“No.”
He whistles, watching as I take another drink of my wine. At this point, I’ve almost sucked down the entire glass in under a minute. “What a shame.”
I almost spit my wine out at his words. “What?” I wipe at the corner of my mouth from where the wine drips from my lips from the shock.
“I look at that little photo of you often, the one of you in the hot-as-fuck lingerie—which you’ll have to wear for me soon, by the way.” He says it so nonchalantly as he grabs both our dinner plates and walks them over to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. “I was kind of hoping we caught all of that on tape. I wouldn’t mind fucking you while us fucking played in the background.”
My jaw hangs open. There’s too much to process at once. “You look at that photo of me?” I question, needing that answered first.
He pulls out one of the chairs, standing behind it and gesturing for me to take a seat. I untie my apron, pulling the top loop over my head and placing it on the counter. I’m still waiting for him to answer, even as I take a seat and let him push my chair in.
His eyes are pinned on mine as he takes the seat across from me, pouring more wine into my glass but a little less this time. He doesn’t look embarrassed by what he’s told me. “Why else do you think I sent it to myself?”
“I don’t know. To blackmail me?”
He sighs loudly, clearly not amused by my answer. “No. That was never my intention. It was because I felt pure, jealous rage at the idea of anyone else seeing you like that. And I fought it, but I think even then, I wanted you more than I’d cared to admit.”
“I would’ve let you kiss me that day. On the mountain at my family’s ranch. I thought it was going to happen.”
His dark eyebrows are pulled in on his forehead. He stares at me silently for so long I wonder if he’s not going to acknowledge what I said. His finger traces over his top lip as he thinks his words through.
“I wanted to, but I thought I’d hate myself if I did.”
His words sting a little, but it doesn’t mean I don’t understand them. It would’ve been the same for me. There was still so much uncertainty between us—there still kind of is, but in a different way—it’s best we didn’t kiss that day.
“It hurt. To have you leave like that.”
I don’t know how I once thought that Camden was a cold, emotionless man. Sitting across from me right now, he wears so much emotion on his face. It’s clear how well he’s trained himself to hide it. He’s hurt me before, and there’s a good chance he’ll hurt me again, but I’ll always remember that for some amount of time—however long that may be—he let his guard down for me. That I got to see the real Camden Hunter and not the one he wants the world to see. Not the son of two of the most famous artists of our time. Not one of the wealthiest art dealers in the world. Just Camden. The man who takes care of me when I’m sick and brings me flowers on our first date. The one who complains about how cold my feet are against his in the middle of the night but still presses his against mine to keep them warm. The one who woke up and let Kitty out early in the morning because she was whining, and he wanted me to get more rest.
I like this version of him. A lot. And all I can do is keep letting myself feel these emotions and hope I don’t get burned in the end. Or if I do, that it’ll be worth it.
“What are you thinking?” I whisper. He hasn’t responded to what I admitted. I didn’t tell it to him to make him feel bad. I just wanted him to know that even then, he had more of a pull on me than I wanted to admit, even to myself.
“That it fucking guts me to know I’ve hurt you.”
There’s no way he doesn’t hear me gasp. His words catch me off guard. They’re sweet and vulnerable and most of all raw. All things I never imagined Camden being.
“It’s okay. It was silly of me to feel hurt after that.”
“Your feelings are never silly, shortcake.” His voice breaks slightly. It does things to me. I feel the impact of his words deep in my chest.
41
CAMDEN
I’ve been to some of the most extravagant places in the world. I’ve had a casual date at a cafe in front of the Eiffel Tower and dined late into the night at a table on a cobblestone street with a view of the Amalfi Coast. No date has ever compared to the night I’m having with Pippa.
She licks eagerly at the ice cream cone in her hand, trying to keep up with the drips of melted ice cream running down her fingers. It’s the most adorable thing seeing her do it, but it also makes me incredibly horny. Her tongue peeks out to get a drip that runs down her hand. She can’t eat the ice cream cone fast enough, even after she’d sworn that she wanted two scoops on top of the cone instead of one. Rainbow sprinkles keep falling off the top, unable to stick to the melting cookies-and-cream ice cream.
I can’t help but laugh when a glob drips off the top, landing on top of her thumb.
She gives me an evil glare, licking it. “This isn’t funny.”
I grab her wrist, pulling her closer. I maintain eye contact as I lean down and lick from her forearm all the way up her hand.
Her eyes go wide, darting around to look at the people around us as I do it again on the opposite side of her arm, getting her nice and clean.
“Camden,” she scolds, trying to pull from my grasp.
My fingers tighten. I make sure to wait until she looks back at me, her cheeks pink with embarrassment, as I stick my tongue out and lick the top of the ice cream before it melts over again. Her gaze heats when I repeat it, knowing exactly where her head is at. It’s the same place mine is—thinking of the dirty, delicious things I could do to her instead of this ice cream cone.
“People are staring,” she whisper-shouts. Her eyes dart around our surroundings again. I smirk because there are tons of people around us. Apparently, tonight is the night to grab ice cream at the small little shop in town. We waited twenty minutes in line just to get our ice cream. And now, we mill around the town square with what seems like the rest of the town.
“Let them stare,” I answer lowly, licking a small drip running down the back of her hand.
“They’re going to know we—” I cut off her words by catching her lips with mine. She tastes sweet, like ice cream and cookies. When her tongue eagerly meets mine—despite her argument of people watching us—it’s cold and sweet.
We get lost in the moment, making out like a couple of teenagers, not caring who is around us.
Pippa lets out a squeak, pulling away and looking down at her arm. Ice cream drips all the way down it. I wish I could bottle up her giggle and keep it forever. “Oh my god,” she mutters, attempting to use the one napkin they gave her to wipe up the mess.
She walks a few steps, throwing the ice cream cone into the trash. She continues to try and use the napkin to clean herself up before I reach into my pocket and hand her a pile I took from the counter. “I grabbed some extras. I figured that extra scoop you told the man you had to have could make things messy.”
Her smile is bright and radiant as she snatches them from my hand, wiping her arm and cleaning up the mess. “What would I do without you?” she teases.
I hope you never find out.
I keep my lips pressed together so I don’t say the words out loud. I’ve admitted enough tonight. More than I ever imagined I would. Before I say anything else, I need to figure out what’s going on in my head when it comes to her—and maybe even my stupid heart, something I didn’t even know I had.