Chapter 14

She’d been waiting for it, wanting it, needing it, but she went still, startled, when his mouth finally met hers. He was usually so polite, so considerate, often even reserved, but the way he took over her mouth was something totally different. It was hungry and desperate and intense, and it made everything else in the world disappear.

He was kissing her. Steve-freaking-Springfield was kissing her. Despite all her unspoken hopes, Camille had never imagined it would ever happen…or that it would be so incredibly, unbelievably good.

He tilted her face up, and her paralysis broke. Pressing closer to him, she made a sound so filled with need that it startled her. Did that come from me? Desire roared through her body, heating her skin from the inside out, and she returned his kiss with a hunger that matched his.

His teeth closed lightly on her bottom lip, and she groaned at the unexpected pleasure bubbling up inside her. Taking advantage of her parted lips, he deepened the kiss. The touch of his tongue and the firm pressure of his lips made her shiver and burn at the same time. It was so much more than she’d ever expected, ever imagined in one of her frequent daydreams. The real-life version took her breath away and set her on fire.

She needed more. Clutching his shirt with both hands, she dragged him closer. He came willingly, his chest meeting hers, and he walked her back until her shoulder blades touched the wall behind her. Kissing her even harder, he pressed into her, his hands slipping from her face and finding her sides, tracing the curve of her waist before landing on her hips.

His body holding her against the wall shouldn’t have been as arousing as it was, but she loved it, loved the heavy weight of him as he kissed her deeply. It made her feel both utterly safe and incredibly aroused at the same time. Releasing his shirt, she reached up to slide her fingers around to the back of his head and pull his mouth even more tightly against her own, needing him as close as they could get.

“How’s the Zoe situation? Will you be wrapping things up pretty soon?” Will’s voice got gradually louder, and Steve broke the kiss, lurching back several steps until he bumped into the opposite side of the hallway. Camille panted for breath, and she could see that Steve’s chest was heaving just as much as hers. Her muscles felt so watery that she didn’t trust them to hold her up, so Camille leaned against the wall behind her, letting it take her weight. It was a poor substitute for being plastered against Steve, but Will’s voice was getting closer, and she knew they couldn’t continue making out in front of one of the kids.

“Not to make it all about me, but I’m starv—oh!” Will came into view and stopped abruptly, looking back and forth between the two of them. Even though she and Steve were several feet apart, Will’s slow smirk showed that he knew exactly what they’d been doing before he’d interrupted.

“We’ll be down in a minute.” Steve’s voice was rough, but Camille was impressed by his ability to form an intelligible sentence. Not trusting herself not to babble endlessly if she opened her mouth, she just gave Will an awkward smile that he returned with a wide grin.

“Sorry,” Will said, doing an about-face. “Never mind. We’ll just go ahead and eat. Carry on.” His words faded as he hurried back down the stairs, but his yell to Micah and Maya carried clearly up the stairs to them. “Dad and Camille are making out, so they’ll probably be a while. Let’s eat.”

Steve leaned his head back against the wall, and she let hers fall forward, taking a second to catch her breath before she allowed herself to be mortified that a fourteen-year-old—Steve’s son, no less—had almost caught them kissing. Just calling it kissing made it seem too mild, too tame for what had just occurred. Complete-body kissing? Full-contact kissing? Whatever it was, it’d been mind-blowing, and Camille had to admit to herself that she couldn’t wait to do it again.

With a quiet groan, Steve pushed himself away from the wall behind him. Suddenly, Camille felt unsure and resisted the urge to wrap her arms around her middle. Oddly shy, she kept her eyes on his chin, since she figured it was the safest place for her to focus on. Too high, and she saw his full, slightly swollen mouth, and she’d remember exactly what wonderful things he’d just done with it. Too low, and she’d be looking at his hard chest, and she’d remember just how it felt pressed tightly against her.

“So…?” He drew the word out, and the hint of amusement in his voice made her eyes dart to meet his, suddenly worried that the kiss had just been a joke. The still-burning heat in his gaze and his dark, aroused flush quickly destroyed that fear.

