Everly

“I’m going to bed.” I flicked off the television. Whatever movie had been playing in the background didn’t compare to the one running over and over in my head. Cameron. Giselle. Wayne.

“I could help you with that …”

“Bentley,” I warned.

“Kidding.” He held up his hands defensively, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Hey, how’s your mum?”

Huh? I frowned. Even when we were together, Bentley didn’t ask about her. What had brought this on now?

“Evvie?”

“Sorry. Just a little surprised you asked.” Jo had called again yesterday, asking me to speak with Mum, and again, I’d put her off, telling her I had things to do. I’d been thankful to end that call, and not just because it meant I’d dodged a bullet.

It was also because, for the first time in my life, I was keeping a secret from my sister.

Jo didn’t know Bentley was here.

Thank the Lord he was leaving tomorrow. Getting him out of my life and back into his couldn’t happen soon enough.

“Mum is fine. She’s well,” I said.

“Well, that’s good.” Bentley’s voice changed, a terse strain entering his tone. “And have you heard from your … friend yet?”

I sighed. “No. Still no word from Cameron.”

“Okay. Let me know as soon as you do, because something like this might not be as simple as you think.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What made you think I thought it’d be simple?”

“I guess I shouldn’t have.” Bentley chuckled and placed his book down on the table beside him. “Just like I should have known you’d go big when you asked for a favour.”

“Well … I wouldn’t give up my house for any old thing.”

“Give it up? I’m barely even here.” He joked, but I detected that slight note of hurt in his tone.

“Bentley, quit the ‘poor me’ routine. I just—we’re not together. I still need you to sign those divorce papers.”

“I’ll get to it, I swear!”

“When?” I asked, shaking my head.

He shrugged. “Soon.”

I pressed my eyes closed, rested my head back against the chair. Who knew why he was holding onto the past like that? I couldn’t wait till he was out of my life, and out of my life for good.

“So tell me, why is this case so hard?” I asked, diverting the topic back to safer ground.

“Because you need both parents’ permission to file for a paternity test. And since his ex is less than forthcoming about this whole situation …”

“But that’s why I asked for your help.” I sat up straighter. Why was he making this sound like it couldn’t be done? “Because you’re a lawyer. You can work a way around that.”

“Work a way around the Family Law Act?” He shook his head and tapped the cover of his book twice as if delivering his final verdict. “Unlikely.”

“But not impossible.”

He sighed. “But not impossible.”

I stood, stretching my arms above my head. Not impossible. They were the only words I needed to hear. “Good.”

“I’m gonna hit the hay, too. Big day tomorrow.” Bentley walked past me, his book tucked under his arm. As he reached the door to the spare room, he turned back, offering me one last look. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

“I really do.”

He seemed to study me, as if he could see into my mind, delving into all its inner workings. Bentley had always been like that—deep, intense, and frightfully perceptive.

“Night,” he finally said.

“Night.”

After I washed my face and changed into my silky sleep shorts and chemise, I walked through the house, switching off the lights. Bentley seemed to doubt that we could get this test done. Surely, in this instance, we could make Giselle consent. Surely she’d have to.

Worst case, we could take her to court. After the lie she told, we’d have some grounding for a case, and Cameron would present as a much stronger father figure than Wayne. Would a judge see it like that?

I paused, my hand on the front door, and rested my head against my reflection in the glass pane. No. Good children were raised by bad parents every day. The law could be a bitch.

I flicked off the switch next to the front door, the living room going dark.

Two eyes stared back at me.

I nearly choked on my own breath. My heart hammered against my chest. “What—”

My vision adjusted, and the rest of the face came into view. Cameron. It was Cameron.

He was here.

Shaky hands fussed to unlock the door. I jerked it open, desperate, eager to let him in, hoping he would do the same for me. Let me in, Cameron. Please, let me back in.

“Hi.” I gestured to the space behind me. “It’s nice to see you. You’re nice to see. I—would you like to come …”

His face was a stony mask.

“In! Would you guys like to come in?” I blurted to finish the question, glancing behind him.

But there was no pram sitting on the porch. No little girl softly snoring in her wheeled carriage.

“She’s at home.” Cameron’s voice sounded tight. “With Mack.”

“I thought you were angry with me.” I looked down at the wooden floorboards beneath his feet, then travelled my gaze up his body, over those hips, those broad shoulders. Golden light spilled from the lamp on the porch, showing more stubble than I was used to, making those cheekbones somehow more pronounced. In this light, his eyes were dark, like the ocean on a cloudy night, inky black reflecting inky black.

“I … I’m angry at a lot of things.” Cameron worked his jaw. He looked down, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And there are a lot of things I don’t understand.”

I nodded. “Any I can help you with?” Let me explain. Ask me to explain.

Slowly, he raised his head till he met my eyes. “Yeah.” He cupped one hand around the back of my neck. My skin rippled with goosebumps. “Tell me why I have to do this.”

Time stood still.

He pressed his lips to mine.

He pressed his lips to mine in a kiss so full of need, so full of longing, that I had to cling to him for stability. I snaked one hand around his waist, pulling his hard body close to me, closer still. I opened my mouth, letting him in, letting him take whatever it was he needed because damn it, I needed this too.

His hand tangled in my hair, and my nipples tingled. His fingers crept beneath the silky material of my chemise, skimming right below my breasts. It felt as if every nerve ending, every cell in my body was set to explode, on alert and waiting for his touch.

