Page 43 of Second Chance Fate (Hope Falls: Brewed Awakenings #5)

“If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs in the basement.” Caleb placed two fresh towels on the end of the king-sized bed.

Taylor was so distracted by Minnie being twitterpated, she almost didn’t notice when Caleb yawned.

She was far from tired, but she knew Caleb would feel responsible to stay awake as long as she did.

She suggested they call it a night, and now they were standing in his room beside his large king-sized bed.

“I don’t feel right about this. I can sleep in the basement on the couch. I’m small.”

Owen had sent her a video of him and Jonah downstairs playing video games on the couch in the basement, which was what he’d referred to as Caleb’s ‘man cave.’ The couch looked fine for sitting on, but even if it was a pullout, it would still be insufficient for him at well over six feet tall.

She was petite and used to sleeping on couches.

“It’s not about size. You are going to take the bed.” His mouth curled in his half-grin of amusement. “It’s the least I can do.”

Taylor’s head tilted to the side. She was feeling a little fuzzy from the glasses of wine she’d had, a little looser, a little braver than she normally was.

“Why do you keep saying that?” she questioned.

“Saying what?”

“That it’s the least you can do? You keep saying that.”

If she was keeping count, which apparently she was, he’d said it eight times since he’d picked her up today. Pretty much every time she thanked him for something, that was his response. And that was just today; he’d said it countless times in the hospital.

“Because it is the least I can do,”

“Why? Because you’re a pastor, and that’s what you’re supposed to do?”

“No.” The half grin was back, the corners of his mouth curled like ribbon pulled between the pad of a thumb and the blade of scissors.

A funny feeling settled low in her belly as he looked down at her like she was the cutest thing in the world.

No one had ever looked at her like that.

She’d noticed that he did that a lot when she spoke.

“I mean, sure, yes. As a pastor, I do feel it’s my responsibility to serve people, but that’s not what I was referring to with you. ”

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What are you referring to?”

“I mean, you’ve been doing this alone for so long. Raising our son alone for over ten years. You shouldn’t have had to do anything alone anymore.”

Even though Taylor had been the one to suggest they call it a night because Caleb yawned, she now found herself racking her brain to find excuses to prolong the conversation.

She wanted Caleb to stay. Maybe it was the wine.

Maybe it was because part of her had been in love with him since she met him on the pier, and in the past few weeks of him stepping up and being everything she could ever hope for and more, she’d fallen even deeper in love with him.

Maybe it was because he was, hands down, the sexiest man she’d ever seen, and they were alone in the house, and the air between them was alive and crackling with tension so thick she could cut it with a knife.

Maybe it was just because she remembered how it felt when his lips pressed against hers, when his hands ran up and down her body, when he pushed inside of her. Maybe it was all of the above.

“If you don’t think I should do anything alone, does that mean sleep, too?” she asked as she took a step toward him.

Caleb’s eyes closed in a heavy blink, and he put his hands in his pockets as he inhaled slowly through his nose and looked back down at her. “No. That’s not what I meant. Unless you don’t want to sleep alone.”

Their bodies were a mere inch apart. She stared up into his eyes and had the strongest urge to lift up on her toes and kiss him.

She’d never been bold, and she wasn’t sure where this newfound confidence to speak her mind was coming from.

Probably the alcohol. She hadn’t drunk a sip of alcohol in about five years, so it was safe to say her tolerance was at an all-time low.

She might regret her actions tomorrow, but in that moment, she decided to ride her liquid courage wave. “When you said you weren’t asking for a traditional marriage, is that because you’re not attracted to me?”

His jaw twitched as his nostrils flared. “No.”

“So you are attracted to me?”

“Yes.” The rasp in his deep voice vibrated through her. Goosebumps rose on the bare skin of her arms.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

With a quiet smile, Caleb reached up and cupped the back of her head.

He guided her closer and lowered his mouth, pressing his lips to hers.

They kissed, slow and unhurried. His hands were so gentle as they framed her face, thumbs drifting over her cheeks and jaw, tangling lightly in her hair.

