Going Commando by Pamela Burford

Author:Pamela Burford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: alpha male and virgin, cat romance, wealthy romance, rich man romance, stranded romance, abducted, quirky romance, kidnapping romantic suspense, special forces hero, commune, bad boy romance novels, wild ones
Publisher: Radical Poodle Press
Published: 2016-09-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

THE SOFT EDGES of sleep burned away like fog. Caleb shifted restlessly on his bed. He’d been dreaming. Something about his hand. Even now he absently rubbed the back of his right hand as the dream sensations coalesced into something his waking mind recognized.

Pain.

Groggily he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Groped for the lamp switch and shoved his hair out of his eyes. Blinked in the glare and was suddenly wide-awake, staring at the back of his right hand.

He’d seen this before, years earlier, when he was training at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, the headquarters for Special Forces. Then, as now, he hadn’t felt the spider bite. When his allergic reaction had kicked in several hours later, it had been just like this—a hot, itchy bull’s-eye swelling, white ringed with red, with a dark blister at the center. About the size of a half-dollar.

It must have happened just before dinner while he was cleaning out the shed, preparing it for winter tool storage. Well, at least he remembered what to do about it. Yawning, scratching his hand, he grabbed the key ring from under his pillow and headed down the hall. He wore only an undershirt and gray sweatpants, and the late October chill raised goose bumps on his bare arms.

He passed Elizabeth’s closed door and wondered which naughty nightie she was wearing, what position she was sleeping in. He pictured her sprawled alluringly with one arm flung over her head and one knee bent. She’d tossed off her covers and her full breasts rose and fell slowly under thin, ice-blue silk. She murmured something in her sleep, her lips parting... She was dreaming about him, about the tree house...

Softly cursing his reckless imagination, he padded down the stairs. The last week since the Tree-House Incident had been tougher to get through than Delta training. He’d assumed that the more time he and Elizabeth spent together, the less he’d ache to finish what he’d started on that rainy morning. Wasn’t familiarity supposed to breed, if not contempt, then at least disinterest?

Instead each passing day installed her more firmly in his life and under his skin. And made him crave her with an intensity he’d never experienced before, not even in the hormone-saturated throes of adolescence.

During the past few weeks he’d learned how to coax that sweet, lopsided smile from her, how to read her body language and know when she needed space. He looked forward to the simple things they did together, from their morning runs to playing with Natasha’s kittens, raking leaves, stargazing with his telescope, and playing Scrabble by toasty firelight on his den’s flagstone hearth.

And every night he lay awake remembering that storm-ravaged dawn, her sleepy look of desire, the way she’d panted softly and shivered at his touch. Remembering the feel of her hot body in his arms as he’d stood in the icy drizzle under the trapdoor, pressing into her slick heat.

Vivid memories of the last part—the teeth-grinding struggle to

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