“Now, are you ready for this board meeting this afternoon? You’ve been out of the loop lately.” Unc raised imperious brows when Walsh shook his head. “Then I suggest you focus more on preparing for this meeting and less on Cam and Jo.”
“Yes, sir.” Walsh firmed his mouth into a line of grudging acceptance.
“And you.” Unc turned eyes the exact shade of moonlit silver as Jo’s in Cam’s direction. “I might trust you, but we still need to talk about this. Later.”
“Yes, sir.” Cam hid his unrepentant grin behind a sip of coffee.
Unc went up the back steps from the kitchen, leaving the room to Cam and Walsh.
“I asked you about this months ago,” Walsh said, his voice quiet and disappointed.
“I know.”
“And you brushed me off like I was crazy. Like I imagined something between the two of you at Christmas when all along—”
“No, not all along.” Cam shook his head, wishing his boxers had pockets to shove his hands into. “I mean, yes, I’ve had feelings for Jo for a long time. Even back in high school, but—”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Walsh disrupted his perfectly cut hair with a fitful hand. “You never gave any sign of that. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Think about the cock fest my life was in high school. You would have punched me in the face.”
“I still might.” Walsh didn’t smile and neither did he. They endured the tight silence between them for a few seconds before Cam spoke.
“I knew I wasn’t good enough for Jo then.” Cam huffed a helpless breath across his lips. “Who am I kidding? I’m still not good enough for her.”
“Well, in our minds, no one was ever good enough,” Walsh said. “I’m serious about you not hurting her.”
“Not as serious as I am. I’d walk away before I’d hurt her.”
“Don’t you think that would hurt her, too?” Walsh let out a heavy sigh. “Just don’t screw this up. You remember what we always told the guys she dated?”
“We always said, ‘You hurt her. We hurt you.’”
“Yeah, well, you hurt her, I hurt you.” Walsh paused, studying the floor before glancing back up at Cam. “Look, Jo was right. My happiness did cost you yours in a lot of ways.”
“Dude, Kerris and I would never have been happy anyway, even without you in the mix.”
“Yeah, but sometimes I still feel guilty over how things rolled out. I can’t let that guilt cloud my judgment about Jo, though.”
“Oh, so you’re judging me?” The irritation Cam had carefully checked ever since Walsh rushed in and started warning Jo off bucked a little.
“I’m not judging you. I’m
asking
you not to hurt her.”
“I won’t.” Cam ran his hand over the back of his neck, not wanting to discuss this with Walsh. Not even a little bit. “I care about her.”
“I’m going to hold you to that, Cam. Not because I don’t love you like a brother. You know I do. And after all we’ve been through, for us to still have what we have is a testament to a once-in-a-lifetime kind of friendship. But Jo’s like a sister to me. I have to protect her.”
Cam nodded. “Are we done here? I have to meet Bash in an hour.”
“Yeah, please go put some clothes on.” Walsh gestured to the lean, well-muscled frame Cam knew the ladies liked. “No one wants to see all that.”
Cam laughed and walked over to the sink to dump the remnants of his coffee. The strangled sound Walsh made behind him drew a look over his shoulder.
“What the hell happened to your back?” Walsh pointed to the trio of scratches Cam knew were there. He hadn’t seen them, but he’d felt Jo scratching and clawing at him, both of them losing their minds in the steam as they’d gone at each other against the shower wall.
“What can I say?” Cam offered Walsh a shrug and a grin he knew might get him punched if he wasn’t careful. “Your cousin’s a wildcat.”
C
am walked through the front door, tossing his backpack onto the couch. Relief slumped his shoulders when he realized he was the only one in the apartment. Mama hadn’t come home last night. He’d forgotten how to worry when she didn’t come in. She always popped up after a few days, and he sometimes wondered if it wouldn’t be better if she wasn’t here at all. Only problem was social services would come for him eventually. He’d learned a thing or two, and from what he’d heard about foster care, it wasn’t much better than what he had now. Even fewer guarantees. At least here he knew what to expect. Mama would always be on that pipe. She’d always fuck her customers. She wouldn’t buy groceries.
And she’d still be his mother.
