Page 7 of His Wild Desire

"I did it," I breathe, unable to bite back my triumphant grin as the blaze grows in intensity. I glance up to find Caleb's eyes already locked on me, his expression unreadable.

"Not bad for a first try," he acknowledges in a strangely hushed tone, not looking away. "Told ya—all it takes is a lot of patience and a little know-how."

My lips part to respond, but the words catch in my throat as I become abruptly, acutely aware of just how close his face is to mine. His eyes are hooded, those ridiculously long lashes fanning across lightly tanned skin. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and I feel a flare deep in my core, like a flash fire igniting in my belly. My breath hitches audibly in the heavy silence, my chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

Without warning, he leans in and crushes his mouth against mine.

A strangled gasp escapes me, quickly swallowed by the insistent press of his full lips. Every nerve ending ignites, like my body has been doused in gasoline, and his touch is the spark. I'm utterly powerless against the onslaught of sensation, the dizzying scent and taste of him surrounding me.

Instinct takes over. My hands fist in his thick hair as I kiss him back with reckless abandon, parting my lips to grant his questing tongue entry. He groans deep in his throat, the rumbling vibration stoking the fire smoldering in my core.

Caleb's arm bands around my waist, hauling me flush against the solid wall of his chest as his other hand cups the back of my head, angling me to deepen the already scorching kiss. I'm a live wire, every brush of his calloused palms and insistent tongue sending electric shocks lancing through me.

This is madness—complete insanity. But I can't bring myself to care, not when his mouth is against mine.

My fingers trace the ridges of his abdomen, and Caleb growls in response, the sound pure sin, before nipping at my lower lip. The sharp sting has me whimpering into his mouth, my nails dragging down the broad expanse of his back, and suddenly it's not enough. I crave more—more heat, more friction, more of his weight pinning me down and taking what he wants.

I'm delirious with wanting, aching to feel that hard, muscular form covering every inch of me.

As if he can read the fevered thoughts blazing through my mind, Caleb abruptly breaks the kiss, his harsh panting fanning across my tingling lips. He blinks dazedly, as though resurfacing from a trance, before his gaze finds mine again—dark and heavy-lidded with naked desire.

"Emma," he rasps, his voice wrecked. The gravelly rumble sends a shiver racing down my spine, and I swallow hard, waiting with bated breath to see what he'll do next.

But then he's pulling back, untangling our bodies. I instantly mourn the loss of his solid heat, my limbs still thrumming.

"We should..." Caleb clears his throat roughly, dragging his fingers through those reckless chestnut locks as he visibly reins himself in. "We shouldn't."

I open my mouth to protest, not yet ready to abandon whatever this is that's blazing between us. But one look at his face—jaw clenched, eyes averted—and I realize the moment has passed, at least for now.

Caleb stands abruptly and clears his throat, not meeting my eyes. "You can get yourself back inside, right?" His gravelly rumble is strained, like the words are being forcibly dragged out. "I have... I have, uh, chores to do."

Before I can formulate a response—a protest, an invitation to join me, anything—he's turning on his heel and striding away with long, purposeful steps. I watch in a dumbstruck daze as that broad-shouldered silhouette disappears around the side of the cabin, leaving me alone on the weathered bench.

What just happened?

One minute, I'm drowning in the most mind-numbingly hot kiss of my life. And the next, Caleb is shutting me out, leaving me aching and utterly bewildered in his wake.

I let out a shaky exhale, my fingers drifting up to brush my still-tingling lips in a daze. That kiss... Jesus. I've never been so instantly and intensely consumed by pure, liquid fire before. Every brush of his calloused palms and stroke of that talented tongue has left invisible brands etched into my very soul.

And now the infuriatingly complex man behind those smoldering caresses has once again reverted to stoic mountain man mode, shuttering himself off like an impenetrable fortress.

Well, screw that.

Squaring my jaw in determination, I scoot to the edge of the bench and loop my arms beneath my good knee, hoisting myself upright with a grunt of effort. My tender ankle twinges in protest, but I stubbornly keep my weight braced as I wobble inside on one leg, using the doorframe for support.

Caleb can run and hide from whatever this blazing attraction is all he wants, but I won't sit around and mope like some lovestruck teenager. I'm Emma freaking Whitmore. I don't pine—I conquer.

With a huff, I collapse onto the couch and glance around the rustic space, searching for any distraction from my muddled thoughts and the lingering ghost of Caleb's touch.

My eyes land on a battered wooden bookshelf crammed with dusty books, and I instantly perk up. Reading has always been my go-to escape, even before I was a high-powered executive juggling a million responsibilities.

Dragging the heavy quilt from the bed around my shoulders, I make myself a cozy nest and reach for the nearest book, its weathered spine proclaiming it to be some obscure classic I've never heard of.

But I don't care—getting lost in the written word sounds like exactly the reprieve I need right now.

Chapter 4

Emma

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