Along Came Trouble (Camelot 2)

Carly, who made him laugh. Who picked on his clothes, thought his albums were crap, and had told him the first time he played the piano for her that a talented guy like him shouldn’t be wasting his time on pop music.

Carly, who wanted to be tough but who purred like a cat when he held her and ran his fingers through her hair. The sort of woman who’d rather face down a horde of Vikings than admit publicly to any sort of vulnerability.

But when they were alone together, she was vulnerable. They both were.

Carly had become his refuge, his haven. He’d fallen for her without even knowing it was happening. He’d been a brat about the press, a spoiled fucking kid, and when she’d told him to go, he’d walked out without understanding how shamelessly he’d used her.

Carly and the baby. Ellen said they needed him now. He couldn’t imagine what possible use he would be, but whatever he had to offer her, he was going to be there to offer it. Because he needed them.

“Just let me know when we’re about to land,” he said. “I’m good for the flight.”

“Of course, Mr. Callahan.” She smiled, toothy and naive, and sashayed toward the front.

She probably had a demo in her purse, a CD or a flash drive with a song she just knew would be a hit. Unless she wanted to sleep with him. Or both.

Most everybody wanted something—everybody but his sister, who’d only ever wanted him to be a good brother and a better uncle. And Carly, who’d wanted him to be a man.

He’d let her down. She thought he was the kind of guy who didn’t stick—a toy. And she was right. That was the only kind of guy he’d ever been.

The jet’s engines powered up. Frigid air began pouring from the vents, so cold he could see it. According to Ryan, it was 104 degrees out there. Pointlessly hot. Not the hottest place Ryan had ever been, though. Turned out his driver had done two tours in Iraq. He had a wife and a baby back home in Oakland, and he hoped to quit driving and operate his own limo service someday.

Jamie had asked Ryan a lot of questions on the drive out to the airport, and Ryan seemed surprised at first, pleased, as if Jamie were bestowing a favor on him instead of the other way around.

Don’t think that way, Jamie wanted to tell him. I’m nothing special. Barely worth talking to.

But he was going to figure out how to be different. He was going to learn how to stick, how to be who Carly and the baby needed.

His life so far had been a matter of setting and meeting the wrong goals, one right after the next.

Winning Carly back was the first worthy goal he’d ever had.

Chapter Eighteen

When Ellen had sent Caleb the text about chocolate sauce, she’d been imagining a scenario like that morning’s: he would show up in her doorway with a bottle of Hershey’s syrup dangling from his fingers, and with one hot look, he’d liquefy her female bits.

Maybe she would walk backward toward her bedroom, pulling her T-shirt over her head and discarding her shorts along the way. Maybe he would lock up and prowl down the hallway after her, shedding his clothes with a lazy grace that made her wet.

Wetter, anyway. She’d been wet since breakfast.

So it was a bit of a letdown when she heard the doorbell and walked as seductively as she could to the front door, only to find him leaning his forehead against the jamb with his eyes closed, looking like someone had just asked him to shoot Old Yeller.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked.

“Nothing fourteen hours of sleep won’t fix.”

“Another long day?”

“You have no idea.”

“Come on in.” She opened the door and noticed the bag of groceries under his arm. “Did you buy all the chocolate syrup in the store?”

“I bought ice cream,” he said. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got options.”

He unpacked the cartons on the kitchen counter. Cherry Garcia, vanilla, double-fudge chocolate, sprinkles, Magic Shell, jars of caramel and hot fudge, and a big bottle of Hershey’s syrup. Plus a bag of chips and a six-pack of beer.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the beer.

“In case I get thirsty.”