“Hey,” I say into the phone as my keys hit the little glass tray I keep by the door. “How was the gym?”

“You home yet?”

My brows furrow at his quick question. “I just walked in. Why?”

“No reason.”

“I was going to call you in a second,” I tell him. “I literally just walked in the door. Is everything okay?”

He blows out a breath. “I just, you know, it’s getting late and I wanted to make sure you made it home.”

A warmth unleashes in my chest and pulls the corners of my lips into an achingly wide grin. “Yeah, I’m home.” I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. “So, how did it go with Bond?”

“He left holding his rib tonight, so pretty damn good, if you ask me.”

“Isn’t training supposed to mean helping each other get better?” I ask, flipping on the light in the kitchen. “It sounds to me when you ‘work out’ with him, it’s a little more serious than that.”

“Any time two men are fighting, whether it’s sparring or actually going at it, there’s ego on the line. Factor in that it’s him I’m in there with and there’s a whole new dimension to consider.”

As he rants about how much he dislikes Bond, I find a carton of chocolate frozen yogurt in the freezer and sit down at the table with a spoon. “I still think you should just stop fighting altogether.”

“Not your choice.”

Stabbing my spoon in the dessert with a little more gusto than necessary, I sigh. “I know it’s not my choice. You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t want my opinion on the matter.”

“If you know that’s true, you’d think you’d stop throwing it out there left and right.”

There’s a moment of silence, one that worries me every time it happens. I find myself holding my breath, my chest burning, as I stare off into space and brace myself for him to give me a bullshit answer and end the call. One of these days, it’s going to happen.

I’m surprised it hasn’t yet. When I pulled my door open last summer, looking like a sweaty mess, I didn’t expect to see him on the other side. I didn’t expect to have my knees get all wobbly or my stomach turn to mush at the smile he sent my way.

There was no way to predict I would’ve been handing my phone number over to the air conditioner repair guy a few hours later or that I’d be enjoying a hamburger and French fry dinner with him the next evening. Least of all, there was absolutely no way in the world I would’ve believed I would see him again almost every day for the next ten months. But I have.

His presence in my life feels, in lots of ways, like I’m stuck in limbo. Moving on in any real way with Dom is unrealistic. I shouldn’t even want it. But I do and I don’t know where that puts me. Or him. Or us.

“Nate is moving in with me.”

“Why?” I ask, caught off guard.

“He’s behind on a bunch of payments and managed to get a loan, but it’ll be a couple of months before it’s processed or something. He and Ryder are going to shack up here until he gets things sorted.”

“That’s nice of you,” I offer.

“Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do? It’s family, right?”

“Of course. My family would do the same.”

“Your family would just buy the other person a house,” he laughs. “I bet two of you haven’t lived together since you were kids.”

“Not true,” I say, taking a bite of my froyo. “Sienna and I lived together until she moved to LA.”

He laughs again. “And she managed to stay away from you for how long?”

“She was there for four years, actually. She still kind of lives there. I think,” I consider, spooning in another glob of yogurt.

“She’s been in Savannah the whole time I’ve known you. She doesn’t live in LA, sweetheart.”

“She still has an apartment there,” I counter.

“Sienna lives in LA as much as I do, and I’ve never even been there.”

Giggling at his analogy, I lick the spoon. “Yeah, that’s probably true. She’s thinking of moving to Illinois now anyway.”

“Must be nice.”

Jamming my spoon back in the carton, I sit back in my chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“No, say it.”

“Say what?”

I can hear the smirk in his voice, the level of amusement I’m providing thick in his tone. It annoys me that he doesn’t take me seriously. That he thinks my life is some kind of charmed existence that doesn’t have a lot of substance.

He’s never said that, not to my face, anyway. I see it hidden in the depths of his sapphire-colored eyes sometimes.

He doesn’t have a problem with the volunteer work I do. He just thinks I should be doing something else, something that matters specifically to me. That pushes me. That drives me. And I don’t know how I feel about that.

“Don’t laugh at me, Dominic Hughes,” I warn.

“Or what, Camilla Landry? What will you do?”

I pause. “I don’t know.”

