Gatlinburg Getaway (Destination: Desire) (6 page)

“So kind.” He nodded. “Send my thanks to Mema, would you?”

“Fine,” she grunted and flounced off.

Camille watched her stalk away, indignation in her every movement. “I don’t think she’s happy with you.”

He appeared hopeful. “Do you think she’ll stop bothering me?”

Oh, the poor deluded man. He clearly had no clue how nonsensical a girl crushing on a guy could be. She gave him a pitying glance. “Uh. No. You’re not that lucky. You’d need something way more extreme than showing up with another woman.”

“Damn,” he sighed.

But Ms. Fondler faded quickly from Camille’s mind as the scent of the food reached her nose. Her stomach gave a painful grinding, reminding her forcibly how many hours it had been since she’d eaten. She ripped the napkin away from her spork, used it to push her potato salad and the pile of pickle chips away from her sandwich so the bread wouldn’t get soggy, and scooped up a quick bite of potatoes.

“Oh. My. Gawd.” An orgasmic moan broke from her throat. The creamy, spicy, flavorful dish was perfect. “This is the best potato salad I’ve ever had in my life.”

Instead of the
I told you so
she expected, he bent forward and kissed her. His fingers cupped her nape, and he angled his head to deepen the contact. Shock and a punch of lust hit her at the same time. Heat simmered in her veins, and goose bumps ran over her skin. Her nipples beaded and were abraded by the lace of her bra.

Sweet baby Jesus, that was wonderful. She wanted more, wanted to taste him, bite him. Anything to make these sensations continue to riot through her. She caught his lip between her teeth, scraping across his flesh. He groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair, but then he let go and dropped back into his chair.

She swallowed, trying desperately to get a grip on reality. “Was Ms. Fondler looking?”

“I have no idea.” His gaze was intent on her face. “I was only paying attention to you.”

Oh. A quiver ran through her. There was something incredibly sexy about having all his focus on her. Lust flared in his gaze when she licked her lips. “So that was just because you wanted to?”

“Sugar, I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment you walked in my office.” His accent had thickened, his voice rough.

“You can do it again later, when we don’t have an audience.”

For a cautious person, she was throwing it out the window today, wasn’t she? Apparently, Dalton brought something naughty and carefree out in her. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but she knew it felt amazing.

He’d never been so turned on in his life from a simple kiss. His body throbbed, and he fought a shudder. Wishing like hell they were somewhere a lot more private, he forced his gaze away from her lips, which were still swollen and shiny.

After picking up his sandwich, he bit into it and she did the same with hers. Her eyes closed, pleasure morphing her face, and she whimpered. “This is so good.”

Dear God, she was trying to kill him. His cock twitched, going from semi-erect to rock hard in an instant. A noise of utter need escaped him, and her eyes flared wide. Her cheeks flushed and desire darkened her hazel gaze.

“Tell me more about you.”
Before I do something to embarrass myself.
“And no more moaning, please.”

She slid her tongue along her bottom lip. “But the food is just as good as you promised.”

“I know.” He gave her a chastising look. “But even Mema’s brisket isn’t going to distract me from a beautiful woman having an orgasm right in front of me.”

Dimples dug grooves into her cheeks as she struggled to contain a grin. “Okay, about me…never married, no children, don’t care for liars, slackers, drama queens, or any other form of bullshit.”

“Amen, sister.” He couldn’t agree with her more.

He took another bite of his sandwich, the flavor of the tender beef and soft roll combining with the tangy barbeque sauce. God, he loved the food here. It was a pain in the ass that Bobbie Jo had such an unshakable crush on him. He felt bad that she liked him so well when he was completely uninterested. She didn’t do a thing for him, unlike the woman sitting next to him.

Camille hummed happily as she ate, then cast him a glance. “That wasn’t a moan.”

“I can tell the difference.” He popped the pickle chips on his plate into his mouth, the sharp, sour taste a nice contrast to the sweeter barbeque sauce. “What else? Tell me more about you.”

“What else?” She shook her head. “I’m generally an unromantic cynic, don’t really believe in happily ever afters, but I’m strictly monogamous in relationships. Outside of relationships, I like the occasional no-strings booty-call arrangement, tend to be pretty uninhibited in bed, though I’m not into anything too kinky.”

“What’s
too
kinky?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She dabbed her mouth delicately with her napkin. “That’s something for me to know and for only select gentlemen to find out.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” And probably think about it far more often than he should tonight.

“Your turn.” She motioned with her sandwich.

Well, he’d asked her, so it was only fair. Though he’d shared more with her in a single day than he had with the last woman he’d dated. For three months. “Divorced, no kids, able-bodied, straight, and flexible about my kink level.”

Her eyes twinkled, but she didn’t take the bait. “How long were you married?”

“Two years. I was still in grad school when we got married. At first, we were great, but after a year, it started to wear on her. She hated the long hours I had to put in studying, felt neglected, and finally left me for another guy.” He spooned potato salad into his mouth. “Got home one day and found her packing her stuff. End of story.”

“Bitch.”

A smile cracked his face. Most of his bitterness had faded in the intervening years as time lent him maturity and perspective. “The hours did suck, and I did neglect her. I didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t change the facts. The bottom line is, if I couldn’t make my wife my highest priority, I had no business being married.”

She stabbed her spork at him, looking remarkably unforgiving. “On the other hand, she knew you were in school when she married you. It’s not like you went, ‘surprise, I have labs and papers and exams. Later, babe.’”

“True enough.” He nodded to concede the point, absurdly pleased by her defense of him. “Though my aunt would tan my hide if I ever referred to a woman as babe.”

