The hell she is.
Eve’s dad has a healthy daughter, who lives and breathes and makes a life for herself. His blood runs through the veins of this strong and vibrant woman, but rather than nurture and appreciate her, he takes advantage of her love and her hard work. If he only knew what it's like to lose a child, to hold her lifeless body in his hands, to mourn the loss of a future, the chance to see her spread her wings, become a woman, start a life of her own . . . My chest cramps. I've lost everything that this man has, and any man who doesn’t appreciate his daughter deserves to rot in hell.
But it’s none of my business.
Seventeen
Eve
My palms are sweaty. Moving from Cameron’s ginormous master bathroom to his bed, I wipe my hands on my boy shorts, grateful that he has his nose buried in some kind of planner so he doesn’t get wind of my nerves. I’m finally getting something I’ve always wanted, someone whose basic instinct is to protect me. And now that I have it, I want to run like hell in the opposite direction.
If he knew that I let my dad in, allowed him to search my house for money, sat silent while he hurled insults at me until he found my emergency cash, would Cameron still feel protective of me? Or would he see me as he did the first night we met? The girl who plays dumb in order to get a man’s attention? Fuck, is the truth really that far off?
I force my mind to quiet, refusing to ruin any time I have with him by overthinking. His attention on something other than me provides the perfect opportunity to gawk. He’s leaning back against the headboard, shirtless, sheet pulled up to his waist, but low enough to show the muscles of his lower abdomen that form a V, like a runway pointing down with a sign that screams “kiss, lick, and sit here.” My eyes devour every inch of his exposed skin. For a guy with a desk job, he sure as hell has the body of an athlete. I round the side of the bed, taking in his ribcage, and my jaw drops as I get a closer look at his tattoos. From his hip up, his ribs are waves of water, but not done in bright blues, but rather variations of black and gray that decorate the cuts of his muscles.
“Eve?”
My eyes dart to his, which are narrowed on me. “Huh?”
I drop my chin and study the empty spot at his side: big overstuffed pillows, luxurious chocolate brown sheets that I’m sure cost a fortune, and an equally decadent looking comforter. It’s too good: all of it, him, this room, and these sheets. How can I take what I know I’m not worthy of? Shut up, Eve! I’ll never convince him that I’m good enough if I don’t at least act as if I’m good enough.
He pulls back the sheet and I smile, crawling in and—ohhh, yeah. These sheets are amazing, like spun silk and other amazing things that I’ve yet to experience. My head hits the pillow, and a deep moan vibrates from my chest.
“Trying hard to make tonight about you, babe, but you strut in here in those tiny shorts and that damn top, and you’re making it impossible to keep my dick in check.” There’s that tiny lift to his lips, but his eyes are all glare.
My heart beats faster, and butterflies swirl in my belly and head south. “Tonight’s all about me, but um”—I stretch and a yawn falls from my lips—“it’s after midnight, so tonight is technically tomorrow morning.” I nuzzle into the soft down pillow. Damn, I knew I was tired, but this bed is like an instant sleeping pill.
He hits the light, and we’re plunged into darkness. “True, but we’re both beat, and I’ve been wanting this body in my arms since I saw you walk into the party.”
Strong hands grip my waist and tug me across the bed before his arms engulf me and press me to his chest. My eyes roll back in my head at the feeling of comfort and safety the simple act brings.
“Go to sleep.” His hold on me tightens. “I’ll fuck you for breakfast.”
My eyes fly open with the force of my laughter. “I love you when you sweet-talk me.”
His body goes tense at my side.
No, no! That’s not what I meant. “I love it when you sweet-talk. It.” Oh shit. My muscles go rigid. It’s not like I said “I love you”. Well maybe technically I did, but there’s no way he thinks that, right? Shit, shit, shit!
My skin flames with embarrassment. It’s probably best if I pretend it never happened and hope he chalks it up to a long night. I take a shaky breath. “Good night.”
His hold on me loosens along with the tension in his muscles. “’Night.”
I blink into the dark room. Leave it to me to go and fuck everything up. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. My dad was right. I’m better off seen and not heard. I’ll try to remember that from here on out, that is, if Cameron keeps me around after tonight.
*