Most of the time he hated Mama now. She knew the nasty things Mac did to him, but she never made him stop. As long as she had that pipe, she didn’t seem to care much what happened to Cam. As much as he wanted to hate Mama one hundred percent, he couldn’t. And Mac knew it. Somehow Mac knew it. He had promised Cam that if he ever ran, he’d kill Mama. Mac might not be a good man, but he kept his promises. The only thing holding Cam here was the life Mama was smoking away.
They’d learned the word for that in English class today.
Irony.
Cam walked over to the refrigerator, knowing what was there but going through the motions anyway. Spoiled milk. He didn’t like to steal, knew it wasn’t right, but the
rumble in his stomach outtalked his good intentions. He’d be lifting some beef jerky and Pringles from the corner store for dinner. Right was like the hundred-dollar sneakers some of the kids wore to school. One more thing he couldn’t afford.
The door swung open, banging against the wall. Cam didn’t even jump. He was never startled anymore. Some kids at school talked about
A Nightmare on Elm Street
. Freddy Krueger had nothing on the monster at Cam’s door, and he didn’t startle Cam because Cam always knew he was coming.
“Your mama home?” Mac took the few steps from the door to the kitchen.
“No.” Cam hated that his voice still sounded like a little boy’s. He wasn’t a little boy anymore, even though he was still not quite eleven. He wasn’t a man either. He was some pitiful thing in between.
“You gon’ be a good boy for me?” Mac reached out to touch Cam’s hair, but Cam jerked away. Mac just grinned, caressing the buckle of his belt, his rat eyes never leaving Cam’s face.
Cam started for the door, knowing it was no use, but still trying every time. Running every time. He at least had to run, even though he’d never gotten away. He had to believe that someday he would. Mac grabbed the back of Cam’s T-shirt, choking him with the collar. Cam stood still, knowing what was coming but refusing to take off his pants. He fought Mac every time. He’d never won, but the only pride he had left was that he always fought.
“Get on your knees.” Mac’s voice slithered into Cam’s ears.
Cam frowned, confused and a little hopeful. Maybe Mac wasn’t going to do it this time. Maybe he’d just slap him around like he did Mama sometimes. Cam sank to his
knees, closing his eyes and bracing for a punch. The hiss of a zipper jerked Cam’s eyes open. He stumbled back, falling on his backside.
Mac gestured to the space in front of him.
Cam hadn’t eaten much for lunch, but what little was in his belly rose up and watered his mouth with nausea. He scurried toward the door, but Mac grabbed him by the hair, making needles of pain pierce Cam’s scalp.
Cam shook his head, clamping his lips shut, squirming away. Mac could beat him until he was blue and purple; there was no way he was doing this. Just as Cam prepared for the beating of his life, Mac pulled out a knife and pressed it to Cam’s neck, just below his ear. A tiny trickle of blood oozed from the soft spot and into Cam’s collar.
“Cut me,” Cam said, shoving the tremor out of his voice. “I don’t care.”
“Oh, you brave now, huh?” The sound Mac made shouldn’t have been called a laugh it was so dark and scary. “You don’t care if I cut you, but what about your mama?”
Cam’s eyes flew to Mac’s face. He knew. Mac knew that Cam had a weak spot for Mama, even though she didn’t have one for him. Mama was a druggie, but she somehow still managed to be pretty. Even bony as a skeleton and with her caramel skin blotched and ashy, she was pretty. Cam imagined deep cuts across her face or worse, a stab wound in her chest. He swallowed back tears, but not because Mac pressed the knife deeper into his neck. He would get away one day, but it wouldn’t be today.
“Cam!”
Cam met Jo’s eyes in the mirror, slowly coming back to present, blinking away the nightmare of his past.
“Baby, you cut yourself.” Jo leaned up, rubbing her thumb across the scarlet blossoming in the shaving cream on his neck, like a rose in the snow.
Cam dropped the razor, letting it clatter in the sink. His sleep had gotten better, but it was like the past no longer waited for the night. It intruded throughout the day, puncturing the fragile membrane separating the past from the present, dream from reality. Time was permeable, memories passing through with ease to mock his false sense of safety.
“Are you okay?” Jo put down her makeup brush, reaching for a hand towel to wipe the blood and shaving cream from his jaw. “You kind of drifted off there for a second.”
Cam nodded, shivering despite the steam from the recent shower permeating the bathroom.
