Cameron didn’t answer, instead he drawled, “Seems like we’re throwing a bloody bowl, then.”
“Yay,” I murmured, watching him reach out for the block of mud. My gaze snapped at Cameron’s hands, his long rough-looking fingers. He’d taken off his ring. I lowered my voice, “I could figure this out on my own. I’ve read about it and watched more than a few how-to videos. I’ve done my homework.” His hands split the thing in two and started shaping one half into a ball. “I’m serious. You could just watch. Or leave.”
Cameron stretched his arm in my direction, holding the clay ball in his hand. “Fix the ball to the wheel.”
I hesitated.
That pair of forest-green eyes stared right into mine. “Stop overthinking and fix the ball to the wheel for me, yeah?”
He had that sulky look again, so I took the clay from him and let it drop on the plate with a heavy thump. I frowned at it. “Hold on, why aren’t we sitting down?” I looked around. “Everything I watched and read was done sitting down. I’ll get Josie—”
“Throwing while standing is better for your back,” he said matter-of-factly, as if that explained anything. “Put your palms around it and try to seal the edges to the surface.”
Lips pressed in a tight line, I tried to do as instructed, only managing to make the plate of the wheel turn when I pressed on the ball every time. I spared a glance at Cameron, expecting to find him reveling in my frustration. He was unbothered by my failed attempts. His expression was calm. Patient. It reminded me of how he treated the girls. He tilted his head to the side, still waiting. It hit me then, that he was either letting me figure it out on my own or waiting for me to ask him for help.
An unexpected thought materialized. He’d make such a great dad. Beneath that irate, hard fa?ade, there was patience. Gentle command. Warmth spread down my—Oh God. Why did this thought have such an effect on me? Why was I… picturing things? I didn’t even know if I wanted kids.
“You good?” Cameron asked.
“I…” I swallowed when I heard my voice wobble. What was wrong with me? “I can’t do this. On my own. Could you, perhaps, maybe, hmm, help?”
Cameron’s palms fell immediately on top of mine.
Once more, it was my whole body that felt the touch of his skin against the back of my hands. I lifted my head, meeting his eyes across the tabletop.
“Like this,” he said in a low voice, the heels of his palms pressing on top of my knuckles. “You feel the pressure of my hands? Do like I’m doing. Feel the way the clay gives.”
I looked down, shocked and strangely pleased at the sight of our hands as they fused together over the clay. I swallowed, less reluctant to allow him to take the lead, and more enthralled by the controlled motions before me.
With a silent nod, I started taking mental notes as best as I could, while he continued the motions.
“Let the wheel turn with the movement,” he said, and I felt myself release all remnants of control. I’d let him guide me. My hands. Completely. “You need to press on the sides so it sticks to it.” The plate turned with the motions of our hands, his voice turning into a focused murmur. “Just like that. Yeah. That’s about right.”
Once the ball was fixed, he grasped my wrists and lifted my hands in the air. He hummed deep in his throat, observing our work.
I opened my mouth to ask if there was something wrong, but all too soon, Cameron was releasing me and his hand was flying toward the clay.
He swatted at the ball.
Once, twice. Three times. And I—
Oh God. Was Cameron spanking the clay? My heart dropped to my stomach. Why couldn’t I stop staring at his hand? Why was my face feeling like flames were licking at my cheeks?
I brought one of my hands to my forehead, checking how my skin felt to the touch. I must be coming down with something. This couldn’t possibly make me so hot.
This wasn’t erotic. This was just clay.
“Seems good to go,” Cameron said next, grabbing a sponge I hadn’t even seen there. He wetted it in a bowl. “We can get started with the centering.”
“The centering,” I repeated in a wobbly voice.
He nodded, and when the man squeezed the sponge gently, letting a few water drops fall onto the clay, I was certain. I had to be sick. Something was going on with me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be finding the way his wet fingers slid around the slick material so suggestive. My throat dried.
“Adalyn?” His voice made it through the insanity in my head.
I looked up at him. His eyebrow was arched. “Press the pedal, darling.”
“The… what?”
“Make the wheel turn,” he instructed, his tone gentle, so gentle it felt foreign. As if he was talking to somebody else. “With the pedal.”
My lips bobbed, my understanding of basic things stifled by those unexpectedly suggestive visuals of the clay. “What do you mean?”
Cameron sighed softly, and suddenly he was on the move, walking around the table.
He placed himself behind me. “You’re making this really hard, darling,” he said, and before I could process his comment, his palm landed on my thigh. Strong fingers wrapped around my leg, slid down to my knee. He lifted my now numb limb, letting my foot fall on something. That warm, large hand pressed gently, his body coming slightly over mine with the motion. “Quit looking at me all soft and sweet and focus on pressing the pedal with your foot, yeah?”
I was shaken—so overwhelmed by the sudden closeness of Cameron’s body and his words—that instead of pressing, I jerked my leg forward, hitting the pedal with uncontrolled force.
The wheel whirled, wickedly fast, splattering mud all over the place. Us.
“Christ,” Cameron growled, his arms coming around my body, as if to protect me from the splashing mud, and his leg swiftly replacing mine. The thing slowed down. “You have to start at a gentle speed,” he instructed, his mouth much, much closer than it had been a few seconds ago. Right beside my temple. His leg moved again, making me notice how it pressed right against mine. “See?” he asked, but I didn’t see a single thing. Not with Cameron wrapped around me. “We have the control of the wheel. Us.”
Us.
We.
I didn’t think I was breathing but I nodded. So enthusiastically that the back of my head collided against his collarbone. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I… was distracted.”
By you. Your touch. The way you’re sandwiching me against the edge of the tabletop.
Cameron reached for the sponge again, and his jaw brushed my cheek.
My breath hitched.
His fell on my temple. “You shouldn’t be disrupting my train of thought this easily, either.”
Either. The fire in my face spread down my neck, sneaking into the neckline of the overalls. “Am I doing that?”
Cameron produced a sound that made his chest rumble. He grabbed my hands and placed them on the spinning clay. “If it’s not well centered,” he said, increasing the speed of the plate and keeping his palms over mine as the material slid beneath my skin. The inside of his thigh pressed on the outside of mine. He felt like a furnace. “The whole thing will be off balance.”
I gave him a nod. But I was no longer listening.
“Press gently,” he instructed, driving our hands upward and around the wet material. “This is the way we cone the clay up.”
That we again. I… liked it.
I also liked the hypnotizing motion of the wheel and the blanketing sensation of Cameron’s body around mine. I seemed to like one too many things about this. Things I shouldn’t like.
“Just like that.” His voice was now impossibly low, carrying the same quality I felt inside my chest. He moved even closer, his arms swallowing me up. “Good job, darling. Well done.”