CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Brooke
Bring an overnight bag. With as little clothing as possible, because you won’t need it.
With such a simple directive, packing should have been easy. But it took me several days to get it right. It started with the bag itself. I’d moved my clothing to school and to my apartment in old crates. The only actual bag I had was my old backpack, and since that was what I’d been taking to headquarters with me, that certainly wouldn’t work. Plus, it was ratty, and not sophisticated in the least. So after work, I’d gone to Macy’s, hoping the Memorial Day sales had started early. They hadn’t. I found lots of bags that screamed its owner was the classy and jet-setting type, but they were all over a hundred dollars. Finally, I forked over the money for the least expensive one, a simple black carry-on that I hoped I could get use out of later, if I ever, miraculously, had places to go.
What to put in it, of course, proved to be an even bigger struggle. It was Memorial Day weekend, but forget the whole Is it okay to wear white shoes? thing. This went way beyond that. He’d said to bring as little as possible, but even if we would be naked most of the time, I needed to bring clothes. Lingerie. A jacket in case I got cold, since I was always cold. Maybe even a bathing suit? I had no idea.
Ugh. I thought of what he’d pack, and likely he’d probably do it in the space of three minutes.
All I ever wore to bed were boxer shorts and wifebeaters. That was perfectly fine when I was dating college guys like Mike, who slept in their boxers. But Cameron was the first real grown-up I’d ever been with. He probably had pajamas. Monogrammed pajamas. Made of cashmere. And matching lamb’s wool slippers.
Other than the standard bras and panties, of which I had two matching sets, I had one piece of actual lingerie, given to me by Kiera as a Secret Santa gag gift. It was a black lace teddy that left nothing to the imagination. I’d never worn it before, but now, I clung to it. It was the cornerstone of my packing exploits. I threw in a couple pairs of capris, my thong sandals, sundresses, and my tiniest bikini, like I was packing for a trip to the isles. Soon, my bag bulged with enough clothing for a week.
Oh, well. Better to be prepared.
I left the bag open on my bedroom floor until the last moment possible, often going in and changing out a shirt I thought might be too “college,” adding a piece from my wardrobe I’d just remembered. When I finished showering and applying my makeup, I stuffed my cosmetics bag and toothbrush in the side pocket, took a deep breath, and zipped it up.
Then I had the chore of looking through my wardrobe for something to wear there. I cursed myself when I realized I’d packed most of the good stuff. Finally, since it was unseasonably hot, I settled on a white sundress. I wasn’t tan yet, so I looked a little like the Michelin Man’s daughter. Slipping on a pair of sandals and some chunky jewelry, when I glanced in the mirror, I wasn’t entirely disappointed. I added a wide-brimmed hat and big sunglasses in case anyone saw me getting into Cameron’s limo. When I stood in front of the mirror again, I was surprised to see a fourth version of myself emerging. Not Brooke, not Cassandra, not Violet. No, I was someone more mature, sophisticated. Not Bernadette, of course, but pretty damn close.
It didn’t help quell the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I knew Cameron could spot a phony a mile away, the way he’d spotted my imitation pearls.
It didn’t stop Owen Blakely’s voice from playing on repeat in the back of my head. I need ammunition NOW.
I told myself not to worry. Not to think too much. I’d been so sheltered all my life, and this was a time for new experiences. I told myself that whatever happened, whatever crazy, wild, sexy, amazing things happened to me this weekend, it would be so worth it because I’d get to do them with Cameron. Cameron, who wanted me. Who couldn’t wait to see me. Who thrilled me and made me feel more alive than anything on this Earth.
You can do this, I told myself again and again as I closed the door to my apartment and hefted my bag onto my shoulder, preparing for the three-block walk to the welcome center. It was only one forty-five, so I had plenty of time.
You are classy. You are sophisticated. You are beautiful. Own it.
When I arrived at the welcome center, there were a few cars parked in the lot, but no limo. I’d just found an empty bench and turned around to sit on it when I saw a man in jeans leaning against an early model, cherry-red convertible.
Waving at me.
It was so Sixteen Candles, I had to do the same thing Molly Ringwald had done. I looked behind me to see who this gorgeous man in jeans was waving at.
But of course, it was Cameron. I’d just never seen him looking so relaxed. Filling out jeans the way he did. Wearing a cream-colored sweater — probably cashmere, of course — that brought out the dark tanned tone of his skin. My mouth nearly dropped open as he jogged up to me and grabbed my bag.
