Lisa Jones - Breathless Descent

Caleb tipped up his beer and drank. Then he did the same with Rick’s. Maybe for the first time in years, he’d get wasted. Completely flipping wasted. He glanced at Sharon, who was now standing with Bob, smiling up at him…oh, so happy. Okay. “Wasted” wasn’t an option. At least not here. Not now.

He watched one of Bob’s brothers toss a horseshoe. He was a good guy named Mickey, who had always made Caleb feel like genuine, blood-related family. This was his family. Shay was his family. He took another drink. This time the beer was hot and bitter, like the feeling welling inside him.

Kent took another shot and missed. Mickey and Bob cracked jokes. Kent headed toward Caleb. “Go ahead and crack your joke. Get it over with now.”

Caleb barely heard Kent, despite Kent getting up close and personal. He was thinking about Shay. About the look on Shay’s face just before she’d turned away from him. The defiance etched in her delicate features flashed in Caleb’s mind, followed by the image of her walking arm-in-arm with Rick. She was trying to make him jealous. Or trying to spite him.

Caleb glanced at Kent and shoved the beers in his hands. “You’ve never been a good shot when you’re sober. Drink up. I’ll go for more.”

Before Kent could respond, Caleb started walking, his fingers curling into his palms by his sides. He’d played this cat-and-mouse game with Shay for too long. She could have whatever man she wanted, but not like this, not because of him, to get to him. At least, that’s what he told himself so he could ignore the twist of jealousy inside him.

He cut into the house, through the patio door and then ground his teeth when Shay and Rick were nowhere to be seen—and neither was anyone else, for that matter. Everyone was outside, socializing, having fun, allowing Shay the empty house to be with Rick. He crossed the room, possessiveness just beneath the surface, though he preferred to call it protectiveness.

The sound of Shay’s laughter fluttered down a hallway—that damn angelic laugh that had driven him wild a good half of his life, now velvety with a distinct hint of flirtation. A few more steps, and a lot more of that protectiveness ground a path along his nerve endings.

The laughter floated closer, along with the soft muffled sound of Shay’s voice. Caleb stopped dead in his tracks. The sound was coming from Shay’s old bedroom. Oh, hell, no. This wasn’t happening. Caleb charged forward, on edge and ready for war. He rounded the corner to the room, door open, to find Rick sitting on Shay’s bed.

“Almost ready,” Shay called out softly from the closet.

Caleb didn’t want to know what she was ready for. Anger spiked inside him. His years of combat were the only thing that kept him outwardly in check when inside he was raging, a distinct tick in his jaw pulsing.

Rick’s gaze was riveted to the doorway as if he sensed the crackle suddenly in the air. And apparently he didn’t like what he saw in Caleb’s face. He paled and jumped to his feet.

“Leave now,” Caleb said before Rick could speak, his voice low and even.

Rick was already headed to the door.

“Okay, I found a shirt,” Shay said, walking out of the closet. She was still dressed in the cover-up that seemed far more skimpy up close than it had across the lawn.

“Caleb?” she said, surprised. “What’s going on? Rick! Wait. You need the shirt.”

“Rick was just leaving,” Caleb said, ignoring the T-shirt in her hand. “He has his own shirt.”

Rick stopped in front of Caleb out of necessity. Caleb was blocking his way. “It’s best you call it a day,” Caleb said thickly.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Rick said. “I—”

“I don’t care,” Caleb said shortly. “Don’t want to know.”

“Caleb!” Shay objected. “Stop acting like a brute. Rick, don’t go.” Rick didn’t look at her.

Caleb stepped aside. “Goodbye, Rick.”

And just like that, Rick was gone. Shay shoved her hands onto her hips and glared. “What the heck do you think you are doing, Caleb?”

He shut the door, the scent of citrus and honey flaring in his nostrils. Shay’s scent, for as long as he could remember. It breathed in the room like a living thing. Just as the lust and tension between them had for far too long now. It was time to deal with it, once and for all.

Caleb leaned against the door, arms in front of his chest, one booted foot over the next. “We need to talk.”

CALEB COULD SEE the firestorm coming. Shay’s eyes darkened and pink rushed across the delicate ivory of her skin—both sure signs she was in fighting mode. He had a knack for bringing it out in her. Had intentionally drawn her right to this hot little spot of temper as he had so many times in the past. As a defense, a distraction. Anything to fight the forbidden, sizzling-hot attraction that had always existed between them.

“Talk,” Shay repeated, starting to walk toward him. “I’ve not heard a word from you in the two months you’ve been home, and now you want to talk. Because you’re ready. All the times I was ready, you tucked tail and ran.”

“I’m not running now, Shay,” he said, not denying the truth. He had run. Run and hoped they’d outgrown the adolescent infatuation they’d shared. But it had matured as they had, turned dangerous in its demand. “I’m here. I’m ready. Let’s talk.” It was long overdue and he knew it.

“Well, I’m not ready.” She stopped in front of him, impatiently waving him aside. “You might as well move away from in front of the door, Caleb. The only person I’m going to talk to right now is Rick. You scared the man half to death with that ‘lethal soldier’ act of yours. That was rude and it was wrong.”

“Rude was visiting the daughter of the party’s host in her bedroom,” he said. “Rick deserves to be scared.”

“You’re in my room,” she pointed out. “What does that say about you?”

“I belong here. Rick doesn’t.”

“I decide who belongs in my room,” she said and held up a finger to stop his objections. “It’s still my room, whether I live here or not. And unlike you, Rick was invited.” She slapped the shirt in her hand against Caleb’s chest, and he reached up and caught it as she added, “He needed a shirt. Too bad I didn’t spill my plate on you instead of him.”

He started to toss the shirt, and his gaze caught on the University of Texas championship logo. “Wait one damn minute.” His eyes jerked to hers. “This is my shirt,” he said, then added, incredulously, “You were giving him my shirt.”

“My shirt,” she declared, hands on her scantily clad hips.

“That you stole from me the year I moved into this house to sleep in and never gave back. You know damn well you were giving him that shirt to piss me off.”

She snatched the shirt right back from him and tossed it over her shoulder. “It was convenient. Like you shoving Rick in my direction because you couldn’t handle being in close quarters with me.”

“I’d say I’m pretty damn close right now.” Close enough to see the sprinkle of light brown freckles on her nose that she hated and he loved. Close enough to touch her. “And I had nothing to do with Rick, besides kicking him out of here. The date thing came from Kent and your father.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Rick sure didn’t see it that way.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t there when Rick was pining over you,” he agreed. “But you know damn well I couldn’t say anything without drawing questions.”

“Right,” she said smartly. “We wouldn’t want to draw any questions. Better everyone think we’ve decided we don’t like each other than dare believe we want to jump each other’s bones.”