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“Stand the fuck up, Rowan,” he yelled.
I snapped to standing and winced. “Don’t talk to me like that.” I was so mad, I started shaking.
“You’re soaked,” he said taking a step toward me.
So was he. His scrubs clung to his perfect body. His hair hung in heavy clumps, dripping water onto his succulent lips. If my panties weren’t already soaked, they would be. Which pissed me off. I had too much to fix in my life to be attracted to anyone, let alone a man like “casual” Cal who probably slept with half a dozen women a month.
He gripped his hair and shoved it out of his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Excuse me?”
“I told you not to carry more than twenty-five pounds.”
“In case you didn’t notice,” I said, motioning to the downpour. “It’s raining.”
He stepped closer. “All the more reason not to run with fifty pounds of groceries.”
“Just because you tell me not to doesn’t mean I have to listen.”
“So, I’m supposed to stand by and watch you hurt yourself?”
“No, you’re supposed to keep driving home like a maniac and leave me alone.”
“I was not driving like a maniac.”
“Really? Do you usually park in the middle of the street and leave your door open?”
He glanced at his SUV and frowned.
“Your interior is going to be a mess,” I said, bending to collect a bag.
The next thing I knew, my feet flew out from under me, and the bag and I were nestled against Cal’s chest.
“Put me down.”
He glared at me and walked to the front door, pulling me closer to free one of his hands. My breath caught. He smelled of rain and cedar and sweet sweat. I wanted to bury my face against the curve of his neck.
He punched in the code on the electric lock and pushed the door open.
“It’s kind of weird that you know that,” I said.
“Don’t move,” he said, placing me on the couch.
I wanted to run back to the porch just to spite him, but my spine felt like it was surrounded by needles aimed to poke me if I moved. I watched him carry each bag through the front door and back to the kitchen, his breathing becoming more labored every trip, his face growing redder. Finally, he grabbed the bag off the couch beside me.
“I can get that,” I said, standing with an involuntary whimper. “You better move your car.”
He ignored me and carried the bag to the kitchen. I followed and found him staring out the window over the sink, gripping the counter, his shoulders hunched to his ears.
“Caleb?”
“Just give me a minute,” he answered, his voice strained.
I placed my hand on his arm and felt the muscle tense at my touch. I said his name again, and he spun and pulled me close before crashing his mouth to mine. At first, I was too startled to kiss him back, but then I melted against him, savoring the feel of his fingers as they roamed my face and neck with gentle strokes. He ran his tongue along my lips, and I opened for him. The kiss deepened, each of us fighting for control. He wrapped my braid around his hand and tugged, and I moaned into his mouth. He shoved me against the counter and one of the bags fell to the floor with a thud, sending a cloud of flour into the air.
We sprang apart, both of us panting.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
