Knock, knock, knock.
I stop mid stride, glancing at the connecting door between my room and Camille’s.
Time’s up.
The doorknob turns without me even inviting her in, and my heart gallops. The door swings open, Camille steps through, and I about swallow my tongue.
She’s wearing another sleep outfit consisting of tiny shorts made of the softest-looking silk in a pale peach that sets off her tan. The matching top, while not transparent, does nothing to hide the outline of her breasts. My eyes linger far too long on her nipples pushing hard against the flimsy material, and my dick starts to get happy.
Christ, I’ve got to man up.
This has to end—there’s no way we can be casual, and anything more than casual will end in disaster.
I give one last longing look at Camille—a final opportunity for her to see the truth in my eyes—and turn my back on her to walk to my bed. I sit heavily on the edge, feet planted apart, and I rest my elbows on my knees. My eyes lock with her hers as I clasp my hands together, and I inform her, “We can’t do this.”
She doesn’t come any farther into the room, but she doesn’t leave either. She merely tips her head to the side. “Why?”
My hands part in a gesture that says it’s complicated. “Because …”
And my words dry up.
Because why?
That will be her next question.
I stand up from the bed and start pacing again. It’s easier not looking at her, so when I reach the window, I say, “This was just a one-time thing.”
“And yet, you went out and bought condoms.” I spin to face her, finding she’s got her arms crossed over her chest and her hip cocked.
She’s ready for a fight.
I take stock of the situation and narrow it down to one of two ways I can go. I’ll never lie to her, but I don’t owe her any explanation. I simply have the right to say we can’t do this anymore and leave it at that.
Or I can tell her the truth. And deep in my gut, I know that’s what I have to do because she deserves no less. Any other woman, I would walk away. Hell, I’ve done it many times in the past when I was done with a relationship, not that my former relationships made it past a night or two.
I move across the room until I’m standing in front of her. I hold my hands out in a silent plea for hers. With a reluctant expression, she uncrosses her arms and places her palms against mine. I give them a light squeeze and try to speak from the heart. “You are a job to me.”
Her body jerks reflexively, and she tries to pull away from what appear to be harsh words. I hold on tight and continue. “At least that’s what you are supposed to be. But today, I saw you suffering over what that little girl told you, and I realized you aren’t just a job. That means there is entanglement. Whatever you and I choose to do intimately from here on out, it’s not just sex.”
Camille looks baffled. “You have a problem with that?”
My chin jerks inward. “Don’t you? You’re the one who made it a point to add a random hookup to your bucket list.”
Okay, so that was some serious deflection. I didn’t answer her question, because while I don’t have a problem with us getting tangled up, I’m fucking scared to go there.
Camille rolls her eyes and jerks her hands from mine to slap them against my chest and give me a hard push.
“I was just teasing,” she exclaims as I stumble back, not expecting her to force me off balance. “And now you’ve branded me the village whore who just wants sex from strangers.”
Now I roll my eyes at her. “Surely you know I didn’t mean that. I was angry and was trying to make a point.”
I get a little uneasy when her arms cross back over her chest. She purses her lips and shoots me a look that says she knows something I don’t. “I’ve got your number, Mr. Gale.”
My skin prickles with wariness. I lift my chin, appearing confident, but I’m dreading what knowledge she holds. “What does that even mean?”
Her hand flies out and she pokes me in the chest. “It means you are afraid of commitment. In fact, I would bet you’re the type of man who survives only on one-night stands, which is also a little sexist for making me feel bad about wanting one … even though I don’t want one. Regardless, you’re the one who’s spouting all kinds of concerns, because you might actually have feelings for me, and I think it scares the shit out of you. So it’s just easier to say it’s done and go our separate ways. Except we are going our separate ways eventually. We’re stuck with each other for another week and a half, but this has an expiration date.”