Page 28 of Boiling Point
“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.
