Page 59 of Wild Devotion
But this was not the Caleb I knew. Not the one who smiled easily, teased me, and tortured me with devotion. This version of him was someone else entirely. Jaw locked, veins raised in his neck, shoulders strained with barely contained fury. His blue eyes burned through the dark waves falling across his face with the kind of intensity that made you want to reconsider every life choice that had led you to this moment.
He was terrifying. He was glorious.
“She’s mine,” he growled. “And she said no. So what’s it going to be?”
Jeremy’s grip went slack. I drove my elbow into his stomach one final time for good measure and pulled free.
Caleb’s arm locked around me, his body angling between me and Jeremy. He didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t check in. He just moved me through the crowd like I belonged to him, his height and his solid frame cutting a path to the back porch.
The chilly night air hit my flushed skin. The noise fell away. And his arm stayed exactly where it was.
“I’m fine,” I said, turning to face him, pressing my palm to his chest. “Thank you for not punching him.”
“The only hands I want on you are mine.” His voice was rough. His words were a raw, possessive truth. And I was done for.
I should have pulled away. Should have reminded him it wasn’t his call to make.
But I couldn’t. God, I didn’t want to.
Instead, I stepped into him until there was no space left, wrapped my arms around his middle, and held on like he was the only solid thing in my world.
His mouth found the top of my head. And his arousal, hard and unmistakable, pressed against my stomach.
We stood there, hearts hammering against each other, neither of us willing to let go.
“Let me take you on a real date,” he murmured. “With talking and hand holding and maybe a kiss at the end of the night.”
“A kiss at the end of which night?”
“Don’t tempt me.” He squeezed me tighter. “I’m still trying to do this right.”
“Cal, we?—”
His mouth found mine before I could finish. Hot and urgent and better than I remembered, which shouldn’t have been possible. For a moment—one reckless, blazing moment—I forgot the crowded house behind us. Forgot everything except the way his need amplified mine until I couldn’t tell where his hunger ended and mine began.
Then a door slammed somewhere inside the house, and the noise of the party flooded back in. I tore my mouth from his, breathless, my entire body aching for more.
His arm tightened, refusing to let me go. “I can taste how much you want this. And I know you can feel how much I do. So stop pretending.”
I groaned, my forehead hitting his chest.
But he was relentless.
His finger snaked under my chin, guiding my eyes back up to meet his. “You know what this is, Zadie. You’ve known since the bathtub. Fuck, probably before. And I can guarantee, it’s not friends.”
“Friends is all I can handle.”
“No. Friends is all you’re willing to trust.” His thumb brushed under my bottom lip. “I get it. You’ve been fucked over. But I’m not like him.”
“I know you’re not.” Because of course I did. He was nothing like Sean. Everything about Caleb screamed safe, real, and so goddamn wonderful it made me ache.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered. “That’s the problem.”
“That’s not a problem.” His hands framed my face, holding me steady, his eyes fierce and unwavering. “It’s a goddamn miracle. And it changes nothing. I still want you. All of you.”
I wanted to believe him. Wanted to kiss him again and forget every miserable thing. But the nausea was back, and with the heat, the hormones, and everything else, I was fading.
