Chapter 18
My back screams in protest as consciousness drags me from sleep. Everything hurts—muscles I forgot I had are staging a full rebellion against me. I try to shift position, but something warm and solid pins me in place.
An arm. A very muscular, very male arm wrapped around my waist like a steel band.
I freeze, staring at the ceiling as fragments of last night assault me. Caleb’s hands on my skin. His mouth everywhere. The way he moved us from the couch to my bed like I weighed nothing, then proceeded to—
“Fuck.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
The arm tightens around me, and I feel his breath against my neck. Warm. Steady. Completely at odds with the chaos in my head.
I remember now. All of it. The way he took control, positioning me exactly how he wanted. The creative ways he found to make me come apart completely. How he whispered filthy things in my ear that made me beg for more. Heat floods my cheeks and other places I’m trying very hard not to think about.
This is bad. This is so, so bad. I need to get out of this bed. Away from him. Away from the way his skin feels against mine and how perfectly I fit against his chest.
Carefully, I try to lift his arm, but it’s like trying to move a tree trunk. When that doesn’t work, I attempt to wiggle out from under it.
Big mistake.
My legs give out the second my feet hit the floor. I crumple in an ungraceful heap, cursing every god I can think of.
“Going somewhere?” His voice is rough with sleep, amused.
I glare up at him from the floor. He’s propped up on one elbow, blonde hair messy, that lazy grin playing at the corners of his mouth. The sheet has slipped dangerously low on his hips, revealing the defined lines of his abs.
I force my eyes back to his face. “Yeah. I’m going to get a knife to murder you with.”
He laughs—actually laughs—and reaches down to haul me back onto the bed like I’m a wayward cat. “Come here.”
“Don’t touch me.” But my voice lacks conviction, especially when his hands span my waist, lifting me effortlessly.
“Too late for that, don’t you think?” He pulls me against him, and I hate how good it feels. How right. “It’s not even morning yet. Sleep.”
The warmth of his arms is intoxicating, but I can’t let myself sink into it. “I need to wash up.”
Before I can complete my protest, he rolls us over until I’m sprawled on top of him, chest to chest. The position sends heat shooting through me, and from the way his eyes darken, he feels it, too.
“Already took care of that,” he murmurs, his hands settling on my lower back. “Cleaned you up before we went to sleep.”
The memory surfaces—gentle hands with a warm washcloth, tender in a way that contradicted everything else about the night. I’d been half-asleep, but I remember the care he took.
“Oh.” It comes out breathier than I intended.
He brushes a kiss against my forehead, so soft it makes my chest tighten. “Sleep, Eve.”
I close my eyes, trying to ignore the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek, but my brain won’t shut up, replaying his words from earlier. The casual way he’d suggested we could do this again.
Minutes pass. His breathing evens out, and I think he’s asleep when I finally work up the courage to ask. “Did you mean it?” My voice is barely a whisper. “The whole friends with benefits thing?”
His chest rumbles under my ear. “Enemies with benefits,” he corrects, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “And yes.”
“Why?” I lift my head to look at him, needing to see his face.
His eyes are still closed, but his hands trace lazy patterns on my back that make me shiver.
“Because we’re good at this.” He presses to the top of my head, and I can feel the warmth through my hair.
“No strings, no complications. Plus, when you get mad at me, you can just take out your anger on me in bed.” There’s a hint of laughter in his voice, and the corner of his lips curled up.
His eyes shoot open, like an idea has just struck him.
“What about us pretending to date?” I can’t tell if he’s making a joke, but he looks serious.
“I meant it, Eve. The sooner that guy figures out you’re taken, the faster he’ll back off.
Even if he wants to mess with you, he won’t be stupid enough to do so if you’ve got a boyfriend around half the time. ”
“You do have a point.”
Caleb’s hand maps the length of my back before settling on my hips. “It won’t be hard. We work together, and if you and I are doing this, I’ll be over a lot.”
“By ‘this’ you mean our arrangement?” I lift my brows.
He grins. “Yes.” At the look on my face, he pats my ass.
“Oh, come on, Eve. It’s not the worst idea.
We’re just enjoying each other. We’re good in bed together.
” The casual way he says it should sting, but instead, it’s oddly liberating.
No expectations. No complications. Just this raw chemistry that threatens to consume us both.
