Gatlinburg Getaway (Destination: Desire) (17 page)

“I hate surprises, you know. They drive me crazy.”

“So you couldn’t stop thinking about me, huh? Good.” He dragged her into his arms and kissed her with all the thoroughness he could muster. He couldn’t get enough of holding her, touching her, tasting her. Probably not good, since she’d be gone soon, but he intended to glut himself while he had the chance. When he came up for air, he had to grin at the befuddled expression on her face. At least he wasn’t the only one powerfully affected by this. “Do you want your gift now?”

“Gift?” She blinked and shook herself. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

He slipped his messenger bag over his shoulder and set it on the desk. After opening it, he pulled out the small white box that held her glasses case. He handed the present over.

She bit her lip and turned the box over in her hands, shaking it lightly. “It rattles.”

“There’s something in there. Open it. The suspense is killing me.”

“Killing you?” She jammed her fist down on her hip. “You made me wait all day!”

“I know.” He shrugged, nerves jangling. This could be a huge mistake. Maybe a more traditional present would have been better. Maybe he should have just stopped at a florist on the way home. “I had to wait all day to see your reaction.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she stared at him, examining his face. “You’re nervous.”

Gesturing to the box, he pointed out, “You could hate it.”

“I won’t. Even if it’s ugly socks, you bothered to think of me.” A sweet, almost shy grin curled her lips. “That’s really cool.”

He wondered how many men had bothered to get anything for her. She’d said she only had two serious relationships, and one had ended in disaster after her accident. If neither guy had been the type to gift, then maybe she hadn’t had much experience with this.

“Okay, let’s do this.” She yanked off the top and peered inside. Her mouth formed a perfect O as she popped open the case to see her specs. “You bought me glasses?”

Was that a good response or a bad one? Shit, he couldn’t tell. “Not the most romantic gift, I know, but—”

She threw herself into his arms before he finished, cutting off his words with a kiss. Well, that was definitely moving in a positive direction. He could get on board with this as a response. She broke away as quickly as she’d launched herself at him.

“It couldn’t be more perfect!” she enthused, pulled the glasses free of the case. “Seriously, you nailed it. I love a gift I can use. That drove one of my ex-boyfriends insane. But I’m an engineer, you know? Useful is so much better than frivolous.”

“I’m glad I skipped the roses, then.” He somehow doubted she’d have been quite that excited about a dozen blooms.

“Good call.” She cast him a chagrined glance. “When you texted, I was afraid it was flowers, to be honest. It would be just my luck they’d make me sneeze my contacts out.”

“No more contacts.” He waved to the glasses. “Try them on—they might need to be adjusted. Anything I can’t do, the optician in my office can handle.”

“Most excellent.” She hustled into the bathroom and he followed her so he got a front row seat for this show. Popping out her contacts, she sighed with relief. “Oh, that already feels better. Please God, let these glasses need minimal adjustment.” She slid them into place, and grinned at him in the mirror. “Hot damn. They look even better on.”

It was that smile, where pure joy just exploded out of her, the one that always kicked him in the chest. It was the sweetest thing to watch all her shields drop and this unfettered Camille come out. A tiny part of him thought he’d do just about anything to make her smile that way as often as possible. A stupid thought, but there it was.

He cleared his throat. “How do they fit?”

She pressed on the spot right in front of her ears. “A teeny bit tight on the sides, but that’s it.”

“Let me see.” The glasses had come with a tiny screwdriver, so he plucked it out of the box. She handed over her specs and he loosened the screws on each hinge just slightly. “Try them now.”

She slipped them back on and nodded. “Yes. You really did pick a great pair for me.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been watching people choose glasses for years—it’s one of the things I assisted with when I worked for my uncle in high school. It’s rare that I’m directly involved with helping patients choose anymore, but apparently, I haven’t lost my touch. I’m a little proud of myself right now.”