“So…?” she echoed. Now that they weren’t tangled together, she felt her awkwardness quickly flood back in, and she started hunting for something to say. What was the etiquette for getting caught by your co-kisser’s teenage son? Her gaze darted around, and she shifted her weight, her brain spinning from what had just happened. Part of her wanted to escape the uncomfortable aftermath, while another part of her was tempted to hurl herself against him again. Kids are waiting, she reminded herself firmly, clasping her hands together as if she could physically hold herself back.

As the seconds ticked past, she couldn’t stand in silence one more second. She had to say something. “That was nice.” She resisted the urge to close her eyes in humiliation and bang her head against the wall behind her, and instead managed to keep holding his gaze.

His eyes widened in surprise before a huge smile took over his face, and Camille was suddenly glad that she was looking at him—and even that she’d said such a silly thing in the first place. “It was nice,” he said, his voice low with that growly undertone she was starting to really like. “More than nice. I wasn’t really planning to do that right here and now, but I—” He broke off when Zoe’s bedroom door opened.

“Hey,” she said, blinking a little sleepily. “Sorry I fell asleep on you, Camille.”

“No problem.” She smiled at Zoe, wishing Steve had finished what he’d started to say, but also a little relieved that the charged conversation was over, and she could have some time to work through how she felt about it in her head before having to discuss it any more. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.” She glanced at Steve before dropping her gaze to her feet. “Sorry about earlier, Dad.”

He quickly moved toward his daughter and wrapped her in a hug. “Nothing for you to be sorry about, sweet girl. I’m sorry about Wyatt leaving, though. I know he’s a good friend, and I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Her voice got tight, but she didn’t start crying again. “Can he maybe come visit, if his mom says it’s okay?”

“Sure.” Steve held her for a long moment before kissing her head and releasing her as Camille watched quietly, smiling a little. Seeing him be sweet to his kids always made her stomach warm in a completely different way than his kisses. Both were nice, though—really nice.

As Zoe hurried down the stairs in front of them, Steve caught Camille’s hand and gave it a squeeze. She held on tightly, her stomach doing a happy backflip. Whatever was happening between them, it was a good thing, and it wasn’t over. Knowing that was enough for now.

* * *

The nightmare was different this time.

The flames were the same, and the choking smoke, and she was still trapped in a dream version of her workshop—one without any doors—but this didn’t have the same feel. She knew it was a dream this time, but she couldn’t force her brain to wake up. Instead, she lay in the inferno, unable to move or even blink.

The figure in bunker gear drew closer, leaning over her in a way that should have been comforting. She should’ve felt relief that help was there, that she’d be carried to safety, but somehow she knew that this firefighter wasn’t there to help her. The dark form was backlit by red flames, shadowing the features hiding under the helmet.

The firefighter loomed over her, closer and closer until she should’ve been able to see hazy features, but there was nothing but emptiness behind the face shield. A single blackened hand reached for her and—

With a gasp, Camille jerked awake, her eyes searching the moonlit room before she convinced herself it had been just another nightmare. She could almost smell a hint of bitter smoke, and that rattled her enough to send her fumbling for the bedside lamp. The softly glowing clock next to it told her that it was almost five.

She flicked on the light and then sucked back a scream, inhaling so hard that it ripped at her throat. On the bedside table was the blackened shape of her failed sculpture. The demon horse seemed to stare straight through her as she reached out, wondering if it was real or if she’d stumbled from one nightmare to the next.

Her hand trembled as she touched the sharp edge of the horse’s ear and then jerked her fingers back at the feel of cold, sooty metal. It was real, and she was awake.

Her brain flipped through rational explanations—one of the firefighters must’ve recovered this from the wreckage of her workshop. Had Steve placed it in her room while she was sleeping? It didn’t seem like something he’d do. He’d been very considerate about not intruding, even though it was his bedroom. Maybe he’d put it in there yesterday, and she hadn’t noticed before falling asleep.

That seemed unlikely, but she clung to that theory, not wanting to let more imaginative and scarier ideas sneak in. There was no way an inanimate object had somehow found its way from her burned house to her bedside table. That was something that would happen in a horror movie, not in real life.

Despite her firmly logical thoughts, she slid out of bed, deciding to start her day early. She wouldn’t be sleeping any more that night.

