Cameron Wants to Be a Hero (Love Austen 2)

She sang into an invisible microphone, hair flying wildly as she bounced, and Cameron attempted to move to the beat, self-consciously pushing up his glasses.

When the song ended, he was spun around by the shoulder, and assaulted by John’s wide smile.

Oh, God.

He prayed for rescue.

John grabbed his hands and whisked him around, contorting Cameron like a marionette. Colors blurred and John’s laugh was heavy and wet in his ear. “We dance well together.”

“You’re stepping on my toes.”

“Good thing you’re wearing boots.”

“Could you slow down?”

“Slow? Yes.” John stopped spinning them around, hands slinking to Cameron’s waist, a seductive glimmer in his eyes.

“Actually, these boots are rather durable. Continue the rampage.”

John rubbed his hips. “I’m sorry, Cameron.”

“Huh?”

“I was too harsh before,” John said somberly, bowing his head.

“About Henry?”

He opened his puppy dog eyes wide. “You can’t blame me for being jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Henry stares at you. I know you’re only friends, but I should warn you, he wants more.”

Cameron bit his lip against the hop in his belly. “Is that right?”

“He practically undresses you with a look. You might tell him to stop.”

“I’m not sure we see the same looks, John.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” John patted him with a sigh. “You’re frighteningly naïve about these things. Be careful. Speak of the devil.”

Henry strode to the dancefloor and watched quietly until the song was over and Cameron had eagerly freed himself.

“I’d like to chat with my friend—”

“One more dance?” John pleaded. “This song is my favorite.”

“What is it?”

“Something starting with an M.”

Henry crossed the dance floor and halted beside them. “Sorry for leaving you like that, Cameron.” He gave John a stiff nod and looked at Cameron knowingly. “Can I steal you a moment?”

“Yes!” Cameron blurted. He glanced at John. “Isabella is waving to you.”

John hummed reluctantly, narrowed gaze skipping to Henry. “Okay, but we’ll dance again later.”

Cameron followed Henry to Isabella’s table, to his mostly uneaten meal. “That guy tests my patience. When he put his hands all over you . . .”

“Sounds a little possessive, Henry.”

“You’re right. Sorry. I’m upset. He dances with you, but I can’t.” Henry glanced at his dad, brow furrowed.

“I get it.” He fiddled with his jacket, redoing one button. “Wanting something, but not daring to go for it.”

Henry side-eyed him. “You’re right. We must find ways to overcome it. Follow me.”

Surprised and curious, Cameron let Henry lead him into a chillingly dark hallway. The heavy door muted the sounds of the party, and six steps into the depths of the house, silence shrouded them. A fusion of Maori culture and Gothic tapestries hung from the walls.

Mysterious. Frightening. Wonderful.

“Where are we going?” Cameron whispered.

“To sit in peace.”

“As long as it’s to sit in peace, and not to rest in peace.”

Henry chuckled. “I’m taking you someplace you’ll enjoy.”

“Your bedroom?”

“Someplace better.”

A draft had Cameron hugging himself. “I doubt that.”

Sparkling dark eyes hit his, and Cameron’s stomach clenched. He liked that he amused Henry, even if he never sought to.

“You’re shivering. Are you cold or is your imagination getting a workout?”

“Both, I think.” Henry stopped outside a dark, heavy door with a brass knob and keyhole. Cameron was suddenly aware how close they stood. That unnerving, ticklish warmth clashed with their cold surroundings. “What’s behind the door?”

“Enlightenment.”

Henry twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

Cameron stepped into the room and warm air kissed his cheeks. A rush of comfort overwhelmed him and he sucked deeply at the achingly familiar scent of aged books.

Standing lamps spilled soft light over floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with stories everywhere but the large, churchlike stained-glass window, mysterious against a night sky. Twin armchairs upholstered with heavy golden fabrics brightened both the space and Cameron’s mood.

This cozy, receptive, intellectual space felt like home. Like a loving embrace. Like the promise of adventure.

The door shut with a heavy snick.

Cameron pushed his glasses up and turned slowly, absorbing the majesty. “As long as I’m in here, I never need to see your bedroom.”

“Showing you was a mistake!”

Cameron laughed, giddy at that crooked smile.

Henry moved around the room, fingers trailing over the spines. “I’ve been writing to you from this room.”

Their messages flooded back to him, and Cameron pictured Henry on a chair, a few open books over the arm, laptop on his thighs as he tapped away. He pictured Henry staring at the exposed beams when he paused to think or mull over childhood shenanigans with Georgie.

“This room made me want to become an English teacher.” Henry pointed to the largest armchair. “My mum sat there and read to me and Georgie. Georgie would climb all over her and I would try to make her sit still so mum could read.”

Cameron’s heart clunked as he imagined the scene and heard Henry’s unspoken words.

“She looked like Georgie, Mum. A shock of dark hair against a serene face, the same big, dark eyes. But her voice was rich, heavy, lulling. Her stories brought us the happiest daydreams. By the end, Georgie would fall asleep in her lap, or with her head in my lap on the floor.” Cameron slunk to his side, settling a comforting—albeit trembling—hand on his shoulder.