“Hi,” I said dumbly.
“Hey.” He jogged to the back of his car and placed my bag in the trunk. He was still smiling when he came around and opened the door for me. It was a gesture like I’d seen him do for Bernadette, and I was instantly speechless as I started to climb into the car. Before I could, a giant ball of white fur lunged at me, and I had the strangest feeling of déjà vu.
The dog from his backyard.
“Oh, hi!” As I sat down, he licked my shoulder. I reached over and ran my hand through his soft, thick fur as he panted and wagged his tail excitedly.
“Don’t mind Mr. Fluffers,” he said, giving the dog a scratch behind the ears.
“Mr... Fluffers?” I asked with a laugh. That was so not a name I’d expect a full-grown man to bestow on his best friend. “Is that seriously his name?”
He nodded. “He likes you. He’s usually a little skittish when he meets people for the first time.”
I froze. Well, this isn’t the first time.
He slid into the driver’s seat a moment later. “Are you okay?”
I supposed I was flushing because, from the moment I saw him, I couldn’t understand why I’d stressed so much over packing when all I really wanted, and all that mattered now, was that we were going to be together for an entire night. I was giddy at the prospect.
Swallowing the nervous flutter of anticipation inside me, I motioned to him. “You’re just… I didn’t know you owned a pair of jeans.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He leaned toward me conspiratorially. “I own two pairs.”
I smiled.
His eyes swept over me, fixating on my bare legs. “And you look utterly amazing. It’s going to take every ounce of concentration I have to not pull over at the side of the road and defile you before we get to our destination.”
I couldn’t say I would object to that.
I grinned. “Are you going to tell me where that destination is?”
“If you’ll tell me your name.”
Truthfully, I’d thought about telling him. What kind of relationship could we have if he didn’t even know my name? But then it always came back to one thing… we couldn’t. We could have no relationship anyway. Still, part of me must have wanted one, ached for one, or I wouldn’t have been with him right then.
Until he indicated that he wanted more, too, there was no point. Well, not even then. When he learned I’d lied to him, spied on him…
I sighed and shook my head, hoping he saw the gesture as mysterious instead of me completely giving up.
“Then you’re out of luck.” He touched the brim of my hat. “You might want to hold on to this. We’re going on the highway. Unless you want me to put the top up?”
Oh, hell no. I’d never ridden in a convertible before, and it was a gorgeous day. I wanted to feel the breeze in my hair. I opened my mouth to tell him that this was a first for me, but then thought better of it. I needed to channel Bernadette, the worldly woman who belonged to him. “It’s fine,” I said, removing my hat and putting it at my feet. “What kind of car is this?”
“Mustang,” he said, not pretentiously at all, and he pulled out of the space. “Let me know if you get cold.”
“And you’ll find a way to warm me up?” I asked with a sideways glance.
He nodded and wiggled an eyebrow.
We didn’t talk much in the car. We pulled right onto 95 and stayed on highways the whole way. There was little traffic, and the wind was blowing noisily, which didn’t make for much conversation. But that wasn’t to say it wasn’t an experience.
In fact, it was better that we didn’t talk. I loved feeling the sun on my face and the wind whipping around as we drove. There weren’t many sights to be seen, save for trees on the median, but I didn’t mind. I knew my hair was a wreck, but I didn’t care because once we left Pennsylvania and headed into Maryland, I was in unexplored territory. I’d never been this far south before, though I kept that to myself. I loved watching him in his mirrored sunglasses, his strong forearm flexing and moving every time he had to shift. When he wasn’t shifting, his hand was on my bare thigh, tracing little circles there that gave me a million goose bumps. Occasionally, he let it stray farther, and though I parted my legs, welcoming his touch, he stayed very much the gentleman.
Finally, we pulled off the interstate onto Route 301, and I saw the signs for the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. He’s taking me to the beach, I thought, looking around excitedly. I’d been to the beach maybe twice, but in New Jersey, when I was a little, sandcastle-building kid. “Have you been on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge before?” he yelled over the noise at me.
No, I hadn’t. But what was the difference? I’d been on the Ben Franklin Bridge before, of course, so did it matter? Rather than answer a no, I just smiled and pretended I hadn’t heard him.
