Wilde for Her (A Wilde Security Novel) (Entangled Brazen) (10 page)

Chapter Twelve

Eva found cotton sheets for the pull-out bed in an old trunk that Cam had once told her belonged to his mother. She fitted them on the mattress before settling down and shutting her eyes. With how tired she was, she expected to fall right into dreamland, but she was far too aware of Cam’s every movement in the rooms below. He wasn’t loud. In fact, he seemed to be going out of his way to stay quiet, and she only heard a few clinks of silverware against the sink basin as he cleaned up.

Was it too much to hope that he’d retire to his room when he finished? Probably. It was still too early for a night owl like him to go to bed and, sure enough, he settled down on the couch in the living room a few minutes later. The TV clicked on, and he immediately lowered the sound to little more than a muffled whisper, then he shut off the lights.

Eva lay on her back for a long time, watching the blue flicker of the TV against the far living room wall. Sleep completely eluded her and, instead, her mind wandered to places it shouldn’t go.

Like to Cam, naked, his erection straining toward her…

Damn. She kicked off the blanket and sheet. Every muscle in her body ached as if she’d spiked a fever, stress coiling tighter and tighter inside her with each passing minute. She yearned for a release, but a repeat of Key West wasn’t going to happen. Couldn’t happen. Cam was so far off limits, he might as well be on a different planet. He’d made it plenty clear the sex had just been sex, and although his body may still respond to her, she wasn’t anyone he wanted long-term. He didn’t want anything more than their friendship.

Didn’t mean she didn’t still want more of
him
.

The man himself was off limits, yes. But how many times had she fantasized about him over the years? Little forbidden treasures she kept tucked away and brought out only on the longest, loneliest nights. She could pop the lid off the pressure cooker of sexual tension inside her, and nobody had to know who was front and center in her imagination when she did.

Heart pounding, she slid her hand over her belly and bit down on her lower lip as her fingers dipped under the waistband of her panties.

…

Cam’s head snapped up at the soft groan and he muted the TV, his eyes scanning the loft overhead. Was Eva having a bad dream? Should he go up and wake her? He hated to when she so badly needed the sleep, but if she was having nightmares, she’d wake up more exhausted than before she went to bed.

She moaned softly again and heat licked down his spine. That sound was all sexy, aroused woman—definitely not from a nightmare—and his cock filled in anticipation.

Was she getting herself off?

Closing his eyes, he pictured her on the bed upstairs, knees lifted and parted under the sheet as her fingers dipped in and out of her tight pussy.

He shuddered and wrapped one hand around his shaft, squeezing hard to keep back the release tightening his balls. He told himself to chill out, let her do what she needed to do to help her relax. Intruding on this private moment of hers would only make things more awkward between them come morning.

“Cam…”

His name, barely a breath of air on her lips, echoed in the silence of the house. He wasn’t entirely sure she even knew it had escaped, but fuck, he liked it. Would never get tired of hearing her call it while lost in the grip of sexual satisfaction. Wanted to hear it again and again, preferably as he drilled so deep she forgot everything but his name.

Fuck it.

He lay back against the couch cushion. Splayed his legs and tucked the front of his pants under his balls, giving himself better access as he strained to hear every sweet sound Eva made. He pumped his hand up and down his cock, slow at first, then harder, faster, until he shook with the need to come.

And the next time he heard her soft moan of pleasure, he was right there with her.

…

Busted.

Eva froze at the erotic growl from downstairs and then flushed even hotter. She should be embarrassed at getting caught masturbating. She wasn’t. Instead, the heat came from straight-up, no holds lust.

Cam had his hand on himself, too.

She wished she could see him working himself, that big hand wrapped tight around his thick cock, his back arching into each downward movement, his hard stomach muscles contracting, the cords in his neck taut as he strained toward release.

Oh, God.

The mental image pushed her closer to her own orgasm and she gasped, every sensation amplified tenfold. Her breasts felt full and heavy, her nipples scraping almost painfully against the nylon mesh of Cam’s jersey. Her thighs trembled hard enough to make the pull-out bed shake. So, so close. She just needed…something…more…

“Eva.” Cam’s voice was a rasp against her nerve endings in the silence. “Come for me. I want to hear you.”

The rubber band tension snapped and she orgasmed hard, gasping and shuddering through it. Cam’s rough shout of release echoed off the ceiling and joined the involuntary sounds of pleasure spilling from her own lips.

And then, silence again.

Spent, Eva let her legs fall straight even as tiny aftershocks wracked her body. She’d never before felt anything so intense by herself. Then again, she wasn’t alone this time. Not really. She turned her head on the pillow to look through the loft’s railing at the empty space over the living room. The TV still flickered against the wall in muted shades of blue. She couldn’t see Cam from where she lay, but imagined him sprawled on the couch, his skin slick with sweat, chest heaving to draw in air. She bet he made a beautiful sight, all sexy, sated male. Too bad she didn’t have the energy to stand up and actually get a look at him.

As her eyes drifted shut, she swore she heard him murmur, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Warmth suffused her chest and, smiling, she tumbled into sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

That was a
helluva
lot more than ten inches of snow.

Cursing under her breath, Eva closed the door on the knee-high drift making Cam’s front porch impassible without a shovel, and leaned her forehead against the cool wood. She knew her car sat in his driveway, but she’d be hard pressed to find it at the moment. Even if she could get to it and somehow dig it out with her hands—her
bare
hands because she hadn’t thought to bring gloves with her last night—there was still nowhere to drive. Covered in an even white blanket, the street looked no different from the sidewalk or his neighbors’ yards.

So much for making a stealthy escape before Cam woke up.

And after last night, the thought of facing him made her stomach jitter.