I tugged his shirt up and over his head, then pulled him closer. He stepped inside the house, jerking the door shut behind him and spinning us around, pushing me against it. My hands were pinned above my head as he kissed a path down my neck, each connection between his mouth and my skin a heady mix of pleasure and pain.

He twisted the silky spaghetti strap of my top around his hand and pulled it down, then did the same on the other side. My breasts were on display thanks to the low light that glowed from the hall. He looked at them, then back at me, his face that of a starving man in front of a wondrous feast. He licked his lips, and I knew I wanted him to devour me, wanted him to eat me whole.

Instead, he lowered his face until he was in line with one erect nipple. His hot breath ghosted over it, and I needed, ached for him to touch it, to take it in his mouth.

But he didn’t.

He softly placed one kiss, then another around the curves of my breasts, one hand still pinning me in place, his thigh pressed against my core, as desperation built in me—desperation and lust and need. I shifted, trying to rub myself against his leg. This slow build was torture. His delay was killing me, slowly and softly.

“Please,” I whimpered.

“Please what?” Dark eyes flashed with desire.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.” I met his look with one of my own. “Touch me.”

He grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yes. Touch me now, and damn it, it better have been worth the wait, because I—”

Hot lips sucked my nipple into his mouth. I gasped as his tongue flicked at the sensitive bud over and over, sending delicious tingles skyrocketing through my body. His hand slipped inside the waistband of my sleep shorts, pushed them and my panties down, then slid between my folds, dancing with my clit. His fingers played me. His tongue made love to me. His every movement turned me on, sent me into some kind of crazy lusty haze, and as my pleasure built and built, I wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“Cam,” I breathed, grabbing at his hair and pulling his face from my chest.

“Yeah?” he asked, his eyes as dark as they’d been in the light of the porch.

“Fuck me,” I whispered into his lips. “Please fuck me.”

I jerked at his belt buckle as he groaned in response, tilting his head back. In one swift move, I tugged his pants down, finding him naked underneath. His long, hard length felt so, so right in my hand. I stroked slow, firm, tight, and he shook. “Everly …”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t toy with me.” His hands shifted under my butt, and as he lifted me up, I wrapped my own hands around his neck, my legs around his waist.

I laughed at the beauty of the moment—how right it felt. How right it was. He pressed my back against the door, one hand holding me in place, the other positioning his cock.

Stormy eyes met mine. “You sure you want—”

I shifted my hips, sinking down on top of him.

At once, the feeling of fullness, of my body stretching to accommodate him, took over. He reached a place inside me that felt oh-so right, and I moaned in pleasure. This. This moment was worth everything—so perfect and so true.

Slowly at first, he shifted his hips, fucking me with exquisite precision. Each movement hit places that lit fires inside me. Each shift drove me wild, made me desperate for more. I dug my fingers into his back, holding on as he sped up, as the lust built and built toward a climax I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. I wanted it to keep going. I wanted more.

I wanted him.

With one last shove, he groaned my name into my mouth. Release washed over me and I clung on tight, holding him as my anchor, my rock in this storm, my temptation and my captive all at once.

We stayed like that for a while—seconds, minutes—our heavy breathing the only sound in the room aside from the steady tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall.

He leaned his forehead against mine, a mirror image of what I’d done against the door less than an hour before, when I’d wondered if he’d ever want me again. Wondered if my future could have him in it.

Maybe it would.

He came back.

Slowly, he slid out of me and lowered me to the ground. My legs wobbled. I flattened my palm against the door for balance. And as he stared at me, and as I stared at him, I knew.

I loved him. I loved him like I’d never loved any man before.

And I would fight for him. Just as I needed him to do for Piper.

“Sorry.” The word was wooden. He pulled up his jeans, ran a hand through his hair. “I …”

“No.” I shook my head, then turned the lock on the door. “You don’t get to apologise and run away.”

I felt his eyes on me as I scampered down the hall. “Wait there.”

In the bathroom, I cleaned myself up, then splashed water on my face. Makeup. I should put on makeup, look more presentable. I should—

It’s a little too late for that.

He’d seen me bare, raw, in every sense of the word. He knew the truth about my relationship with Bella—if not the details, then at least the bones of it.

There was nothing left to hide.

We needed to talk. I braced myself against the sink, taking a deep breath. I’d tell him how I felt. Explain the past with Bella. Suggest my plans for him and Piper moving forward. Ask him what was happening between him and Giselle.

Wrapping a silk robe around my body, I padded back toward the living room, ready for the big discussion.

Cameron sat on the couch, his blue eyes near closed. His dark hair was dishevelled, his bare chest a mountainous plain of golden muscle highlighted by the low light coming from the hall. He was beautiful, and he was tired. So, so tired.

Now isn’t the time to talk.

Instead, I held out one hand. “Come to bed.”

Slowly, he turned to me. Wordlessly, he took my hand and followed me down the hall.

In my room, the robe slipped from my shoulders; his buckle jangled as he threw his jeans and shirt on the floor, and we slid between the sheets, our bodies wrapped in each other’s, our kisses making promises our voices couldn’t seem to match.

Later, as I drifted off to sleep, the memory of the night replayed over and over in my mind. His mouth had ravaged mine in a storm so reminiscent of the one that had poured on the night we were first together, leaving me destroyed in its wake.