And then we came to the bridge. It was, quite possibly, the scariest piece of real estate in all the world. It was narrow and seemed to stretch on and on, forever. When I looked over the side, all I could see was the bay beneath us. No bridge. Nothing. Cars whipped forward like they weren’t one toothpick-like guardrail away from certain death.
“Okay?” he said, looking at me.
I nodded, then looked down and realized I’d taken his hand, which was on my thigh, into my sweaty death grip. “Okay, I’ve never been on this bridge,” I admitted.
He let out a laugh. “So I noticed.” My face heated, and I wondered if he thought I was a completely naïve idiot who’d grown up under a rock. Before I could feel too embarrassed, though, he said, “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I won’t let anything happen to you.
I clung to the words. I had no doubt that he meant them. They weren’t words you said to someone you just wanted to fuck silly. They were words said to someone who meant something. Someone who mattered.
I wasn’t sure if that was the sign I was looking for, but I knew right then that this had moved past infatuation.
I was falling in love with him.
And even before the knowledge settled deeply in my brain, I made a decision…
Forget it, Owen. I’m through. I let out the breath I’d been holding all week. Get your dirt from someone else because I won’t let anything happen to Cameron either.
We made it over the bridge and entered a small, quaint little town called Rock Hall. He navigated through the busy streets filled with shops and cottages, and then took a sandy, winding drive between hills of dunes. We drove on for at least five minutes, with nothing to see but dune grass around us and a blue line of the sea up front. Finally, he pulled into a parking space in front of a small, beachfront cottage. Removing his sunglasses, he looked up at the house, and then at me. “Home sweet home.”
I looked up at the cottage. A dozen or so stairs of peeling white paint led straight up to a slat-windowed, enclosed porch, and beyond that, a shaker shingle-sided home rather precariously balanced on stilts. From the outside, it was nothing special. Rickety, even. Nothing like the massively pretentious and majestic home he kept in Delancey Place. “This is yours?”
He nodded. “I know it’s not much, but it’s private and has a great view. I hope you aren’t disappointed.”
He really seemed eager to know my opinion, as if I did matter. As if all of this mattered.
I reached for the door to the Mustang and pushed it open, climbing out of the car and removing my sunglasses so I could get a better look. Mr. Fluffers bounded out behind me, tickling my calves with his wild, abundant fur as he raced around me. By now it was about dinnertime, and the sun was still strong, but behind the house. “It’s perfect,” I breathed.
He came around the car to me and took my hand. “Come on.”
The stairs creaked as we climbed them. He picked through a ring of keys, found the right one, and pushed open the door. I thought that it would be the same as at the club. I thought that with how much he’d said he wanted me, he’d be on me the second we had the opportunity. But he led me through a small, bright mudroom and into the open area.
The house smelled like fresh air. The walls and floors were cheery and whitewashed. The furniture was pillowy and comfortable. The kitchen, with its farmhouse cupboards, was a gourmet cook’s dream, with gleaming copper pots hanging from a rack above a large center island. The walls were decorated with a nautical flair and old country signs pointing the way to the beach. I walked down a long hallway and peeked into a small bathroom, complete with a huge clawfoot tub. I admired the quaint décor with him following close behind, hands in the back pockets of his jeans. I looked into the guestroom, and when I reached the master bedroom, I turned around. He was looking at me expectantly as if he couldn’t continue without my seal of approval. “It’s lovely.”
“But that isn’t the best part,” he said, leading me to a set of French doors.
He opened them, and led me out onto an enormous balcony overlooking the glassy blue sea. I gasped at the beauty and absolute serenity of it all. A long, narrow pier stretched out into the water, and a sole red rowboat bobbed at the end, tied to a piling. The sun was sinking in the sky, and I knew the sunset would be stunning. I could almost imagine how gorgeous it would be.
Then I turned and saw a little table in the alcove, with place settings for two, champagne flutes, and salads. “How did you…?”
He checked his watch. “I thought you would be hungry when we got here, so I had them set out some food for us when they finished getting everything ready.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Them? You mean, the help?”
He nodded like it was an everyday thing, to have help. This place may have been unpretentious and totally not Brice-style, but he was an Ivy League, Upper Crust snob through and through. But he’d done it for us. For me. And I couldn’t help but wonder if he went through such trouble for people like Bernadette, or if I was special. “Do you come here a lot?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “No. In fact, you’re the only person who knows about it.”
I looked at him, surprised. Was that true? What about his parents? Bernadette? I couldn’t imagine that he would keep this a secret from them. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Some things are better kept secret.”
