Hero(40)
Author: Samantha Young

That was when he grinned at me—a full-on grin that made my heart flutter and turned me into a puddle of warm mush.

I was still staring at his office door in wonder minutes after he’d disappeared inside it.

Sun poured in through my windows, illuminating Caine as he sat at my breakfast bar, sipping coffee and reading the Saturday paper. I tried to keep my attention on the omelet I was making for us, but I found I was easily distracted by the fact that Caine was sitting, casual as you please, in my apartment waiting on breakfast.

The night before, I’d waited with those darn butterflies in my stomach for Caine to finish up his work and come to me. I killed time by calling Rachel and updating her on the situation. She thought it was exciting and announced she wanted absolutely every detail so she could live vicariously through me. Grandpa called not long after my conversation with Rach. I’d thought when I heard from him I would be able to confront him about the blood money he’d offered Caine’s dad. But I found the words stuck low in my throat, painful and resistant. I told myself that when I finally saw him in person, we’d discuss it. It wasn’t a conversation I could just start up over the phone. Yet the truth was … I was scared. I wanted Grandpa to have a reason that made sense for what he did, but I knew that he couldn’t. I knew no reason would be good enough, and I wasn’t quite ready to face the reality that he wasn’t the man I thought he was. So when he asked me if I’d found a new job I told him Caine and I had worked it out and I was going to remain in his employ. Somehow Grandpa read between the lines and he was not happy. But that didn’t bother me like it would have yesterday. Who was he to be disappointed in me, after all?

After the phone call with my grandfather I pushed him to the back of my mind in favor of overanalyzing this thing with Caine. I went over and over whether I was doing the right thing. I swung back and forth, reaching for my cell to call Caine and tell him not to come to me. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it because I wasn’t ready to give him up.

Just before midnight I let Caine into my building and opened the door to him. I was wearing a tiny silk camisole and matching shorts.

The tiredness in the back of his eyes faded when he took me in. He’d stepped into the apartment, kicked the door shut behind him, pressed me back against the wall, and slid his hands up to my waist. His lips brushed mine. “I was wrong. This is what you should wear to work.”

My laughter had been swallowed up in his deep, hot kiss.

Sex this time had been slower, headier, as Caine took his time getting to know my body and allowing me to get to know his. We’d only drifted to sleep a few hours before dawn, but Caine was an early riser. In every way. And that meant I was awake early too, although I wasn’t complaining. An orgasm was a nice way to say hello to the day.

And now here I was.

Making him breakfast in my kitchen like we did this all the time.

I put his omelet down in front of him and slid onto the stool opposite him to dig into mine.

“Thank you,” he said before cutting into it.

“You’re welcome.”

We ate in silence and I realized that Caine seemed perfectly happy for us to remain in silence.

I frowned.

Suddenly the whole kitchen scenario didn’t give me the warm fuzzies.

When Caine said he wanted this to be an affair, he literally meant sex. Just sex. And the occasional quiet breakfast, obviously.

Hmm.

I wanted to get to know him better, but how did I go about drawing him into conversations that actually meant something?

Well, first you need to get him talking. About anything.

“Why my apartment?” I blurted out.

When Caine looked up from the paper, confusion wrinkled his brow. “What?”

“Why did you come to me? I could have come to you. Is it because of Effie?”

“No.” Caine shook his head and returned to his paper. “I just like your apartment.”

Surprised, I was quiet a moment. I gazed around at my apartment, trying to work out what it was about it that Caine liked. It couldn’t have been more different from his place. “Why?” I said.

He shrugged and kept eating. He frowned at something he read and turned the page.

Okay, that wasn’t an answer, and it looked like I wasn’t going to get one.

I decided not to push it and take the fact that he’d admitted he liked my apartment as a score for the day.

We sat in silence until we’d finished breakfast, and when he was done Caine thanked me again, leaned over the counter to kiss me, and then left. There was no arranging to spend the day together, no word of meeting up at night. Nothing.

I stared glumly at our empty plates.

But at least I’d gotten a kiss good-bye this time.

CHAPTER 15

Sex followed by the quiet breakfast foreshadowed what was to come. Saturday night Caine didn’t come over to my place. He called the next day and said if I was around he’d come over that night.

And he did.

We had mind-blowing sex in my living room and then he left.

Monday through Thursday that was pretty much our lives. We worked together under the pretense of complete professionalism. I went home around six thirty and Caine came over around ten thirty. We fucked and then he went back to his apartment.

There was nothing romantic about it. Yeah, it was hot and that heat only seemed to be getting hotter, but Caine’s walls were still high and impenetrable and I had no clue how to break them down.

I was failing miserably.

But then two things happened that gave me a spark of hope. The first was that Caine had an art gala to attend that Friday evening that was being hosted by the wife of one of his board of directors. As soon as I arranged for one of his tuxes to be pressed, I was on tenterhooks, worrying about the person he would invite to go with him. I couldn’t attend because we’d decided to keep our relationship private. However, we also hadn’t discussed whether we were going to be exclusive during our affair. I was more than gratified, then, when Caine told me that he was going to the event solo. Still, I wished I’d had the courage to ask him about exclusivity so I could know for certain one way or another.

Come Friday the second thing happened to give me my answer …

The stationery room was about to pay witness to my printer-induced rage.

I’d spent the last twenty-five minutes fiddling around with the digital computer screen on the damn thing, trying to work out why on earth it wouldn’t print.

“Argh!” I smacked the side of it. “What is wrong with you?”