* * *

At breakfast, Camille couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Steve as the kiss ran through her mind over and over again. She was grateful for the kids’ chatter but at the same time wished she could be alone with him so that they could do a real-life replay of that kiss instead.

“Any problems when you were feeding the horses this morning?” Steve asked Micah, who shook his head as he carried his cereal bowl to the sink. The other three kids followed, clearing the table and rinsing their dishes.

The mention of horses reminded Camille of her unpleasant surprise that morning. “Did you find that…?” She paused, wanting to say hell beast but then remembering there were children around, even though they were busy prepping for school and didn’t look as if they were listening to the conversation. “The horse sculpture. Did you find that in the remains of my house?”

Steve’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What horse sculpture?”

“The one on my bedside table.” She flushed at claiming his bedroom as her own, the memory of the kiss popping back into her brain. “I mean, your bedside table.”

His expression stayed blank. “I haven’t seen it. Was it one that was in your workshop during the fire?”

“Yeah. It was a reject. An ugly thing—hideous, actually.” She frowned. “If you didn’t find it, who put it in your room?”

His expression smoothed. “Most likely, one of the other firefighters found the sculpture and dropped it off. One of the kids probably put it in your room to surprise you.” He smiled as he rose, collecting her dishes along with his. The kids had scattered, and she was alone in the kitchen with him. “I’m sure they didn’t realize it wasn’t one you wanted to keep.”

That made sense, although Camille couldn’t seem to shake the discomfort she’d felt at seeing it so soon after waking from her nightmare. The kids wouldn’t know about her bad dreams, though, and she decided not to grill them about the sudden appearance of the demon horse. She didn’t want to make them feel bad for doing what they believed was a nice thing. Pushing her chair back, she stood, just now realizing that he’d cleaned up for her. “Oh, you didn’t need to do that. Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low tone that vibrated through her. “I like doing things for you.”

It was such a simple statement, but it set off a whole army of wild butterflies in her stomach. “Thank you.” She watched, her cheeks warming as he took another step closer, tipping his head down. His gaze dropped to her lips, and her body heated, thrilled at the prospect of another kiss.

“Dad! Have you seen my green leggings?” Steve and Camille took a synchronized step back as Maya charged through the kitchen toward the laundry room.

“They’re in the dryer,” Camille said, her voice sounding a little rough, even to her own ears. Steve’s gaze never left hers. “I washed them this morning, since you said you wanted to wear them today.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Leggings in hand, Maya rushed out of the laundry room, oblivious to the thick tension between the two adults.

Steve cupped Camille’s cheek, his thumb brushing against her heated skin. “Thank you for doing that.”

She shifted closer and then stepped back again quickly as Will entered the kitchen. Steve dropped his hand to his side.

“What’s up?” Will asked with a growing grin, his gaze flicking back and forth between Camille and Steve.

Clearing his throat, Steve turned to his son. “Do you have your history paper?”

“It’s in the printer.” Doing an about-face, Will headed out of the kitchen.

Camille wasn’t about to risk getting caught by the kids a third time, so she kept her distance from Steve. He gave her a secret smile that warmed everything inside her, only breaking their intimate gaze when Micah walked into the kitchen.

As she moved to help distribute the kids’ lunches, she found that she was grinning. Thanks to Steve, her morning had vastly improved after a nightmarish start.

* * *

Camille hesitated at the entrance of the elementary school auditorium.

“You okay?” Steve asked from his spot behind her. Will, Micah, and Zoe had already gone inside to find seats, but Camille could hear the voices of everyone inside, and it sounded like an awful lot of people. She’d known it would be. Borne didn’t have many social events, so even a school’s holiday concert drew almost everyone in town.

“Sure,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure at all. Maybe she should just go hide in the truck until the concert was over. She’d take the frigid boredom of two hours in the parking lot over the waiting crowd.

“Would it help or make it worse to hold hands?” Steve asked, his voice low, his mouth close to her ear—something that always made her shiver in a delighted way. They hadn’t touched since their first kiss the previous evening, and the idea of holding Steve’s warm, rough-skinned hand was so appealing that it would be worth braving the stares of the townspeople.