“Oh.” I assumed I was one of those things.
He led me back inside. “I’ll get our things. Did you want to eat first, or…?”
“I think I’ll just…” I pointed to the bathroom.
Inside, I washed up, checking my reflection to see that I’d gotten a little sunburn on my nose and cheeks. I looked pretty, happy. Excited.
Mostly excited. Now that I’d cast worries about completing the assignment away, I was free to enjoy myself. To enjoy Cameron, without the guilt of knowing I’d soon destroy him.
Outside, I heard Cameron’s faraway voice, uttering commands, and realized he must have been talking to the dog. When I came out, my bag was set in the bedroom. I turned around as Cameron walked in, hands still in the back pockets of his jeans, looking oddly sheepish.
“Okay, so. Change in plans,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Mr. Fluffers ate our first course. He can be a bit of an asshole.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “It’s okay.”
“I still have the lobster though. Are you hungry?”
Lobster. I blanched. I’d never eaten that before. Didn’t it have a hard shell that you had to crack in strategic locations to extract the meat? I’d likely make a total fool of myself. Though my stomach was rumbling with hunger since I’d only had a bagel for breakfast, I shook my head. I looked at him coyly, which gave him the permission to take a step forward, and another, until he reached for my hand and we stood, close together, just bathing in each other’s presence. He reached out and tucked a stray hair behind my ear.
Then he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me with a soft, tender passion that took my breath away.
I peeled off his clothing layer by layer, taking my time with every movement, trying to savor it all. I lifted the hem of his sweater and when he pulled it over his head, pressed my hand against his chest, trying to commit it all to memory. I examined the way the dark hair swirled over his strong pectorals, the strength in his collarbone, the rise of his abdomen into a not-quite six-pack. He was perfect, really, just breathtaking. I almost felt it was a sin to look away.
He plucked each of the straps of my sundress from my shoulders, covering the skin underneath with kisses before he lifted it and let it fall to the floor. Then he stared at my breasts with such reverent awe before touching them and sucking each nipple in turn into his mouth. I moaned in a combination of agony and ecstasy, wanting to speed things up, wanting this to last forever.
He eased me onto the bed with such care that I felt like I’d fallen on a bed of clouds. When he draped his body over me, and his warmth seeped into me better than any blanket could, I gasped, feeling his every pore alive atop mine. He kissed me so thoroughly, not leaving a place unexplored. His hands worked my body as if he were a sculptor, and it was better than any massage I could have received.
He parted my legs, nibbling down my hipbone, and by the time his tongue touched my core, I was already in the throes of abandon. He slowly sucked, tasted, and licked me, pressing his hands to my thighs to open them, and when I came, he kept his mouth there, absorbing every last tremor that rippled through me, as if it was his own.
I felt like I was a part of him, like we were one. How could this not matter?
“Cameron,” I cried desperately as he climbed up my body, his mouth wet with my juices. I tangled my hands in his hair and kissed him with a desperation that frightened me a little, tasting myself on his warm tongue as he slowly, inch by inch, entered me. “Don’t let this end.”
He didn’t say anything, but I could feel his answer in his every move. This wasn’t fucking. He moved slowly, rocking into me with deliberate motion, as if each thrust mattered more than the last. I was no longer aware of our individual body parts. Now, we were one being, working in perfect harmony. I’d never felt such completion in my life. When I felt myself rising to a second climax, as I cried out, tears squeezed from my eyes.
As much as I loved the tenderness of it, there was a sadness about it too. I got the feeling he knew this would be the end, that this couldn’t continue. I’d never really made love before, since all of my other lovers had involved a lot of fumbling, a lot of unsureness, both physical and emotional. But whatever the previous times had been, there was no doubt in my mind that this was making love.
He growled my name, the name he knew as he came, letting out a soft breath of tortured release. I held him to me, so tightly I hoped we’d fuse together. We stayed like that for a million breaths, just holding each other, until one thought settled in my head, turning my insides to cement…
It has to end.
He peeled off me, his hands on either side of my head as he kissed each temple, my forehead, and finally my nose. “Dinner?”
I nodded, thinking, New experiences. He’d made me stronger, and now, I was ready for them. For anything.
“Though I… I’ve never had lobster,” I whispered, finally feeling safe enough to admit it.
He pulled me up, and when I reached for my sundress, he kicked it away.
“Trust me. Lobster is better eaten au natural.”