“Just got lost in thought.” He drew Jo close, burying his nose in the wild, scented cloud of her hair.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that the monster had found out. A woman was still Cam’s weakness. It wasn’t Mama anymore, but just like then, Cam would do anything to protect the one he loved.
J
o used her key to open the cottage door, balancing her purse, her iPad, and the bag of Indian takeout she had picked up after work. Even after the door swung open, she lingered on the porch for a few moments, enjoying the October evening. It wasn’t late enough in the season for dark to shoo off daylight too early, but the nights were so much cooler. Maybe she and Cam could eat out on the patio tonight, wrapped in sweaters and each other. Or by the river. Jo had been in the office since seven o’clock this morning, literally cloistered in that building for almost twelve hours. Tomorrow promised to be more of the same. She needed all the outdoors she could get.
She dumped everything on the kitchen island, grabbed a container of momos, the dumplings she and Cam loved, and kicked off her shoes, padding back to the studio where Cam was sure to be painting. Over the last few weeks, she’d been amazed at how incredibly focused he’d been, painting long after she’d turned in to sleep. She woke up one morning to find an entire wall of his bedroom painted with an almost exact replica of the big oak tree from her backyard. Rope tree swing and all. Only difference, he’d added a carved heart to his tree with their names. She came home from work one day to find a riverbank painted on the opposite wall, two jars of fireflies resting in the grass.
This was the bad boy Walsh warned her about? This sweet, creative, gifted thoughtful man who usually had a bath run for her when she walked through the door?
“I’ll take the bad boy any day, then,” she told the empty room, feeling the goofy grin on her face only Cam could put there.
She’d grinned and laughed and sighed more in the two months they’d been together than maybe in her whole life. She’d always had a good life, but to put it simply, Cam made it better, and she was pretty sure she did the same for him. Even when things were as hectic as they had been for them both. Between him preparing for his first exhibit and creating protocols for that romantic comedy, and her finalizing things for the Haitian adoptions, they only saw each other a few hours a day.
But boy did they make the most of the time they had.
Not just the sex, though Jo hadn’t even known sex like this existed, with so many layers of tenderness and heat and trust rolled into an intimacy that cocooned her every night…and morning…and the occasional afternoon. It was every minute they spent together. They’d always gotten along; always enjoyed one another’s company. Even when Cam was married to Kerris, Jo would come over to play cards or enjoy a meal with them. It never seemed strange that Kerris often drifted off, leaving Jo and Cam alone.
Jo had always felt there was a part of Cam that belonged solely to her, corners of his heart that no one, not even his wife, could possess. Guess that was only fair considering the connection Kerris had with Walsh even while married to Cam. They were one twisted quadrilateral, but somehow it was working. Walsh had apologized after the showdown in the kitchen and told her he supported her decision, but that he’d kill Cam if he hurt her.
Of course he would.
Kerris, on the other hand, had texted and called and emailed, using all the technology at her disposal to find out exactly what was finally happening between Jo and Cam. Jo’s heart dipped a little when she thought of her last Skype call with her cousin-in-law. Kerris had asked about Cam’s nightmares.
Was Jo fooling herself that Cam was getting better? He still had nightmares, but they seemed fewer and farther between. He’d reach for her, trembling, sweating, sometimes moaning. She’d dust kisses across his face, his shoulders, stroke his hair until he relaxed. Until he slept. She hadn’t pressed him again about getting help, hadn’t wanted to disrupt this Utopia with that argument, but she would have to circle back around to it eventually. She dreaded it, but she knew it.
For now, she’d focus on tonight. Maybe if Cam felt good about what he’d gotten done today, they could eat good Indian food and she could whip his butt in a game of chess.
“Babe, I got takeout.” Jo walked into the studio with one of the momos halfway in her mouth.
She stopped in her barefoot tracks when she realized Cam wasn’t alone.
“Hi, Bash.” Jo set the small carton of appetizers on the worktable. “Sorry. I didn’t realize Cam had company.”
“Hey, baby.” Cam grinned at her over one bare shoulder. He was hanging a large square of sheet metal on the wall, spreading his arms and shoulders into a wide, muscled horizon.