“It’d help,” she said, pulling off one of her new mittens and holding her hand out. If they were going to deal with all the stares and whispers, then she was going to get the full effect of holding Steve’s hand—skin to skin. His grin was huge as he wrapped his big hand around her smaller one. That instant feeling of safety enveloped her at his touch, and she felt her shoulders relax a little. She was right; holding his hand did indeed help. Now she just had to brave the townspeople’s stares.

The idea made her tense up again.

“Ready?” Steve asked. She couldn’t force out an affirmative answer. He seemed to realize that she’d frozen up at the thought of facing the crowd, since he gave her hand a warm squeeze before heading inside, towing her along with him. The auditorium was already packed, but it was too early for the majority of the people to have taken their seats. Instead, the adults and older children stood in pairs and groups, chattering, while the younger kids ran up and down the aisles.

Just as she’d expected, there was a ripple of interest as people noticed them, and then a louder wave of gleeful whispers as they saw Steve and Camille’s linked hands. A few people started to move their way, and Camille braced herself, knowing they’d soon be surrounded.

“Camille!” Zoe’s voice was a relief. Camille turned to see the girl approaching, a boy about her age in a wheelchair next to her. “This is Wyatt. Wyatt, you already know my dad, and this is Camille.”

Zoe put a heavy emphasis on her name as she and her friend exchanged glances, and Camille looked back and forth between them, wondering what the subtext was. She made a mental note to pry it out of Zoe later and gave the boy a nod. “Hi, Wyatt.”

“Wyatt,” Steve greeted. “Heard you and your mom are heading to Texas.”

Camille immediately looked at Zoe and saw her eyes start to shine with unshed tears, so she gave Steve’s hand a hard warning squeeze and stepped on his toes for good measure. He looked at her, confused, and she gave a slight tilt of her head toward Zoe. She felt him tense as he got the message.

“Yeah,” Wyatt said, not sounding excited about the move, although nowhere near tears. Camille was grateful for that, since two crying preteens was a little more than she felt she could handle. “Austin. We’re moving the day after Christmas.”

“Well, you’re welcome at the ranch anytime you want to visit,” Steve said, and Camille gave him a more gentle squeeze to let him know that was a pretty good save. She interpreted his return squeeze as a thank-you.

“Camille!” Swallowing the groan that wanted to escape, Camille turned toward an approaching Jodi Lin. She clung to Steve’s hand, suddenly so grateful for his presence that she ignored the fact that it was his fault—well, his daughter’s fault—that she was at the concert in the first place. “Good! I was hoping you’d come,” Jodi puffed, out of breath from her sprint across the auditorium. Camille figured she’d wanted to be the first one to get the latest gossip. “I am so sorry about your house burning down. When I heard what happened, I just…” She put her hand on her chest, as if trying to think of a way to express her sense of horror.

“Thank you, Jodi,” Camille said when Jodi’s sentence hung unfinished for a beat too long.

With the condolences over, Jodi gave Camille and Steve’s joined hands a lightning-quick glance. “I bet you’re here for Maya. She’s such a sweet girl. It’s so good that she has a mother figure around now, rather than just a ranch full of men.”

Camille was squeezing SOS in Morse code when the lights dimmed and brightened again for the five-minute warning. “Better find our seats I bet the kids are waiting for us thank you again Jodi we’ll talk later bye!” She basically sprinted away, with Steve close behind her. She could hear him chuckling softly, but she didn’t care. She was taking full advantage of the opportunity to escape the inquisition.

“This way.” Steve took the lead again, weaving among people with enough speed and dexterity that no one had a chance to engage them in conversation. Camille approved.

“Camille!”

“Nooo,” she groaned under her breath, making Steve laugh again. Mrs. Lin—the older version—was waving at her from the opposite aisle. Camille waved back, grateful for the seats blocking Mrs. Lin from getting close enough to talk, and took the seats that the kids had picked out. They were on the aisle so that Zoe could sit next to Wyatt, and Camille appreciated the location for the quick getaway it offered. She wouldn’t have to shuffle past half a row of seats in order to escape.

Nate and Ryan were already there, sitting next to Will and Micah.

“Hey,” Ryan greeted, his smile growing stiff as his gaze fell on Camille and Steve’s joined hands.

