Chapter 12
Gabrielle
“Okay, so how do I work this thing?” I fumbled with the electric kettle Cal had given me.
“First, you add water,” Cal said with a trace of amusement. “Then you plug it in, switch it on, and wait. It’s not rocket science.” He leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, his face full of mischief.
I rolled my eyes, filling the kettle with exaggerated care.
“If you have trouble boiling a kettle, I’m genuinely concerned about letting you near the lab kit tomorrow,” he continued, his accent slipping into something painfully posh for effect. “We’ll be adding resistors and capacitors to circuits.”
I tossed a dish towel at him. He caught it easily.
“Very funny.” I set the kettle on its base with a decisive click, refusing to look at him until I could smother my grin.
He tugged me toward him, the towel forgotten on the floor.
Cal kissed along my neck, each touch like a spark. I stood still, caught in the delicious thrill of it, breath going shallow. His lips lingered just below my ear.
“The kettle won’t work if you don’t plug it in,” he whispered, his voice a teasing rumble. “And switch it on.” He pulled back, eyes alight with playful reproach. “Haven’t I taught you anything?”
I laughed, the sound embarrassingly shaky as I plugged in the kettle. The switch, however, eluded me, and I fumbled to find it, growing increasingly frustrated. Before I knew it, Cal was behind me, pressing the flat button at the base of the handle with infuriating ease.
“It was hiding,” I defended weakly.
“I’m sure.”
I turned toward him, surrendering to his proximity and the blaze of attention that pinned me there. “How long will it take?”
“A minute or two.” His lips brushed the side of my jaw between syllables.
“I suppose I could’ve calculated it,” I said, a nervous tilt to my voice.
“You could have.” Another kiss, more insistent than the last. “Or you could just trust me.”
Cal spun me across the kitchen with a sudden, playful fierceness.
I let out a small yelp before he caught me at the waist and lifted me onto the counter in one swift motion.
I gasped, but it quickly became a soft exhale as he stepped between my thighs and kissed me—deeply, fiercely—with a hunger that turned my bones to sand.
I moaned against his lips, instinctively wrapping my legs around him, pulling him closer.
He tangled his fingers in my hair, and I threaded mine through the dark strands that fell over his forehead.
Everything—the heat of him, the solid press of his body—flooded my senses.
My pulse surged with each insistent kiss.
His name escaped my lips in a breathless pant.
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, and the raw intensity there left me unmoored. He rested his forehead against mine, chest heaving like he’d just run a race.
“Christ,” he murmured into the space between us. “If you keep making sounds like that, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.”
His heart beat frantically against my own.
He brushed his lips against mine again, lingering with a tenderness that carried just as much urgency as before. I clung to him.
The kettle clicked off, but neither of us moved.
“You’ll want to get that,” Cal finally said, the words low and ragged.
“Already?” I was breathless, still clinging to him. “Was that even a minute?”
He drew away just enough to catch his breath, reluctance in every motion, and went to the cupboard. The absence of his touch left me cold and aching. He placed Yorkshire Gold tea bags into each mug and poured the steaming water over them. The faint, earthy aroma of tea curled through the air.
He returned to me with renewed urgency, words punctuated by demanding, insistent kisses. “We have another”—his lips sealed over mine, insistent and consuming—“three minutes now.”
I laughed against his mouth, but the sound turned needy, dissolving into a moan as he skimmed his hands up my back, pulling me closer. He captured my gasp with another kiss—deep, devouring—as though making up for every moment he’d resisted.
I arched into him. The bottom edge of the cabinet bit into my neck, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the wild pulse beneath my fingertips as I traced over his chest.
He slipped his fingers beneath the hem of my sweater, the heat of his touch scalding against the sensitive skin along my spine.
“Your skin is like silk.”
Cal traced his lips down my neck, his breath a fevered rush against my skin. He caught the neckline of my sweater between his fingers, tugging it down to press slow, deliberate kisses along my collarbone.
“Can’t get enough,” he murmured, voice thick with need.
Desire coiled tight within me, an electric pulse that spread to every nerve. I dug my fingers into his shoulders as I arched into him. His mouth was relentless, leaving a trail of sensation that made it impossible to think beyond this moment, this need.
He paused, searching my eyes with an intensity that both thrilled and unsettled me. The weight of what we were doing hung between us—unspoken but undeniable. Still, he didn’t stop.
