That Night in Texas

“Clem will be fine, Viv.”

How did Cam know that she was worried? Had her expression said all that? If so, she really had to get her face under control. She could not allow Cam to discern how ridiculously attracted she was to him.

Vivi pulled her gaze off his tall frame, his messy hair. He was dressed in cargo shorts and a sleeveless shirt showing off his broad shoulders, big biceps and his smooth, golden skin. An overnight scruff covered his jaw and he wore flip-flops on his surprisingly elegant feet. She wanted to take a big bite out of him and then soothe the pain away with a long lick.

Vivi dropped her head back onto the pillow and placed her forearm against her eyes. Oh, God, she was in so much trouble.

Vivi felt the bed shift and inhaled Cam’s fresh-from-the-shower scent, the heat from his body sliding over her. She felt his thigh against her hip and then his fingers gently pulled her arm from her face. Vivi reluctantly opened her eyes.

“Hello,” Cam said, humor in his ridiculously pretty eyes.

Vivi felt her nipples puckering against her T-shirt—his T-shirt—and she licked her lips, noticing there was no moisture left in her mouth. He was too close, and this setting—a beautifully decorated bedroom containing a huge bed—was too intimate. She needed distance to regain some control. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let Camden affect her like this again.

Then Cam’s mouth touched hers and she knew it was too late. He did affect her, in every way. Her lips opened to his tongue, her back arched so that her nipple could find his hand and her legs fell open. She was putty in his hands, a morning mess of melted glue.

Unable to help herself, Vivi linked her arms around his neck, sighing as his thumb brushed her nipple, smiling when he yanked her shirt from under her butt so that his hand could find her skin. He brushed her hip, stopped when he realized that she wasn’t wearing any panties and then carried on, his fingers skimming over her stomach and rib cage. As his tongue swirled around hers, sipping and sucking and rediscovering her, his hand found her breasts, giving both his attention.

Vivi allowed her hands to roam, exploring the hard muscles of his back, the width of those impressive shoulders, the taut muscles in his arms. He was so powerful, utterly and fundamentally masculine. Ignoring her aching body, Vivi wiggled closer, needing to have every inch of her body plastered against his.

Preferably naked and preferably immediately.

Cam wound his arm around her waist to haul her in and Vivi couldn’t help the whimper of pain when his hand connected with a bruise on her back. Cam cursed and immediately lowered her to the bed. When he pulled back, Vivi saw the concern in his eyes and knew that the spell was broken.

Dammit.

Cam tugged her forward, pulled her shirt up her back and knelt on the bed to look over her shoulder. His mouth thinned and his eyes cooled; he looked thoroughly, utterly pissed off. Why?

Feeling self-conscious, Vivi pulled the shirt under her butt and the covers up to her waist. She pushed a hand through her messy hair and looked at a point past Cam’s shoulder. They shouldn’t be making out. That was part of their past, and it couldn’t be part of her future. There couldn’t, shouldn’t be anything more between them but Clem, but desire—hot, fast and insistent—kept popping up and making its irritating presence known.

“You have a bruise the size of a dinner plate on your lower back and another on your shoulder blade,” Cam said, his voice laced with frustration. That was when she realized that he wasn’t pissed off at her but for her. He wasn’t happy that she was hurt. And his obvious concern ignited a small fire in her stomach. When had anyone last cared how she was, how she felt? God, she couldn’t remember. When she was a young teenager? A child? Maybe not even then. She was her mother’s showpiece, her pet, her sense of self-worth. The one object Margaret Donner had control over.

“Any other bruises?”

Vivi thought about brushing his question off but quickly realized that if she didn’t give Cam an answer that satisfied him—i.e. the truth—he’d pull up her shirt and find out for himself. Any other man would get a black eye if they were to be so bold. Cam, on the other hand, might just get lucky. Dammit.