“Hi.” She gave them a little wave and then settled into her seat between Steve and Micah, who sat hunched forward, gripping his program a little too tightly. Leaning toward him, she murmured, “How much do you want to run out of here right now?”

He sent her a sideways look before refocusing on his crumpled program. “A lot.”

“I thought about sitting out in the truck for the whole thing, but I figured I’d get pretty cold out there for an hour.”

He snorted and tilted the program so she could see the list of performances…the long list. “Two.”

“Two…hours?” Why couldn’t she be in the shop, alone, working on Steve’s Christmas present right now?

“Yep. Sometimes longer.” He looked slightly less hunched, and one corner of his mouth had turned up. Camille was glad that her misery had made him feel a little better. “I’ve been to lots of these.”

“Do they at least have cookies at intermission?”

“What intermission?”

Turning to Steve, she said very quietly, “If this goes for more than two hours straight, it’s just cruel that they don’t have people going up and down the aisles selling alcohol to the adults.” The lights began to dim, and she settled into her seat, leaving him muffling his amused snort with his free hand. By the time he’d cleared his throat and settled again, it was full dark, and the curtain opened to show a group of children arranged on risers. They were too small to be Maya’s age, so Camille quickly lost interest as they started singing about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

“Here,” Steve whispered, sliding something into her hand.

When she realized it was a flask, she couldn’t stop herself from lifting up to kiss him on the cheek. It might’ve been the promise of alcohol, or the fact that she’d almost made Micah smile, or just sitting in the midst of all the Springfields, feeling like a true part of their family, but the next two hours weren’t looming as horribly as they’d been before.

“You,” she whispered, unscrewing the lid, “are a wonderful, wonderful man.”

There was just enough light to see his broad, pleased smile.

* * *

It was close to ten before they filed into the house, and Maya was weaving with exhaustion.

“Bed,” Steve said, eyeing his kids’ tired faces. “Tomorrow’s a school day.”

Will let out a little huff. “Barely. It’s the last day before vacation, so no one’s going to be doing anything.”

“I have two tests,” Zoe grumbled, not much more awake than Maya. “Why does Will have it so easy? He’s older than me. Isn’t school supposed to get harder?”

“It does. Will, you have that algebra test and two papers due,” Steve scolded lightly. “So bed, now. Good night. Maya, you did a great job tonight.”

Maya gave him a sleepy smile as the rest of them called their good nights, and they headed upstairs without any more complaining. That, Steve knew, was a true testament to how tired they really were. When Camille started to follow them, he caught her hand, and she turned toward him in surprise.

“Hang on a minute,” he said quietly, and she gave him an agreeable smile and relaxed against him. Closing his eyes, he fought the temptation he’d been struggling with all evening. Camille, he’d discovered, became sweetly affectionate after just a couple sips of whiskey. During the concert, she’d leaned in to him, whispering occasional comments into his ear, and afterward she’d tucked her hand into his arm when they’d walked out to the parking lot. It hadn’t been anything extreme, nothing for the other Borne residents to exclaim over, but it had battered his defenses against her.

Living with Camille for the past week had already tested his self-control, and now, with her sleepy, relaxed body pressed against him, her back against his front, he felt his weakened willpower eroding even more. He opened his eyes. The darkness just made him concentrate more on the feel of her curves and how good she always smelled, like burnt sugar and vanilla.

“That,” Camille murmured, reaching back to catch his hand, “was both torturous and more fun than I expected it’d be.”

“You’ve pretty much described parenthood,” Steve said dryly. “Thank you for going. The kids really enjoyed having you there, especially Micah. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so relaxed at one of those events before.”

“I understand why. We both have the same hatred of crowds.” She played with Steve’s fingers and ran her thumb over his palm. He shivered at her touch, somehow feeling hot and cold at the same time. Unable to resist, he moved his free hand to her waist, telling himself he’d just leave it there. Only seconds passed before he was sliding it across her middle, pulling her even more firmly against him.

Stop, he told himself. She’s been drinking. Even though she’d only taken a couple of small slugs of whiskey from the flask hours ago, and she never showed signs of being tipsy, he didn’t want to take advantage. He was already too aware of the fact that she was staying with him because her home had burned and she had nowhere else to go…well, nowhere that wasn’t Mrs. Lin’s or Ryan’s. He never wanted her to feel pressured by him or for her to do anything she didn’t want as much as he wanted it—and he really wanted it…urgently.

