His heart thudding, because his senses were still infused with the memory of their kiss the other night, Jake trained his gaze on his surroundings in a bid to divert his aroused recollection.
He immediately registered what had once been an ornate Victorian fireplace that was now home to a small electric heater that surely wasn’t big enough to heat the whole room. There was a large pink ceramic vase with palm fronds in it just to the side of the hearth, and a large squashy red sofa with multi-coloured cushions arranged against the wall. Above it was a large gold-framed print of Flaming June by Frederic Leighton. The vivid orange of the lady’s dress was clinging like a sunburst to her pale reposing figure.
Jake absorbed all of this in just a few short seconds, but inevitably his gaze was helplessly drawn back to Caitlin. In her charming state of dishabille, how could it not be? What was that scent she was wearing?
With her face scrubbed clean of make-up, her silky black hair escaping all attempts at confinement, and wearing nothing but a plain terry robe, to Jake she was temptation personified. If she had the power to make him hot when she was dressed in tight jeans and a T-shirt it was nothing compared to the effect she was having on him in her present get-up. He just prayed that her pretty green eyes wouldn’t stray far south of his stomach, because right then he was fighting a losing battle to keep his lustful stirrings to himself.
So much for his promise to maintain a professional distance. He’d already broken that vow by stealing that incendiary kiss the other night. One taste of pure, unadulterated heaven had ensured that sooner or later he would be back for more. He’d already had to make himself scarce once this afternoon, because two hours of Caitlin up on the stage wiggling her hips as she sang, her breasts bouncing ever so slightly in her hot pink T-shirt, had almost made him crazy with want. Professing a need for some fresh air had just been a handy euphemism for what he really needed…a cold shower so icy it would freeze an ordinary mortal into a cryogenic trance.
When Jake didn’t immediately speak, Caitlin nervously wiped her hands down her robe and motioned vaguely towards the sofa. ‘Why don’t you sit down? I just need to go and dress. I was having a bath when you rang the bell.’
‘Don’t get dressed on my account,’ her visitor drawled, making no discernible move to sit down.
Her face flamed red.
‘I’m still wet,’ she gulped, immediately wishing she could take back her innocently meant remark, because Jake’s glance was all but stripping her naked. Want, need and lust swirled between them. ‘I mean I need…’
Caitlin’s hand trembled as she saw Jake’s eyes grow tellingly dark. Now his glance was focused on her mouth, on the soft, plump lower lip that her tongue had just innocently dampened.
‘What are we going to do, Caitlin?’ he asked softly, his gravelly voice reeling her in with its disturbing undisguised intonation of heat and sex.
‘Do about what?’
‘About us. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. For God’s sake, the kiss we shared the other night when I walked you home was no innocent kiss goodnight. I got the distinct impression that you enjoyed it as much as I did. Was I wrong?’
‘Look, I really need to go and put some clothes on. If you wait here I’ll make us some coffee once I’m dressed and then we can talk.’
Jake smiled. She was gazing at him as though hypnotised. As she studied him her bewitching emerald eyes were dazzled—glazed, almost. Whatever she felt about him, she couldn’t deny there was a combustible attraction between them. And he couldn’t think of another woman who had the ability to send his pulse sky-rocketing and his libido raging with just a simple glance.
It wasn’t just her beauty that drew him to her. There was a refreshing innocence about Caitlin. Having met so many women whose hunger for fame and success made them employ any means possible to get what they wanted—his ex-wife being a case in point—he found Caitlin was like a breath of fresh air. Jake had never wanted a woman more in his life…wanted her with an ache that was the sweetest agony from the moment he woke up in the morning to when he lay down to sleep at night.
‘Good. Because it won’t go away,’ he continued. ‘Sooner or later we’re going to have to deal with it.’
Caitlin’s already pink cheeks flushed even pinker. Then she turned and fled into the bedroom to get dressed.
Sighing, Jake dropped down onto the squashy red sofa, picked up a cushion, then angrily jettisoned it onto the floor. Just what the hell did he think he was doing? He’d called in on her because he’d wanted to apologise for being so uncompromising at rehearsals, but as soon as he’d set eyes on her in that innocent terry robe of hers he’d known immediately that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. Somehow his rigidly imposed self-control had gone out of the window and all he’d been able to think about was how soon he could get her into bed.
He wanted to bury himself so deep inside her he’d assuage every ache he’d ever had…hers too. Yes, he’d had the odd one-night stand since Jodie had done the dirty on him—how else could he satisfy a healthy libido—but nothing could have prepared him for a hunger so primal, so insatiable, that it threatened to consume him body and soul if it wasn’t satisfied.
Dragging his fingers through his hair, Jake slowly shook his head. To add to his frustration Caitlin’s provocative scent lingered in the room, tormenting him. Where was she, for goodness’ sake? How long did it take to throw some clothes on? Longer than it would take him to tear them off that was for sure…
Restless, he got to his feet, his long legs taking him to the other side of the room and back again as he paced the floor. The living room was ridiculously small—almost oppressively so. A few family photos sat on the mantelpiece, along with a small glass jar full of assorted coloured crystals.
Jake was far too distracted to examine the photographs more closely, so he turned away to survey the rest of the room. A large pine bookcase dominated an entire wall, and there wasn’t a shelf on it that wasn’t crammed to bursting point with books. He barely stole a glance at the titles he was so keyed up, but he couldn’t fail to notice that most of the literature dwelt on self-development or philosophy.
Had Caitlin been interested in those subjects before or after her catastrophic relationship with the drug addict? Jake was curious. Clearly she must have been driven to seek out some sort of guidance after such an ordeal. Somehow he felt chastened. Living with a drug addict and alcoholic would certainly be no picnic. He himself had had friends and associates who’d been drawn down a similar destructive route. He’d told Caitlin that the music business was full of such casualties.
But she’d confessed to him that she’d lost everything, including her home. That must surely be the reason why she was living in this rabbit hutch. Jake would go stir crazy, living in such a confined space. Being the grateful owner of spacious homes in London, New York and LA—which were admittedly empty most of the time, due to his peripatetic lifestyle—he doubted he would manage even half as well if he had to live the way Caitlin did. Even his room at the quaint Pilgrim’s Inn was three times the size of this one.
Without realising it, his hands had curled into fists down by his sides.
He’d remarked to her that addiction was a disease, not a weakness, but by God he’d like just ten minutes with the jerk who’d ripped her off so badly that she was reduced to living in two shabby rented rooms.