He led me outside to the table. Mr. Fluffers perked his ears up and wagged his tail, so I leaned over and petted him as Cameron lit the candles there. He poured a tall glass of champagne and handed me the flute.
Despite the unseasonably hot and sticky weather, made bearable by a thin breeze coming off the bay, I shivered and crossed my arms over my nakedness.
“Cold?” he asked.
I shook my head, looking around. “Do you have neighbors?”
“Nope. Not anywhere nearby.”
Relaxing, I took a sip of the champagne. “Never had this, either.”
He poured himself a glass. “Never had this vintage?”
I stared at him. “No. Um. Actually, never had champagne.”
I thought he’d laugh at me, but he just smiled and clinked my glass with his. “Well, I’d say Moët et Chandon is a hell of a way to start.”
I squinted to look at the green bottle. “Expensive?”
He gave me a look that said obviously. I grinned at him. “Snob.”
“Who are you calling a snob?”
I pointed at him. “I had a little bet going with myself that you slept in cashmere monogrammed pajamas.”
He frowned at me. “You wound me.”
“So you don’t own cashmere monogrammed pajamas?”
He set the champagne bottle down and took a sip of his champagne, then stared out toward the bay. Were his cheeks turning pink? “Well, I do.”
I laughed.
“But,” he said, holding up a finger. “They’re still in the packaging. They were a gift from my mother. I sleep in my boxer briefs, usually. And I’m very down-to-earth. I don’t like everything expensive.”
“Okay. What do you like that the common man likes as well?” I challenged.
He scratched his stubble-crusted jaw, pretending to think. “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.
“I won’t hold my breath,” I called after him, perching on an Adirondack chair and admiring the tableau in front of me. The sun had already set and gray clouds were dotting the horizon, but beyond that, the sky peeked out with wisps of seashell pink mixed with Creamsicle orange. The colors glittered on the calm bay, more beautiful than any painter’s palette. “Have you ever painted this?” I wondered aloud.
He’d brought out a tray of bright red lobsters, which he set on the table. He raised his eyebrow. “No, actually. You know I paint?”
Shit.
SHIT.
“Actually, no, I didn’t. I just feel like this scene needs to be painted,” I recovered, offering a bright smile. “It’s gorgeous. I mean, it would make even a non-artistic person like myself feel like painting.”
Okay, now I was just babbling. But he bought my lame recovery. He nodded.
“I’ve thought about it,” he said, pouring us each another glass. “I mostly paint people. If they inspire me.”
“Oh?” I asked, trying to hide the goose bumps that had appeared everywhere on my body.
He brought the champagne to his mouth, took a sip, and looked directly into my eyes. “You. I’ve painted you a dozen times, Cassandra.”
Forget stopping the goose bumps. Now there were mountains on my skin. “You have?”
He nodded, his eyes raking over my naked body. “You’re my muse. You have a gorgeous body, Cassandra. I love to paint it, but I’m afraid I don’t do it justice. Any sunset pales in comparison.”
I flushed immediately, and all the colors of the sunset were evident right on my face, my chest, and every naked part of me.
Then he took a lobster and set it on my plate. I scooted out of the Adirondack chair and moved to the small cushioned chair at the table, watching him as he picked his up.
“Now. The trick to opening one of these suckers is…” He twisted off each of the claws and used a small fork to dig out the meat. I watched intently, then looked down at my poor victim.
When he saw my expression, he laughed.
“Ah, fuck it.” He dipped the white, shredded meat into a tiny vat of melted butter and held it out to me. I leaned forward, opened my mouth, and he deposited it between my waiting lips.
Never had I tasted anything so sublime. The butter, with the soft white meat, made my tongue positively beg for more. Where had this been all my life?
“Good?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. Amazing,” I gushed. “More?”
He motioned me over to him. I stood up, slid around the small table, and he sat me down in his lap. He took a lobster cracker in his hands and cracked it expertly, like he’d been doing this all his life, and likely, he had been. Even with me in his arms, he pulled out the meat without any fumbling, expertly, the way he did everything. The more I watched his hands working, the more I wanted them on me.
And it was clear from the way his cock had started to harden again, that he wanted that too.