He eyed the panel of metal, making sure it was level, before walking over to grab Jo by the waist, pulling her into him and kissing across her cheeks before licking the seam of her lips. She opened for him, losing herself in the vertigo their mouths made together. A world-tipping, belly-flipping swirl of a kiss that made her forget Bash altogether until Cam addressed him.
“You still here, Bash?” Cam opened one eye to look at his agent. “You don’t take hints very well, do you?”
Jo laughed against Cam’s lips, pulling back to offer Sebastian a smile in lieu of an apology.
Sebastian grabbed the sports jacket hanging on a nearby chair.
“Maybe you should do less hinting and more painting.”
Jo turned in Cam’s arms, pressing her back to his bare chest, folding her hand across the forearm wrapped around her waist.
“What do you mean
more
painting?” Jo asked. “He’s already painting morning, noon, and night.”
Sebastian cast a significant glance between the two of them standing, twisted around each other.
“Somehow I don’t believe Cam’s nights are filled with painting lately.” He gathered his laptop case, headed for the door, and tossed the parting words over his shoulder. “Remember what I said. The director wants to see that protocol.”
Jo twisted a look up at Cam, countering his grin with a frown.
“Am I distracting you? Are you behind?”
“Ignore him.” Cam turned her into him, sliding his palms down her waist and over her hips. “I missed you today.”
“I missed you, too.” Jo reached up to kiss him quickly, pulling back when he tried to go deeper. “Don’t redirect me. Are you behind?”
Cam closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to hers. He pressed a kiss to her temple before walking over to the worktable and picking up a momo.
“Maybe a little behind.” He took a bite. “Sauce?”
“In the kitchen.” Jo loosened the belt of her dress. In meetings all day she’d felt like the belt was cutting off her air supply.
“Is this a striptease?” Cam leaned against the worktable, folding one arm under the other, eyes never leaving the belt in her hands.
“Talk to me, Cam.” Jo ignored the hot-as-hell picture he made bare-chested and obviously wanting her in the same state. “I don’t want to distract you from your work, baby, because you certainly aren’t distracting me from mine.”
“I’m just stuck and need some inspiration.” The glance Cam flicked over her doused her body with gasoline. “I think I know what could unstick me.”
“What?” Jo laced the query with caution.
“A completely different medium. A new subject.” He chewed the last of his momo and linked his hands behind his head, causing the muscles in his arms to flex. “Let me paint you.”
Jo’s hands clenched around the belt in her hands.
“What, like…like now?”
Cam’s eyes simmered with something hot and mysterious.
“Strip.”
The word lashed her libido like a whip. She had a feeling if she stripped, not much painting would get done.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“I need it.” Cam’s eyes sobered and pled and she lost that battle. “Just painting. I promise. Please.”
Jo tossed the belt to the floor, undoing the few buttons holding her dress closed. She let the sleeves slide down her arms and the fabric pool around her feet. She didn’t look up but could feel heat from Cam’s eyes crawling over each bare limb she exposed. She wasn’t sure how far he wanted to take this.
“Um…”
“The bra and panties.” Cam’s voice had dipped and deepened, roughened. “Take them off, too.”
Jo’s fingers trembled over the front closure of her bra. She unsnapped the center, her breasts spilling free of the fragile cups. She tossed the costly scrap of silk and lace into the pile at her feet. She slid her thumbs under the strips of lace hugging her hips, rocking a little to shimmy the thong down her legs until it landed in wispy circles around her ankles.
She finally looked up. Cam’s eyes seemed to be everywhere at once, like he couldn’t linger on any one part of her but couldn’t look away for a moment. He met her eyes, and the air between them thickened so much Jo couldn’t swallow. The caged breath in her lungs rattled her chest.
“So, what’s the medium?” The question barely made it from her mouth she had so little air to support it. “Charcoal? Oil?”
Cam walked over to her, twisting their fingers together.
“You,” he whispered across her lips, licking into the corner of her mouth. “You’re the medium.”
He strode to the storage closet where he kept paints and supplies, returning with a tarp and several tubes of paint.
“Step on the tarp. This could get messy.” He slid his eyes down the length of her, spreading confidence over every inch of her body with the certainty that she pleased him. “I wish everyone could see how gorgeous you are like this, but I’d have to kill them.”