“You should be really proud of yourself. Do you know how much better you just made this trip for me? No more shoving rocks in my eyes every morning, no more eye drops, no more peeling contacts off every night. And they’re fucking cute glasses, too. I’m not even sure that part would have been a requirement. You are seriously amazing, you know that, right?”

He felt a flush heat the back of his neck. “I’m glad you like them.”

“I’m not even going to ask how much they cost.”

Since she’d mentioned how her family had struggled to make ends meet, he knew she was very conscious of pinching pennies. So instead of claiming the gift was extravagant, as a number of women he knew would want, he assured her, “They were no more than a really nice bouquet, I promise.”

“Good.” She turned to press her palms against his chest. “I won’t feel guilty then, and just enjoy them.”

He settled his hands on her hips and squeezed. “That’s what I was hoping. If a present makes you feel guilty, it’s not given in good faith.”

“True.” She made a face. “You’d have to meet my mother to understand, but that’s a topic for another time. For now, let’s focus on the awesomeness of the glasses.”

“They look good on you.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She slid her fingers down to tweak his nipples.

He jerked in reflexive response, a laugh bursting out of him. “Oh, really?”

“Really.” She pushed him back a few steps until his legs hit the side of the bed, then shoved him over to bounce against the mattress. She stood over him with an impish grin. “You bought me a great gift. I believe in positive reinforcement.”

“I can get on board with that policy.”

And that was that last thing either of them said for quite some time.

Chapter Seven

After two sessions of positive reinforcement, Dalton took Camille to a real restaurant, with a door and walls and everything. It was a classic greasy-spoon diner, with neon signs in all the windows advertising everything from beer to old-fashioned malts. She thought the place looked promising.

They’d just stepped inside the door when he stiffened beside her.

“What’s wrong?” She glanced around, but saw nothing other than people having dinner. “Is it Bobbie Jo again?”

“Worse, potentially. They haven’t noticed us yet, but my family is sitting in the corner.” He sighed. “While I’m happy to have you meet them, they’re insane.”

“In the best way?” She caught his fingers and squeezed.

“In the Southern way.”

Biting back a chortle, she said, “I don’t doubt that you have a special brand of insanity here, but you’ll need to explain anyway.”

He waved an expansive hand. “In the South, we don’t ask if you’ve got crazy people in your family. We know you do. Because we don’t hide our crazy folks in the attic like something out of
Jane Eyre
—no, we give them a glass of sweet tea and parade them out on the front porch for everyone to see.”

“Okay.” She tried to don a serious mien, but doubted she succeeded. “So, how crazy are we talking?”

Because she already knew he wasn’t talking about real mental illness such as his father had suffered. Mischief and chagrin mingled in his gaze, but none of the pain from when he discussed his dad.

“I’ve got a great uncle who married two of his second cousins. He liked to go shopping at family reunions. My grandmother sleeps with a shotgun and likes to wave it at anyone who knocks on her door—clearly, they’re out to kill her. One of my third cousins only wears camo. Even her wedding dress was camo. Pink camo.” He squinted. “Oh, and my great-great-great-grandfather fought on both sides of the Civil War, so my family isn’t sure if we want the South to rise again or not. Loyalty, you know.”

Forget serious, she burst out laughing. “That’s awesome.”

“Most of the time, yes, except when you’re looking to introduce a non-Southerner to them. Then it’s only fair to provide an appropriate warning label.” He arched an eyebrow. “Also, if you’re interested in some real moonshine—not the kind you buy in the store, but the real stuff—I have a third cousin who can help you out. But that requires an entirely different kind of warning label.”

“Is this the pink-camo third cousin?” Because, if so, she might need to meet this woman just to say she had.

“Nope. I have a pretty sprawling family tree, and that’s just including the ones that are blood related. I have plenty of aunts, uncles, and cousins who don’t share any part of my gene pool.” He nodded to the table in the back. “Some of them are related to my Aunt Opal, but some of them don’t even have a connection by marriage.”