Still, he gave me step by step instructions on how to eat a lobster, feeding me bits of it drenched in butter from the fork, sometimes taking bites directly from the shell, letting me try too. All the while, he kept his arms around me. Maybe it was the champagne, but as we toasted each other again and again, I lost all sense of self-consciousness. Night descended, and the candlelight waned. We let the shells fall on the ground, and the warm butter dripped all over our bodies. By the time we were done, our skin was glistening with butter and bits of lobster, and I was more than a little tipsy.
Taking the flute, I whirled around on him, straddling his lap. His cock was now rock-hard between us, and I wriggled my bottom against his warm thighs, feeling more and more aroused. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a better meal,” I told him as I took another sip.
“I have,” he said, kissing me, drawing my lower lip lazily into his mouth as he wrapped his strong arms around my body. “In fact, you look good enough to eat right now. Nice and buttery.”
I rocked back and forth on his lap, feeling his hard cock grazing my center. My insides throbbed for him, and I was so wet again. I felt brazen. “So, you seemed like an expert. How many times have you eaten lobster like this?”
I didn’t want to know the answer, really. I could just imagine he and Bernadette sitting in this very position, naked, feeding each other chunks of lobster meat. Plus, he was a Brice, and they’d never lacked for women. Bernadette was probably the second to last of many women he’d fed lobster to.
“Truthfully?” he asked, his hands tightening at the small of my back as he beheld my naked breasts. I was sure they provided great interest, oiled down like they were, nipples glistening in the candle’s dancing flames. “Never. I usually wear a bib.”
I had to laugh, but he didn’t even smile.
“For the record, this is my new favorite way of doing it,” he said, flicking a piece of shell off my shoulder, then kissing it tenderly. “I don’t think I will ever do it another way.”
But not with me, I thought, sadness threatening to overtake me.
This is a night for new experiences, a voice inside urged me. Make the most of it.
“Swim with me?” I said to him suddenly, to stop the emotions from taking hold. I grabbed his hand and yanked him down the sandy beach, toward the pier. I stopped at the very end of the pier and bit on my lip, the champagne not enough to quell my nerves. “You think there are fish in there?”
He looked at me, a quizzical expression on his face. “It’s the bay.”
I took that as a yes. “I’ve never… actually swam in anything other than a pool.”
“You’re serious?” he asked, searching me out in the moonlight.
I nodded.
“No problem.”
Oh, god, I thought as he walked to the edge of the pier with me at his heels. Now he must really think I am a total country bumpkin who grew up in a cardboard box. Despite my embarrassment, I couldn’t stop sneaking looks at the way the full moon adored his naked body. He had the most perfect ass, the broadest, most drool-worthy shoulders, a square back that tapered in a V to his athletically sculpted waist. I’d seen all this before, but at this angle, I couldn’t help but feel a flash of pride. He’s mine.
Stop it. He’s not yours. He’ll never be yours.
I swallowed as he studied the dark waves lapping at the pier, nodding decisively. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you.”
Then he did a perfect swan dive into the glassy surface of the bay, disappearing completely. When he surfaced, he flipped his hair back, throwing a ribbon of water into the air. “Your turn.”
Had this really been my idea? I’d had five years of swim lessons at the Y, so I was competent. But I couldn’t do that Olympic dive thing if my life depended on it. I gingerly sat down on the edge of the pier and let my feet dangle over. Holy shit. How had he not reacted with a scream of utter agony? The water was ice.
“Fuck this,” I said, lifting my feet from its peril. I started to scramble away. “I’m going inside and burrowing under some blankets, in front of a fireplace, preferably.”
“No, you’re not.” Before I could stand up, he’d already climbed the ladder at the edge of the pier. With ease, he swooped down and picked me up. I squealed and kicked and screamed bloody murder as he carried me to the edge and unceremoniously dumped me into the bay.
I spluttered and swam back up. When he dove in next to me again, I splashed water into his face. “That wasn’t very gentlemanly!” I protested, teeth chattering.
“I never claimed to be a gentleman.” He strained to see me in the moonlight. His words were tinged with concern. “Cold?”
“No, fucking warm as hell!” I splashed him again and proceeded to launch myself onto his shoulders, trying to push his head under the water. He was too strong for me, though, and he just trapped me against his shoulder and carried me farther out into the bay as I laughed like an idiot.
Then he dunked me again. The second I reached up and grabbed him, pulling him to me, something changed. Desire pulsed between us. The freezing water was forgotten. Now, it actually felt quite necessary to douse the flames burning inside me.
“Did I tell you how incredible you look in the moonlight?” His fingers trailed down my spine.
