifting his head to meet Chantel’s stare.
“You’re a doctor,” he said, his voice steady and unruffled. “You should know it’s unhealthy to keep secrets.”
Chantel’s face went white. The pulse in her neck kicked visibly.
“It’s okay.” His tone softened. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Neither did I, but I wasn’t about to interrupt their standoff.
“Yes, you do.” His calm didn’t waver. “But like I said, I’m not talking. And we’ll keep quiet about you playing matchmaker with us, too. So that’s at least two secrets I’m keeping for you.”
He held her stare with a kind of quiet authority as her mouth opened, then snapped closed.
“I think you kind of owe me.” He smirked. “Maybe you could start by doing all the dishes.”
She quirked a manicured brow, rolled her eyes, and then started collecting plates. “Never took you for a badass, cousin.”
“Don’t get too comfortable.” He was grinning now, but there was steel underneath it. “We’ll discuss your little voyeurism issue later.”
Her laugh was louder than I’d heard in weeks. She was relaxed, maybe even happy, and the sight of my best friend with something other than a scowl on her face put a lump in my throat.
As she cleared the table, I studied Caleb’s face. Chantel wasn’t wrong—badass wasn’t quite the word, but he was a rebel. A relentless fighter.
At that moment, though, all I saw was a sharp jaw I wanted to run my tongue along and eyes that made me forget why I’d ever been afraid.
My skepticism had melted. My reason stolen.
Caleb Alexander had corrupted my mind, replacing every doubt with a hopeful dream.