“Oh?” She looked as if she was attempting to hide a smile. “Even at your age?”

“Never met a Southern mama, huh?” He shook his head. “They’re scary. At any age.”

Her brows rose. “They’re why Southern gentlemen exist?”

“Bingo.” He licked a last bit of potato salad off his spork.

A cheeky grin formed on her face. “I like her already.”

“She’s an amazing woman.” And she was—everything he could have asked for in a mother and more. He’d been lucky to have her in his life.

After finishing her sandwich, she wiped her mouth and hands with her napkin. “You said your aunt and uncle raised you, and you were talking about Ms. Fondler as your uncle’s patient, so should I assume you work with your uncle?”

“Yeah, my uncle started the practice before I was born. I joined him after I graduated, and his twin daughters did the same. They’re a few years younger than me.”

He didn’t mention that having four of them in the office was a little crowded. Not so much in space, but they weren’t the only optometrists in the area and there were only so many patients available. He’d never really intended to come back to Gatlinburg, but he’d still been reeling from his divorce when he’d graduated and he’d returned to a safe haven to lick his wounds. He’d just…never left. Maybe he should have, and he’d definitely thought about it, but where should he go? He had no real ties to anywhere else in the US, so nowhere really drew him. His father’s family sprawled across the South, but the ones he was closest to were in Gatlinburg.

It was a conundrum, wanting to strike out on his own, but not wanting to go somewhere meaningless.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he focused on something much more pleasant. Camille. “You said your conference had time built in for touring.”

“Yes, though I haven’t signed up for any of the tours.” She dropped her napkin on her empty plate. “Or, rather, when my business partner registered me for the conference, he didn’t sign me up for any tours. I probably should, just to see more of the area than the hotel.”

There was a golden opportunity if he’d ever had one fall into his lap. He made a dismissive flick of his hand. “No, no. Tour companies can never show you the good stuff. Only a local can do that.”

Her expression turned dubious. “You think those companies don’t employ locals?”

“Pfft. Even if they are, they’ll make you pay them.” He tapped his fingertips against his chest. “I, on the other hand, would show you around without charging you a single penny.”

“My self-appointed tour guide?” Her lips pursed, but he couldn’t tell if she was annoyed or amused.

“Sure, why not?” He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “I’ve lived here most of my life. Generations of my family have lived here. You can’t get more local than me.”

She hummed, cocking her head to the side. “So you’re playing Good Samaritan? You don’t expect any kind of…payment?”

Something about the lilt in her tone made him grin wickedly. “What did you have in mind? I already said your money’s no good with me.” He leaned closer to her and dropped his voice. “So, what kind of payment were you thinking of offering?”

Other women he knew would be offended or flustered by that question. He had a feeling she wasn’t going to be like other women. Her next words proved him right.

She smirked and cast him a sidelong glance, but a flush raced up her cheeks. “The services I could render would be far more valuable than any tour. No offense to your guide abilities, of course.”

“Of course. No offense taken.” He tapped a finger against the back of the hand she had resting on the tabletop, for the sheer electric thrill of touching her. He didn’t know why his body reacted like he’d come into contact with a live wire, but it did and he liked it a hell of a lot. “So, the tour guiding is free. Any other services rendered are also free, depending on what we decide we want to do together while you’re in town.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded. “Deal.”

Somehow, it felt like they were promising more than they actually were, but that was okay with him. He also realized he was still stroking her hand, and pulled back with no small amount of reluctance. Though he noted she hadn’t pulled away either, which was promising.

“Are you ready to go?” She eyed his empty plate. “I wouldn’t want to leave you to Bobbie Jo’s mercy, but I should get back to my conference.”

“I’ll walk you.” He pushed out of his chair, regret pinging through him that they’d be parting soon. He’d liked talking to her, even if it meant he was running off at the mouth about things he usually kept private. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

“In a town this small?” She snorted. “Come on, now.”

“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. My aunt would insist.” Not exactly true, but he didn’t think Aunt Opal would mind him taking her name in vain under the circumstances. She was always telling him to date more often.

Camille gathered their plates and went to dump them in the trash. “Well, I wouldn’t want to put you on the wrong side of a Southern belle.”

“That’s the truth. Never do that. Unless she’s named Bobbie Jo, and then you want to get out of her good graces as quickly as possible.” He heard her smother a guffaw, then he girded his loins and went to pay at the counter, giving a generous tip.

Bobbie Jo’s gaze glittered with some emotion he didn’t want to identify. It wasn’t that he enjoyed hurting her feelings…he just couldn’t make himself be interested. He’d said as much to her on several occasions, trying to be kind about it, but damn. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. It didn’t matter what he said.

Camille came up and gave him a look of wide-eyed adoration. “Thank you for lunch, honey.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist, partly to play it up for Bobbie Jo, partly because he wanted to touch Camille. A lot. “Just wait and see where I take you for dinner tomorrow.”

Her smile lit her face, and he could see laughter sparkling in her gaze, but she managed a credibly simpering tone. “Looking forward to it.”

“Me too.” He brushed a kiss over her forehead. Her sweet scent filled his nose. Damn, she smelled good. Drawing her away from the counter, he nodded to the waitress. “Bye, Bobbie Jo. Say hi to your mama for me.”

He was pretty sure he heard a growl behind him, but he didn’t look back. Instead, he guided Camille across the field to the main road, careful to pick the path with the most even footing. He’d hate to have her hurt her leg, especially when she’d jumped in so readily with his Bobbie Jo problem.

“Thanks,” he said. “And don’t even think about offering to pay me back for your lunch.”

He glanced down to see her nose crinkle. “How did you know I was planning to do that?”