I placed my hands on his chest, feeling his heart pound underneath my fingertips. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” I replied, my voice breathy.
I could feel his erection growing against my stomach, and it made me even more on edge. His hand dipped below the surface of the black water, cupping my ass. I closed my eyes.
“You know what I can’t stop thinking about?” His voice was a dark murmur in my ear.
I shook my head, and for just a moment, I dared to believe that he’d say something that I wanted to hear. I’d felt it when he talked about painting me — I was his muse. I’d felt it when he said that he’d protect me, that he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. That’s why I was hoping for something else to show me I mattered. That this wasn’t just an escape from the city to fuck the girl he was seeing on the side. Something to say that he couldn’t stop thinking about being with me, that we needed to be together forever, screw what the public or his family thought — he wanted me.
He squeezed my ass cheeks hard under the water. “How luscious your ass looked as I fucked you from behind. In the shower. I love your ass.”
My eyes flew open. Just sex. That’s all. I tried to keep my breathing even at the desirous look on his face, his hand on my ass. He spanked me lightly. I inhaled, and as I did, I thought of Owen and Kiera.
“I never knew you were into asses,” I told him, trying to play along. But something in me had begun to dissolve. Was I really going to betray my best friend and her father for a few well-played orgasms?
I tilted my head back, and he kissed me. He pulled me up until I wrapped my legs around his waist, climbing onto him so that he held me above him, bobbing on the surface of the dark water. Being this open against him, the worry started to slip away, at the thought of our naked bodies rubbing together. Cameron kept kissing me, his mouth hot and insistent, as the small waves lapped around us.
Then he broke the kiss, drawing me back into reality. “What is it? Are you okay?” he asked me.
“Why?”
“You just seemed tense—”
I stopped him with a finger to the lips. Too much thinking would ruin this moment, and even if it was just sex, it was worth it, if only for that momentary, fleeting feeling of completion. Feel first, think later.
Concentrating on that, I gripped his shoulders, trying not to sink underneath the water, completely under his spell.
He nodded, understanding. It seemed so crazy that he could sense so much in me, but not see what was at the core of my thoughts. Namely, that I didn’t want to let this go. From the way he gazed at me, it seemed he felt the same. He leaned down to flick his tongue over my nipples, and they puckered at once.
“God, you’re fucking gorgeous.”
I moaned and held tight to his shoulders as he sucked one nipple then the other, cupping my breasts gently, as if exploring them for the first time. It was like all feeling centered where he was touching me, and it was unbearable. He pinched a nipple, and I let out a soft cry, digging my nails into his shoulders.
He swam us over to the ladder and hooked an arm through it, holding us both up so we didn’t drown. His gaze was dark. I knew what he wanted me to do.
Shifting my core against him, I reached down, lifting his cock into position. When it was at my opening, I slid down onto it.
He held me there as I climbed up and down on him, fucking me slowly, and every time he pushed into me, I gasped, feeling my climax getting closer. The only sound in the water was the sound of our heartbeats, and the low, faraway bleat of a boat’s horn as it headed out to sea.
I wanted more than anything to bottle this feeling. With someone like Cameron, whose life was so different from mine in almost every way, I should have felt like I didn’t belong.
But we fit. Somehow, we fit. Perfectly.
Even if it was just for now.
As I came, he buried his face in my breasts, and I tilted my head back, looking up at the stars, the moon, wondering if it was possible to feel so complete and so shattered, all at the same time.
Afterwards, covered in sand and saltwater, we retreated to the house, shivering. He drew a hot bubble bath, and we settled into the large clawfoot tub, me between his legs, resting on his chest. It felt warm, and heavenly, and… temporary.
“Tell me something more about your life,” I asked him as he ran a washcloth gently over my breasts.
“More?” He laughed softly. “You know everything about me. I know nothing about you.”
“Well, what else do you want to know about me?”
“There are a thousand things. But I’ll start with your name, for one.”
I shook my head. “Try again.”
Before he could say more, Mr. Fluffers trotted into the bathroom and looked at us with mild disinterest. Then, circling, he took a space on the bathmat beneath us. “Hey, Fluffs,” Cameron said, splashing him a little. It didn’t phase the dog in the least. He yawned and closed his eyes.
“How did Mr. Fluffers get his name?” I asked.
