Free Man Who Loved Pride and Prejudice by Abigail Reynolds Page A

breast. Memories of the previous night flooded back— showering off the salt water with Calder's hands slowly and seductively washing her from head to foot, cramped together in the small shower stall; how she returned the favor, deliberately arousing him with intimate stroking; how they dried each other off afterwards and went to the bedroom where he pleasured her thoroughly with his mouth before taking his own pleasure in her.
       She must have been out of her mind. Casual sex didn't work for her. Once she'd gone to bed with a man, she couldn't separate her emotions from her physical reactions. Now she was already experiencing that dangerous tenderness toward Calder, who had never done anything that impressed her beyond providing some of the most spectacular sexual pleasure of her life.
       She closed her eyes. She couldn't afford to fall for Calder Westing. He would eat her alive, using her as an amusing sexual partner, and no doubt completely clueless to the impact on her. She had never learned how to be cautious with her affection. She could find herself in too deep with him without ever intending it.
       She needed to get away from him. Her physical response to him was too strong. As soon as he woke up and touched her, she would be unable to resist. The prickings of desire were already starting to eat at her. No, there was only one way to stay safe, and that was to stay away.
       Trying not to wake him, she extricated herself from his body and the bed sheets. It was hard to leave his warmth behind, knowing she would never feel it again. She took the first clothes she found from her dresser and went into the small living area to put them on, without even a thought of showering first. She looked back in on him. He was sound asleep still, one hand hanging over the edge of the bed. She could take the time to write him a note.

    Calder,
       Had to be at the lab early this morning and didn't want to disturb you. Help yourself to bagels in the fridge and cereal in the cupboard if you want something to eat, and I've left the coffeemaker out on the counter.

       She chewed her pen for a moment. Should she say anything else? Even a generic "Have a nice day" might suggest she expected to see him that night, and she wanted to be completely businesslike. It seemed abrupt to leave it at that, but she didn't want it to sound too affectionate. He might take that the wrong way. Finally she just signed her name to it and left it on the kitchen table. She wondered if he even knew how to make coffee.
       He would no doubt be embarrassed enough seeing the cottage by daylight. It served its purpose for Cassie but consisted of little more than a living room, kitchen, and two small bedrooms. The furnishings showed the signs of wear from many summers' use by renters. It couldn't be more different from Scott's shiny and pristine mansion on the waterfront. The gulf between their lives was beyond bridging, no matter how appealing he looked with his tousled dark head on her pillow.
       She let herself out of the cottage quietly and unlocked her bicycle. In the shade of the scrub pines, she rode down the bike path to Woods Hole. Soreness from the night's activities made it difficult to forget what had occurred even for a minute. When she finally arrived at the lab, she took the unusual step of closing the door behind her.
       Setting up the day's work didn't provide enough distraction to keep her mind off Calder. Would he try to call her? Would he come by the lab or worse yet, to the cottage some night? Or would he make no particular effort to be in touch at all and decide he just got lucky?
       Why had she responded to him the way she did? Though she generally enjoyed lovemaking, she had never responded as quickly or as easily as last night. Why Calder? Why was he the man who could bring her pleasure so effortlessly?
       She closed her eyes in pain. The answer was obvious. He was from a different world, and he was