“It’s not like we get along,” I agree lightly.
“Completely.” His hand slides up to cup the back of my neck, thumb brushing my pulse point. “You drive me absolutely insane.”
“Good. You’re insufferable.”
“Perfect match, then.” He glances at me, and the heat there steals my breath. “So what do you say, Eve? Ready to be enemies with benefits and my fake girlfriend? We’re hitting all the birds with one stone.”
The smart answer is no. The safe answer is no. The answer that won’t complicate my life beyond recognition is definitely no. But as I lie here on top of him, feeling the evidence of what we do to each other pressing against me, smart seems highly overrated.
“I hate that this is a good idea,” I mutter.
His grin is pure sin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Wait.” I press my palms against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath my hands. “If we’re actually doing this, we need ground rules.”
His grin falters slightly. “Rules?”
“Yes, rules. I’m not some college hookup you can charm your way around.” I shift on top of him, trying to ignore the way his hands tighten on my waist when I move. “This is weird enough without making it messier.”
Before I can continue, he cuts me off. “No feelings.”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. “You’re the last person I would ever fall in love with, so you don’t need to worry about it.” Something flickers across his face too quickly for me to interpret.
“Good,” I continue. “Now, the team can’t know. I don’t want it spreading in the office.”
“Actually.” His hands slide up my back, fingers tracing the line of my spine. “It might be a good idea if they think we’re dating. It’ll solidify my cover.”
I frown. “How is us dating solidifying—”
“Trust me.”
“Fine. But no hanky-panky at the office.” I don’t know why I’m going along with this.
He nods. “Deal.”
“Also,” he adds, “no more pranks.”
I blink at him in surprise. “Seriously? You’re giving up your favorite hobby?”
“I can think of better ways to annoy you now,” he says with that wicked grin.
I can’t help but tease him. “Aw, poor Caleb. No more wrapping my desk in princess paper?”
In one fluid motion, he rolls us over, pinning me beneath him on the bed.
“Fine,” I say breathlessly, my hands fisting in his hair as I try to catch my breath from the sudden shift. “But no exclusivity.”
His grip on my waist tightens immediately, fingers pressing into my skin hard enough to bruise. “Do you have someone in mind?” The question comes out rougher than I think he intended, and something vindictive in me purrs at the reaction.
“I could,” I taunt, watching his eyes darken dangerously. “And it wouldn’t be your problem, would it?”
Silence stretches between us, thick with tension. His jaw ticks, and I can feel the coiled restraint in his body.
“Fine,” he says finally, the word clipped.
Then he’s kissing me again, desperate and possessive, like he’s trying to erase the very idea of me with anyone else.
His mouth moves against mine with an urgency that completely contradicts our casual arrangement.
When he finally pulls away, we’re both breathing hard, and his hand is inching down the curve of my ass.
From the look in his eyes, he’s got plans for another round, and for the first time, I feel completely free as I pounce on him.
* * *
The next morning is filled with a rush of deadlines and the big board presentation, which is due in less than 48 hours, so I don’t get a minute to myself, much less to think about the new chaotic relationship agreement Caleb and I have just entered.
“Joshua, can you pull up the budget breakdown for the heritage craftsmanship section?” I call out, eyes glued to my computer screen where I’m frantically cross-referencing vendor contracts. Caleb barely glances up from his laptop, where he’s building the visual presentation slides.
“Already on it,” he replies, his fingers flying across his keyboard. “Just sent it to both of you.” I open the email and scan the numbers. Everything looks good.
The three of us work in focused silence after that, the only sounds being the clicking of keyboards and the occasional rustle of papers.
Every few minutes, one of us fires off a quick question or confirmation, but there’s no time for anything else.
The presentation materials are scattered across our desks like a paper explosion—contracts, photos, budget sheets, timeline charts.
“I’m going to step up to the roof for a smoke,” Joshua announces, stretching in his chair as lunch rolls around. “Five minutes, then back to the grind.” He grabs his jacket and heads out.
A few minutes after he leaves, my stomach growls loudly enough for Caleb to look up from his laptop. “I’m going to grab lunch from the bodega,” I announce, pushing back from my desk. “Anyone want anything?”
“Bring me back one of those turkey sandwiches if they have them,” Caleb says instantly.
I hold out my hand expectantly. “Pay up.”