“That’s succinct,” she retorted.
“You’re one to talk.” He didn’t mean for the words to come out harsh, but they did. He took a breather and softened his tone. “You’re usually zip lipped about your past.”
She withdrew her hand from his and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I grew up the only black kid in my neighborhood. There were a handful of black kids in my grade at school, so I guess that was lucky. Of course, I’d grown up in West Bay where everyone’s mom or dad was a CEO, a stock broker, or the head of some department or another at Harbor General. I never knew anything different. That didn’t matter though. I was always an outsider. At least that’s how I felt. Then my father got arrested, and I really understood what it meant to be an outsider. My few friends abandoned me. My dad died in jail shortly after agreeing to a plea deal. My mom committed suicide. They were both only children, and their parents were gone. I graduated a month later with no family and without any money for college—not that I was equipped emotionally for that then.”
“What did you do?” He’d grown up at loose ends and knew how to function with no one to rely on. He couldn’t imagine what he would have done if he’d grown up like she had—love, stability, security—only to have it all yanked away.
She kept her gaze on the island as she used her hand to flick their sandwich crumbs into a pile. “I found a job at a hair salon, sweeping the floors. I worked my way up and eventually went to school to become a makeup artist.”
“Why makeup?”
She looked up and nailed him to the floor with the intensity in her eyes. “Some people think of makeup as a way to hide yourself behind layers of foundation and power. In the beginning, that’s what drew me to it. I’d never fit in, and God knew I wanted to tuck away into a dark corner sometimes. But then I realized makeup’s real power. I could highlight someone’s features, and it would turn on a light inside them. I wasn’t helping them hide or conform to some bullshit beauty standard or whatever. I was giving them a way to express their inner personality. When a woman feels confident, it changes how she interacts with the world. I love being able to see that happen and know I had a small part in it.”
The grandfather clock in the living room chimed once.
“I guess that’s my cue to get back to bed.”
“Yeah,” he forced himself to move. “I need to head up too.”
They put their plates in the dishwasher and headed upstairs. As he followed her up the single flight, he was treated to the sight of her ass in those black shorts swishing from side to side, hinting at the roundness underneath. The view was sweet torment.
He gripped the banister and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. It didn’t help. He could still smell her lavender scent and imagine if that scent was the only thing she was wearing. All the blood went rushing from his head straight to his cock.
“You okay?”
She stood on the top of the landing. She’d turned around to stare down at him, which put him nearly eyeball to nipple with her. The banister almost splintered in his grip as he tried not to come in his pants.
“I’m good.” It came out half groan and half growl.
They stood there, locked in position as her nipples hardened under her thin shirt. He’d bet money she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“You’ve got to stop staring.” Her voice had risen a few pitches, taking on a lighter, breathy tone.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Shit. He needed to get his the blood circulating back to his brain. Just because he was in the house where he’d lived as a teen didn’t mean he had to think like one.
She smiled as if she knew exactly what was going on in his head, then dropped her gaze to his cock. Yeah, she knew what was going on in his head—big and little. “Well, good night then.” She strutted to her door and pushed it open, but she didn’t walk through. Her hand still on the door knob, she looked up at him. “Why didn’t you kiss me before?”
In his life, he’d talked more women into things—and out of them—than he could remember. He’d dodged more difficult questions about “where’s this going?” than any man had a right. But Drea short circuited his brain. He couldn’t think of three words to string together to form a sentence. So he took the coward’s way out and just shrugged his shoulders.
She harrumphed, and her chin jerked an inch higher. “I see.”
The hurt and disappointment on her face hit him like a roundhouse kick to the gut and left him gasping for breath. She took a step inside her room. Adrenaline spiked in his veins. He’d fucked up. The iceman had lost his cool and melted. Sprinting up the final three steps, he knew he had one last shot at this. He didn’t deserve her, but he couldn’t let her walk away thinking he was just another asshole. As she began to shut the door, he slid to a stop in front of it and curled his hand around the doorjamb, ready to sacrifice his fingers if she tried to shut it in his face.
“Go away,” she said. Her gaze flicked to his hand, then to a spot off in the distance.
“I was afraid.” It wasn’t a hustle. It was the truth, and he’d put it out there as naked as he felt.
She drifted away from him witho
ut moving an inch, keeping her attention focused on whatever was behind him.
He should walk away now, get out before he went down in a blaze of too little, too late glory. But something he didn’t understand kept his feet nailed to the floor. He reached out with his free hand and cupped her chin, drawing her focus to his face so she’d have to see what there was no way in hell he could fake. “I was afraid that if I started kissing you, I wouldn’t ever want to stop.”
Her hand fell from the door, and it swung all the way open. “Who said I’d want you to?”
It was all the invitation he needed. He might not deserve her, but at least for tonight, he wouldn’t walk away from her again. Tonight he’d try to be a little old Cam and new Cam mixed together.
Drea would have to find a way to rationalize her actions tomorrow, because as soon as Cam’s lips touched hers, thinking fell to the very bottom of her priority list. She wanted him. Knew she shouldn’t, but needed him. Needed this.