He started to protest my changing the subject, but then heaved a sigh and leaned his head back against the edge of the tub. “Fine. Mr. Fluffers.” He paused as if he was about to launch into a long tale. “I’d just graduated from Harvard Law and was doing pro bono work over the summer at Boston Children’s Hospital.”
He paused to make sure I was still listening, maybe because he didn’t think it was all that interesting a story, but of course, I was. I was rapt. I nodded.
“Well, there was a girl there. Her name was Kelsey. She was six, and an orphan. Actually, she’d been there all her life. She’d been a failed abortion, but one of the nurses who was supposed to leave her to die simply couldn’t. The nurse brought her to the hospital, but she had a lot of problems. Both of her hips were dislocated, her kidneys weren’t functional, and she couldn’t breathe on her own. She was confined to a wheelchair, but she had a lot of spirit, you know? She was a complete firecracker. I was assigned to look after her rights, and every time I would go in there, she’d say, ‘Cammy, when are you going to break me out of this place so we can run away together?’”
Even though tears were pricking at my eyes, I laughed.
“Anyway, all she ever did was draw pictures of the dog she wanted. They were all over her hospital room, everywhere. It was this big, fluffy white thing. It’s like in the Velveteen Rabbit, you know? Where a child loves her stuffed animal so much, she makes it real? We thought she loved that animal in her drawings so much, she’d make it real. It kept her going. And for a while, we really did think she was going to get out. She’d gotten better. So when she turned six, the nurses and I chipped in and got her this mutt from the pound.”
“He’s a mutt?”
“Yeah. Komondor and... who knows what. But she named him Mr. Fluffers.” A long breath shuddered from him and he stiffened against my back. Tears burned my eyes when he sniffed, but I didn’t look at him. I stroked his arm instead. “And then three months later, she contracted an infection and died. Just like that. It was so unexpected.”
I blinked away the tears in my eyes. “Oh, my god.”
“Yeah,” he said somberly. “She’d left a note that she wanted me to take care of him. So I did. He’s a good dog. We get up to visit her grave every year or so, and when we do, he takes off running and lies there next to her for hours.”
I turned around and looked at him, then rested my cheek on his firm chest and he stroked my hair. For a conservative, with a stick-up-his-ass ego, he could be so different. So sweet. Once again, he’d surprised me, and it made me want to pour out every single detail about my life to him.
But I couldn’t. I fucking hated that I couldn’t.
Of course, he didn’t love me now. He didn’t even know me. My name. My hopes and dreams.
But even though we were all wrong for each other, it was surprises like this that made me think that, one day, he’d be able to tell them all to go to hell. That one day, he could love me.
But not like this. Not with the way things were.
“Even if we don’t agree about everything, you’re a man of morals and convictions. You care about others, not just about yourself. That’s rare in politics,” I told him. “And it’s what sets you apart. Don’t ever change that, okay?”
He was quiet, contemplating this.
“And you don’t always have to act like a machine in front of people. You can show your human side.”
He let out a laugh. “My father says showing too much of that will only convey weakness. They want someone powerful.”
“No. Power corrupts. That’s why people think you’re a douche. If you show them a dash of humility, they’ll love you like—” I stopped before like I love you could slip out of my mouth. Even though I felt it, I knew it was too soon… too wrong… to say. After all, even though I’d been close to him every day for a month, he’d only been with me for four days. Four insignificant days, wherein I’d revealed absolutely nothing about myself. “Like you deserve to be loved. And I bet you’ll be president one day.”
He mock shuddered. “A conservative slash leaning toward liberal president? With morals? Is there such a thing?”
I smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “I didn’t think so, until I met you.”
He kissed the tip of my nose. “That’s a big compliment. I’m sure as hell going to try to live up to whatever you see in me,” he said, running the washcloth over my stomach. “I know honesty is a rare quality in my line of business. But a lot of politicians think you’ve got to play a dirty game in order to win. And I don’t want to.”
I felt tears being pulled from my eyes, and I was ashamed to think it wasn’t so much about Kelsey. It was because I’d done this to myself, pulling stories from him. Everything that I learned about him only made me care more, and yet if he knew anything about me, especially who I really was, he’d be more than disappointed. He’d be furious.
I planted a single kiss on his chest, leaned against his strong body, and closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on the moment. On us, here, together, savoring the waning hours of what was by far the best night of my life.
But inside, I hated myself. I hated myself for entertaining the impossibility that this could be real. I hated myself for conspiring to hurt a man who’d made me feel things I’d never felt in my entire life.