He just laughs harder. “I’m not laughing at you, babe. I’m laughing at how your sweet little voice tries so hard to break into a roar soon as you’re mad, but it can’t quite get there.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Then what are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, you do know,” he goads. “I hit a nerve. Say it, Cam. Tell me how you really feel.”

“You didn’t hit a nerve—”

“One of these days, you’re going to blow the fuck up, and I’m going to laugh my ass off.”

“What if I blow up at you?” I tease. “You won’t be laughing then.”

“Yeah, I will, and I can’t wait to see it. You’re all prim and proper, and then—boom! Here she comes.”

“I wish I was coming,” I hint, kicking off my shoes. “My body is so tight. I could use a good workout.”

A low rumble rolls through the line. The gravelly sound floods my veins like the lit end of a stick of dynamite. The fire scorches, burning up the fuse as it hits the center of my thighs. “Dom,” I whisper, clenching my legs together. “Stop it.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The line might be quiet, but it’s not still. It’s filled with an anticipation, a feeling that one of us might jump to action. With bated breath, I stare at the shaker of cinnamon on the counter that I forgot to put away at breakfast and wait for his next move.

“If I didn’t have to get up so damn early in the morning and head up north for a job, I’d be on my way over,” he promises.

“What would you do when you got here?”

It’s a loaded question, one that will only make it harder that he’s not here tonight. Not that he would be here all night anyway. He doesn’t sleep here. He won’t. He’ll come over, but I always wake up in my bed alone.

“I’d hope you’d be wearing that yellow silk robe that isn’t long enough to cover your ass,” he says, a grit to his voice that’s as smooth as it is rough. It reminds me of his hands—soft enough to caress, yet coarse enough to cause my body to fire on all cylinders. “I’d find you standing in the kitchen, watching porn on your phone.”

“No, you wouldn’t!” I giggle. “I don’t watch porn on my phone.”

“This is my little fantasy,” he teases. “Don’t interrupt.”

“Fine. Continue on,” I say, propping one leg up on a neighboring chair.

“I’d walk in behind you and almost lose it when I see you with your hand between your legs. Your head would fall back just a little as you moan like you do when you’re turned on. I’d wrap your hair, still wet from a shower, around my fist and tug your head back just a little more so I can bury my face in the crook of your neck.”

The whimper that passes my lips isn’t intentional, but I couldn’t deny it if I wanted to. The thought of his hands on my skin, his breath against my cheek, his cock rock hard and long against the small of my back, has me shifting in my seat.

Lifting the hem of my floral-print dress, I move aside the lace of my panties and feel the heat and wetness radiating from between my legs.

“I’d kiss you right behind the ear just so I could feel you shiver against me,” he breathes. “Smelling your vanilla perfume mixed with the scent of you all turned on would make me so fucking hard.”

“And me so wet,” I whisper.

“I lay my hand over yours,” he continues, “my fingers holding yours in place. You breathe in, the top of your robe falling open so I can see those big, round titties swollen for me, wanting my mouth on them.”

“God, Dom,” I groan, spreading my legs a little wider. Flicking at my engorged clit, the sensation makes me gush a breath of pure need.

“What are you doing right now?” he whispers.

“Ah,” is my response as I roll the nub with my thumb, my eyes squeezed closed imagining it is Dominic’s hand on me and not mine.

“Are you touching yourself, Camilla?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Do you wish it were me?”

“Yes.”

“I’d shove your robe up, bend you over the table, and bury myself inside you so deep you almost can’t take it. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” I almost moan. My back is now arched, my breathing heavy and panting, as I replay two days ago when his words tonight were almost a play-by-play.

“I love the way you squeeze around me. Your little pussy almost milks my cock, begs for it. Do you know that?”

My eyelids clench together harder, almost painfully hard, as I touch myself in just the right way. The burn begins low in my stomach, the rumble getting louder with each and every movement of my hand.

The lace of my panties causes friction against the back of my hand, just another bit of sensation that sends me on a spiral higher and higher.

“Think of how good it feels when I hit that spot in the back of your pussy,” he coaxes. “The way you let loose. How your legs shake as you flood my cock with so much fucking juice that it almost shoves me out of you.”

“Dom,” I utter through clenched teeth as the tremors of my orgasm hit me full-on.