She grinned, reaching around his neck to bring him in for a kiss, but he pulled back, shaking his head.
“No. I said I wanted to paint you and I will.” He dropped a dirty whisper in her ear. “And then I hope you can clear your calendar because I’ll probably fuck you into next week.”
Ten minutes later, Jo wasn’t sure this was going to be as sexy as she had anticipated. When he was painting, Cam was very different from when he was horny. Apparently, he could subjugate the horny when it was time to paint. He laid out the rainbow of colored tubes, sat back on his heels, and rubbed his stubbly chin. Gone was the lust she was used to when she stood before him naked. She could have been a lump of clay, a block of ice, a waiting canvas.
And then he rubbed a cool dollop of paint onto her feet, and all the sexy came rushing back at the first touch of his hands. He covered her feet in blue and started sketching in the paint with his fingers. She glanced down, a grin taking over her face when she saw him looping laces on top of her feet and sketching a swoosh on each side.
“Running shoes.” He looked up at her from the floor, his eyes laughing and the wide mouth curling into a smile.
“And”—he moved his fingers in circles around her knees—“knee pads for the next time we go skating.”
He smoothed the cool blue paint onto her legs and up her thighs, painting long lines down the sides.
“Stilts for these long-as-forever legs. You never thought to model? You could have.”
Jo didn’t catch the grunt before it left her mouth.
“Nothing wrong with modeling. More power to them, but there’s too much to do for me to stand around and have my picture taken all day.” She smacked her own butt. “Besides, I’ve got too much junk in my trunk.”
“Ah, that ass.” He doled out a lascivious grin, turning her around until she faced away from him. She felt his fingers writing on both cheeks. He traced “M” and “I” on the left cheek, and “N” and “E” on the right.
“Yours, huh?” She laughed, but her heart squeezed around the possessive gesture. He usually marked her with bites and scratches and places tender from how fiercely he had gripped her, secret reminders she carried under her clothes all day of the tempest they were together. That word scrawled across her bottom was an erotic ownership she wished she could show the world.
Cam squeezed more paint onto her back, smoothing it across her shoulders. She felt his fingers playing down her spine.
“What are you drawing?”
“Your backbone.” Squatting behind her, he heated the small of her back with his laugh. “’Cause you’re the strongest person I know.”
“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes, but pleasure bloomed in the smile on her face.
“It’s true. I don’t even think you realize how much you’re like Ms. Kris.” Cam stood behind her, sketching over her shoulder blades.
“And what’s that?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. Not with words. Not with a laugh. Maybe he was so absorbed he hadn’t heard her question.
“Cam, what’s that you’re drawing on my back?”
“Wings.” Something deep and sweet lingered in his voice even after he cleared his throat. “You and Ms. Kris are my angels. She’s up there looking out for me. She left you on duty down here.”
Jo couldn’t
not
face him then. She turned, reaching for him, but he stepped back, holding up his blue-covered hands.
“Let me finish. You’ll ruin my masterpiece.” He smiled, stepping close enough to touch her stomach. “And here, we’ll do something fun.”
Jo pressed her chin into her neck, trying to see what he was drawing across her stomach.
“Idiot,” she breathed, laughing at the six-pack of Heineken he sketched across the collection of subtle muscles in her stomach.
He squatted again, bringing himself level with her hips, and his eyes smoked up with heat and humor. He smoothed paint across the tops of her legs and drew lines in an up and down pattern, bracketing the juncture of her thighs.
The dark hair curling around his head drew her fingers in, but he only allowed the caress for a moment before pulling back to inspect his handiwork with a devilish grin.
“And what is that?” she asked, scared to hear his answer.
“That is a privacy fence for your lady garden so no one can see.” He singed her with a glance up her body until their eyes collided, want steaming up the room. “No one but me, of course.”
“Are we almost done with this?” Jo couldn’t hide how much she wanted him. He had to know this was a slow torture.
His face sobered and he reached for the tube of paint. Moments before, he’d met the passion in her eyes head-on, but now he seemed to be looking everywhere but at her.
“Almost done. Just hang in there.”
He grabbed her hands and drew a heart in each palm. His throat worked for a few seconds, like the words were stuck there. After a moment, he glanced up at her, the confession in his eyes before it left his lips.