The kiss was gentle, languorous, and chaste.

She could feel him holding back when he broke it and pressed his forehead to hers.

For several moments, neither of them spoke; they simply breathed each other in, exhaling weeks of tension, fear, and longing, at least on her end.

Unable to keep her hands to herself, she reached up and touched his cheek.

Her fingertips grazed the stubble on his square jawline, then ran down the slope of his neck onto his chest. His breaths came in shallow pants; she lowered her arm and slid her hands under his shirt, feeling the warm, firm muscles of his back, before she pulled the fabric up and over his head and discarded it onto the floor.

For a second, she just looked at him—at the faint tan lines around his biceps, the subtle dusting of freckles on his shoulders, and the silvery line of a decades-old scar on his side. She remembered seeing the same scar the first time they were together.

She took her time discovering his upper body again.

Her palms tingled as they floated lightly over his skin, curious and almost shy.

He had the kind of body that told the story of a man who used himself in service of others, manual labor, strong and capable, but not sculpted for show in a gym.

She traced the ridge of his collarbone with her fingertips, following it to the curve of his shoulder, then moved down along the broad span of his chest.

Caleb stood perfectly still, letting himself be explored, his lids heavy and mouth parted, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling with unrestrained pleasure.

She dragged her fingers across the curve of his biceps, followed the veins down toward his forearm, then returned to the slope of his neck.

He was warm under her touch, his muscles tensing and releasing in rhythm with his breath.

Her hands coasted over the subtle definition of his torso, fingers mapping the tiny indentations around his ribs, the hard plateau of his pecs, the faint ladder of abdominals.

She let herself indulge in the comfort of his strength.

The knowledge that he could easily pick her up, hold her, and protect her made her dizzy in the best way.

He watched her as she allowed her hands to glide over his body, committing every inch to memory.

She felt her own heartbeat sync to his as her palm flattened to his chest, feeling his pulse pound beneath her touch.

When she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his heated skin, he made a low, involuntary groan, and her entire body shivered at the sensation of invoking a visceral response in him.

His hands were suddenly on her waist, tentative at first, as if he needed her permission to reciprocate, but then growing firmer as she leaned into him.

She wanted to absorb every detail of him: the scar above his left hip, the faint, clean scent of cedar and soap, and the way his muscles twitched when her nails scraped gently along the line of his spine.

For once, she didn’t feel awkward or self-conscious—she felt powerful, beautiful even, in the way he looked at her like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

It was the first time in years she felt wholly and unapologetically desired.

He moved closer, enveloping her, his hands steady as he slid them beneath the oversized shirt—his own, which he’d offered her before her shower.

The cotton bunched and gathered at his wrists as her skin tingled beneath his touch.

He paused at her waist, letting his fingers rest on the curve of her hip, just above the slouchy waistband of the sweats she’d also borrowed.

She looked up at him and found his eyes searching hers, giving her every chance to back away, to stop him, to say no.

Instead, she met his gaze, silently giving him consent.

He smiled a smile she’d never seen before that caused a shock of bliss to explode between her legs.

It was a smile that held less than chivalrous intentions and could only be classified as bad boy before peeling away her shirt in one slow, deliberate move.

Instead of feeling vulnerable or exposed as the shirt pooled to the ground, she felt empowered as she stood topless, her breasts bare in front of Caleb.

His eyes devoured her as if he were seeing her for the first time.

The air between them felt charged and magnetic; every muscle in her body tightened in anticipation.

For a long, silent moment, they just breathed, watching the space shrink around them until the world seemed far from the little circle of heat they created in his bedroom.

His stare was not abstract; it was tangible.

The tips of her breasts tightened under his attention.

She felt it. A deep ache quivered beneath her skin.

When a whimper escaped her, a smile flitted across Caleb’s lips.

She looked up and saw the look in his eyes as he stared at her with a primal intensity that was both reverent and indecent at the same time. He truly had a gift.