“You coming, baby? You coming thinking of me buried inside you?”

“Yessssss.”

My body hums at the imagery he’s painted for me, the thought of him doing all of those things sending me on a high that could only be topped if it were him doing them.

Sucking in a breath, I hear him follow suit, as I whimper at the aftershocks of my climax. My legs relax, the riot in my stomach eases, as I let my head fall back with a contented, satisfied sigh.

“Damn, lady,” Dom says just as I’m piecing myself back together. “That was ridiculously sexy.”

My cheeks heat as I drop my hand to the side, my body now spent. Embarrassment rears its ugly head as I realize, without an orgasm-needing brain, what just happened.

“Cam?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

“Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I hear it in your voice and you’re a terrible liar.”

“That’s the second time I’ve been told that today,” I laugh.

“Who else you lying to?”

“Lincoln, but I wasn’t really lying to him. He was just being an ass.”

Dominic takes a deep breath before blowing it out slowly. “Did that conversation have anything to do with me?”

“Why would it? They don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You mean slumming it?”

“Stop it, Dominic.”

He chuckles through the phone. “I’m kidding.”

“Do you want to meet them?” I ask with hesitation. It would be a bloodbath, most likely, and my family would definitely have reservations. And questions. And issues. Still, I can’t deny the leap in my chest that maybe his reaction is because we’re there. To the point where he does want to admit to being serious. To—

“Hell, no.”

My spirits fall like a piece of confetti out of a sixty-story building. “I didn’t think so.” I stand up and get my skirt smoothed back down. “My froyo is melting on the table.”

“That could be fun.”

“What?”

“Melted ice cream. If I would’ve known that was happening, I could’ve added it into my little fantasy.”

Still reeling from the hopes of a few seconds ago, I watch the chocolate treat create a little puddle on the white tabletop. “You should remember that next time.”

“Noted. But, in the meantime, I’m gonna get off of here so I can go get myself off. That little show you just put on has my cock so hard it’s ready to explode.”

“If you came over here, I’d help you out with that.”

“I bet you would.” I hear him groan and he moves. “You have any plans for tomorrow?”

“I’m having lunch with my mom, Sienna, and a couple of my brothers’ wives. There’s a charity thing they want to put together and I volunteered to head the effort. What about you?”

“Working then heading to the gym straight after. Maybe we can hook up late?”

“I’d like that.”

He pauses. “Me too, Cam. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

“Later.” And just like that, the line goes dead.

I pad down the hall and into the master bathroom, washing my hands, teeth, and face. Dressing in the yellow robe that I know now is Dom’s favorite, I climb into bed.

Looking around the white walls, white carpet, and pale pink furnishings, I think back to last night. This time yesterday I was snuggled up in Dom’s bed. His ratty blue comforter, eighties-style wood paneling, and grey shag carpeting that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy is almost preferable right now to lying here alone.

Without him.

“Come on, Cam,” I admonish myself, burrowing in the down blankets. “You can’t expect anything. Not from him.”

And I shouldn’t expect anything from him. Worse, I shouldn’t want anything from him. He’s not what I need.

I need stability. I need a five-year plan. I need someone that can raise a family and give me and my future babies a solid foundation. He’s none of that. I’m not even sure he’s capable of it. Worst of all, he’s made it obvious he doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t even want to integrate me into his life or be interwoven into mine. He doesn’t want me at the gym, at Nate’s bar, and he’s not about to go to the Farm for Sunday dinner. As wonderful as he is when we’re together, he has a way of making it clear there’s a line between my world and his, and that line will remain. I’m an interesting addition to his collection of women, and while I know he likes being with me, I also know there’s nothing between us that will last forever.

It can’t. All of those dreams I want to come true aren’t possible with him.

“Uh,” I grumble, trying to get comfortable.

My stomach sours as I imagine working him into my life. Explaining to my family the man I love fights for a living. Can barely pay his rent. Is related to Nolan—the man that tried to ruin Barrett’s entire career.

Closing my eyes, it’s the memory of his face that greets me. I imagine he’s behind me, his chin resting on my head the way he does when he’s waiting for me to fall asleep. It’s this feeling, this warmth, that makes me want to blur the line he so carefully creates so I don’t have to eventually let it go.