Clearing his throat, he dragged his mind off of his desperation. “You’re so good with him…with all of them.”

Tipping her head back, she smiled at him once more, giving him those hot and cold chills again. “It’s more like they’re good with me.”

As he stared down at her, fighting the urge to kiss those full, tempting lips, he remembered how good she’d tasted the previous evening. Camille had been so willing, so eager—almost as frantic as he’d been—and he’d been overwhelmed by the need to lose himself in her. If Will hadn’t accidentally interrupted them, Steve wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to stop.

“Did you need something from me?” she asked as if reading his mind, and he jerked in surprise, his arm tightening around her waist for a moment.

“I…” He paused, unsure how to answer that in a way that was truthful but didn’t reveal his desperate hunger. Clearing his throat to give himself a moment to think, he finally answered, “I just wanted to thank you for going tonight, even though I know it was hard for you.” He found he couldn’t leave it at that. The previous day’s kiss hadn’t been one-sided. In fact, she’d told him it’d been nice. The memory made him snort, and that amusement centered him enough to continue. “I also wanted to have some time alone with you. We haven’t had much of that this week.”

Her hand went still on his for a moment before she started her rhythmic stroking of her thumb across his palm again, sending pleasure streaking straight from his hand to his groin. He swallowed a pained laugh at that. She affected him so strongly that just the touch drove him wild.

“Not much, no,” she said, and he dragged his mind away from the sensations her fingers were creating and back to their conversation. “I want that, too. It isn’t that I’ve been trying to avoid you.”

Shifting his hand so that it cradled the back of hers, he lifted it to his mouth and pressed his lips to her palm. “I know. The ranch has been busy, and you’ve had to deal with the aftermath of the fire, too. You’ve been a huge help around here. Thank you for that. I know the gift shop isn’t your ideal place to be, but you’ve really come through for us.”

“If Micah can manage to work among all those customers, then so can I,” she said, setting her chin. Her resolute expression made him smile, even as it inspired another rush of heat. “I’ve heard he’s a better packager than I am, though, which is a little upsetting.”

He laughed softly, marveling once again at how happy she made him. “He’s a better packager than anyone,” he reassured her. “It’s the artist in him.”

“There’s artist in me, too, so I have no excuse.” Tugging her hand free of his hold, she turned to face him. “I’m determined to up my wrapping game.”

He’d thought having her backside up against him made it tough to control himself, but that was nothing compared to having their fronts pressed together. Struggling to drag his mind off the feel of her breasts against his chest, he responded hoarsely, “At least you’ll always be better at it than me.”

Her lower lip protruded in a pretend pout. “That’s no comfort. You’re terrible.”

His laugh was a little choked as he focused on her lips. The only thing stopping him from kissing her was knowing that his control was holding on by a thread. If he put his lips on hers, it would be incredibly hard to stop with a kiss. He opened his mouth to make a joke, but what came out was, “How sober are you right now?”

Instant comprehension lit her face, and her lips parted. She licked the bottom one, and Steve could barely hold back a groan. “I’m very sober.” The way she said it made it clear she knew why he was asking. “I only had a few sips, and that was hours ago.”

“That’s what I thought.” His voice was rough, and he couldn’t seem to stop his hands from traveling up and down her sides. With her right in front of him, leaning against him, it was impossible to pass up the opportunity to touch. “I wasn’t sure, though, since you seemed a little more…cuddly than usual.” Cuddly? He made a face at his choice of words, but she seemed amused by it rather than offended.

“I’m not normally cuddly?” Her quiet laugh was breathless, and he had a feeling that the flush on her face was caused by arousal rather than embarrassment.

“Yeah, you are.” His fingers traced up her ribs. He loved the feel of her, so soft and warm and alive. “I’m thinking about cuddling you pretty much all the time.”

Her flush deepened, and she rested her forehead against his chest. Under his hands, he could feel her ribs expanding and contracting with rapid breaths, and he loved that he was the cause, that he could excite her so much.

“Steve?” She raised her head and looked up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Can I stay down here with you tonight?”