“Welcome to the South?”

“Exactly.” He squeezed her fingers. “And you laughing got their attention, so now they’re staring at us.”

She made her eyes go round. “Waiting to see if we bolt?”

“No, they know I’m not that stupid. It would hurt Aunt Opal’s feelings. That’s just asking for a verbal beating when I get to work tomorrow.”

“The hazards of sharing an office with family.” She made a shooing motion. “Looks like we’re having dinner with them then. Lead on, Dr. Wakefield. Show me the crazy.”

He tapped a finger against the tip of her nose. “Just remember, you asked for it.”

“If it’s too traumatic, you can take my mind off it later.” She licked her lips, making the movement as suggestive as possible.

His gaze stayed glued to her mouth for a moment. “Is it bad that I want to bolt, take you back to my place, and spend the rest of the evening screwing like minks?”

Those dirty words, in his honeyed accent, made her feel as if she’d go up in flames any moment. Dear God, this man got to her, and he’d very quickly learned how to push her buttons to turn her on. “You’re going to say things like that in the same room as your aunt and baby cousins? Bad, bad boy.”

“Didn’t you threaten to spank me earlier?” he whispered in her ear as he set his palm on the small of her back and pushed her forward.

“Don’t tempt me,” she hissed, while keeping a smile glued to her face because they most definitely had an audience. “I brought a skinny belt with me for my presentation outfit. It’d hurt to wallop that thing against your pretty ass.”

“Pretty?” he murmured.

But she had no time to reply before they were standing beside his family’s table. Maybe she should be freaked out by the idea of meeting the family, but she wasn’t. Odd, since she normally avoided these kinds of get-togethers like the plague—her two serious guys had had to work hard to convince her it was time to meet the parents. Maybe it was because she was out of town and cutting loose. Maybe it was because she was curious to know more about the people who’d taken in their nephew and raised him as their own. They’d done a damn fine job, as far as she could tell.

“Oh, you got my text message,” the older woman at the table said, eyeing Camille speculatively.

Dalton blinked, fished out his phone, and checked the screen. “Uh, no. Not until this very moment. Sorry, we’ve been busy.”

Indeed, they had. Camille tried to exude virtuousness, and fought the urge to fidget. The elder Wakefields might not be her parents, but they had that air about them. Avoiding their gazes, she offered a grin to the other three people at the table—a man and two women. Since the women were identical, they had to be the twin cousins.

The twin on the right gave a sassy smile. “I bet Dalton wouldn’t have brought you here if he’d checked his messages. Now you get to face the firing squad.”

“Charming, Raleigh Jane.” Dalton rolled his eyes. “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome,” she sang out, completely unabashed.

Camille bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

Sighing, he shook his head. “Camille Kirby, this is my Aunt Opal and my Uncle Landry.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” She shook hands with the older couple, who appeared avidly curious, but offered her friendly grins.

Dalton turned to the other side of table. “These are my two cousins, Savannah and Raleigh. She prefers Leigh, but I ignore that when she’s being a brat. Which is nearly always.”

“Savannah.” She shook hands with the twin on the left, then the one on the right. “Leigh.”

Both women gave her a once-over, though something about Leigh’s gaze was more…appreciative. And lingered for a just a moment on Camille’s cleavage. Well, then.

But Dalton grabbed her attention when he waved to the man who sat hand in hand with Savannah. “And this is my best friend, Warrick, who was bastard enough to hook up with my little cousin behind my back.”

His tone was mild enough that Camille could imagine it had been one rip-roaring fight when Dalton found out. Warrick’s teeth flashed white against his dark skin as he smiled, but he gave no verbal reply to his friend’s comment. Savannah leaned her head against his broad shoulder. The couple was a study in contrasts—her complexion was pale, his was brown, her hair was stick straight while his was a mass of tight curls. She was rail thin and he looked teddy-bear cuddly. They were beautiful together, and the contentment oozing off of them was enviable.