I slipped my fingers under his collar, savoring the heat of his skin beneath the fine wool of his sweater. It should have been enough—but wasn’t.
I took hold of his belt and gently tugged.
“Gabrielle,” he breathed into my ear, raw and almost pleading.
The sound of my name, so far removed from his usual polished reserve, was unbearably thrilling.
“Gabrielle,” he said again as I tugged more insistently at his belt, the word almost a groan. He drew a shuddering breath. “You’re an exquisite tease.” He moved to my neck, lips grazing, each touch electric. He nibbled my ear, and I trembled.
“You’re one to talk.” I pulled the belt free from the buckle only for him to put his hand over mine, halting me with gentle restraint. I pulled back, self-conscious.
“Gabrielle,” he said softly, urgency and affection warring in his voice as he kissed me again and again, each one reaffirming. “Do you know what it’s like?” His words were fire against my skin. “To want you this badly?”
He traced his mouth along my jaw, and I sighed.
“I’d love nothing more than to toss you on your bed right now,” he murmured between ragged breaths, “and ravish you completely.”
The image seared through me, sharp and delicious, leaving me aching. A delicious flutter unfurled in my stomach.
“This afternoon…” He paused, drawing my earlobe into his mouth with exquisite tenderness before he found his voice again, words rasping.
“When you were riding with me…your body pressed into mine with every turn.” He gripped my hips, hard and sudden, and traced my collarbone with his tongue, and I shivered.
“I thought of pulling off the road and bending you over my bike.”
The image made me go liquid in his arms. He caught and steadied me against him, laughing softly at my reaction.
“God, Gabrielle. I longed to know what it would feel like, having those stunning thighs wrapped around me.” The words were a groan against my skin.
I could barely breathe, dizzy with wanting him so much. He slid his hands to the hem of my sweater again but paused there, leaving me burning at his hesitation.
“But—” His voice was raw, stopping me as well. He pulled back enough for me to see the war in his eyes. “If we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to hold back.”
He kissed me then, fiercely tender and achingly sweet, like he had just laid something bare between us he couldn’t take back. I exhaled in a rush, almost a sob, feeling both relieved and wrecked as he gathered me close again, his cheek pressed against my hair.
“And unless we want builder’s tea, I suggest we pull those bags out.”
I tilted my head. “What’s builder’s tea?”
He stepped away with a laugh. “Sorry—I forget myself sometimes. It’s easy to do with you.”
At the counter, he plucked the bags from the mugs and tossed them into the trash.
“Builder’s tea is what you get when you steep it until it’s strong enough to fight back.
The kind of thing you serve blokes in high-vis jackets before sending them off to pour concrete.
Black, bitter, and drowned in milk and sugar to make it drinkable.
” He flashed a grin. “Not exactly what I had in mind for us.”
Cal grabbed the milk from the fridge and poured a splash into each cup. He turned, a flash of self-reproach in his eyes. “Do you take sugar? I didn’t think to ask before.”
I took the mug with a smile. “This is perfect. I’m trying new things.”
He followed me to the table, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.
“I usually drink my tea sweet, no milk,” I admitted, watching his expression shift. “And flavored.”
He crinkled his nose.
“What?”
“To each their own,” he said diplomatically.
“No, tell me,” I pressed, eyes narrowed in mock challenge.
“Flavored tea…” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “It’s like potpourri in a cup.”
I laughed, the sound rising between us. The tea was warm in my hands, but the company was warmer still. I watched him over the rim of my mug, savoring both.
“What does your day look like tomorrow?” I asked, careful to sound casual, even though I already didn’t want him to leave.
He furrowed his brow for a moment, then a small smile tugged at his mouth. “Our class at eight,” he said, ticking it off on his fingers. “Another lecture at ten. Then a string of meetings with my research students in the afternoon.”
I nodded, absorbing his schedule like it mattered more than it probably should. “What else are you teaching this semester?”
“In addition to our course? Electromagnetism and quantum mechanics.”
He said it without fanfare, but I caught the faint shift in his voice—a quiet pride behind the words.
“That sounds…intense,” I said, setting my mug down. “I’m impressed.”
He shrugged, his expression flickering between modesty and amusement. “It keeps me busy. Out of trouble.”
I smiled. “What’s your specialty?”