Christ, she didn’t know what was wrong with her. Why, all of the sudden, she couldn’t keep her hands off him—or, apparently, herself—whenever she thought about him. It had never been like this with Preston or the few other men she’d dated. She always knew where she stood with them, because she’d always called the shots in their relationship, both in bed and out. But Cam left her off-balance, reeling until she had no idea who stood where. It freaked her the hell out.

So she had to gain control. She had to stop avoiding him and let him know in no uncertain terms that friendship is all she wanted from him, too, despite what happened in Key West. And last night.

Actually, she wouldn’t mention last night at all. Too embarrassing.

She kicked off her shoes and hung her jacket on the rack by the door, then padded back to the living room and checked the digital clock on the cable box. The storm hadn’t taken out their electricity, and the clock changed from 7:59 to 8:00 AM as she watched. Cam wouldn’t be up for another hour at least. Maybe two. He’d never been much of a morning person. She scanned the condo’s open floor plan, not entirely sure what to do with herself, and spotted her bag where she’d left it propped against the side of the couch.

Work. That’s what she’d do.

Feeling steadier now that she had a purpose, she scooped up the bag and settled at the kitchen breakfast bar. She had copies of some files she needed to review before the cases went to court, so she brought the folders out, spreading them on the counter. She picked one at random, opened the cover, and was greeted by gruesome crime scene photos.

The tension bunching her muscles eased away as she threw herself into the work. What did it say about her that murder was so much easier to handle than the feelings Cam stirred up? She shuddered to think. So she stopped thinking altogether—at least about him—and focused on the intricacies of the difficult investigation laid out step-by-step in the report before her.

…

She didn’t notice him right away, which was fine by Cam. He didn’t get to see her with her guard down much anymore, and he stopped short in the hallway outside his bedroom to watch her. She hunched over a file on the counter, her lips moving a little as she read the contents. Then she sat up, brow furrowed, and flipped the pages.

He loved watching her work. Back when they’d been partners, how many times had he caught himself staring at her? In fact, how many times had
she
caught him staring? He always made a dumb excuse or cracked a joke so she wouldn’t know exactly the kinds of thoughts in his head as he watched her. Well, no more.

He purposely bumped his elbow into the wall and her head snapped up.

“Oh.” She shuffled her files together, her back and shoulders tightening up again with each step he took toward her. “How long have you been standing there?”

“A few minutes.”

“Why didn’t you—”

“Because I wanted to watch you.”

She snorted. “That’s not creepy.”

All right, so she’d resorted to cracking the jokes this time. He ignored it. “Did you sleep?”

The color filling her cheeks about matched the red of the coffee mug he pulled out of the cupboard.

“Yes,” she said stiffly.

“Did you eat yet?” He opened the freezer, found a box of Eggo waffles, and filled the four-slotted toaster.

“Uh, no.” She shifted around uncomfortably, no doubt trying to think of an escape plan as he left the waffles to cook and fixed himself a cup of coffee. He never felt fully functional until he got that kick of caffeine and sighed in pleasure with the first sip.

“What are you doing?” Eva demanded when he opened his eyes again.

“Cooking breakfast.”

She crossed her arms in front of her. “You don’t have to cook for me.”

“Uh, I usually do when you stay over. Outta the two of us, I’m better with a toaster. Which, granted, isn’t saying much for either of us, but you never had a problem with it before.”

Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. “I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit.” He set his mug on the counter, smacking it against the granite harder than he’d planned. But, c’mon, she was being so freaking obstinate this morning, and frustration rumbled through him. “You’re
always
hungry.”

As if to prove his point, her stomach growled loud enough for him to hear it. Arching his brow, he returned to the coffee maker to start her cup. She let him finish making their breakfast without further comment, nursing her coffee in a broody silence.

Ten minutes later, he slid a plate of waffles and microwaved bacon to her and she dug in like she was aiming for first place in an eating competition, obviously in a hurry to get away from him. So, naturally, he sat on the stool beside her. She shifted away, giving him her shoulder.

What were they, middle schoolers? C’mon.

Exasperated, he stabbed at a piece of waffle and the tongs of his fork clanged against the plate each time he went back for another bite. He wanted to say something, but anything that came out of his mouth would either piss her off or send her fleeing in terror, so he kept his jaw clamped. Which made eating difficult. Each new bite was more and more like gnawing on cement.

About half-way through the silent meal, she slowed, picking at her food instead of devouring it. Then she stopped.

“Dammit, I hate this awkwardness,” she blurted and threw her fork at her plate. She turned to him, a plea in her dark eyes. “Cam, I don’t want to lose our friendship over one night.”

“I already told you it was just sex,” he muttered. “Not a big deal.”

“But nothing has been the same between us. I miss you.”

He exhaled and set down his own fork. “I miss you, too.”

“Good. Then let’s put this behind us and—”

“No.”

She sat back like he’d hauled off and punched her. “What?”

Fuck it. He was done biding his time. He’d thought it was the right move with how nervous she was, but last night proved she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

“Things can’t go back to the way they were between us.” He let all the desire he had for her show on his face. His voice roughened, and if she glanced down at his lap, she’d get an eyeful. He was so hard, the tip of his cock peeked out the top of pants, and he didn’t bother hiding it. “Every time I see you, I remember how fucking amazing the sex was and I want more of it. I didn’t get enough that night.”

Eva dropped her head into her arms on the counter and groaned. “See, this is why I’ve been avoiding you. I didn’t want to have this conversation. Not with you.”

“Can you tell me you haven’t replayed Key West in your mind over and over again until you’re so wound up you have to do something about it? Isn’t that what happened last night?”

Color infused her cheeks again when she looked up, and that was all the answer he needed. Yes, she’d gotten herself off on her memories more than once since returning home.

She ducked her head, her hair falling forward to shield her face. “Last night was…”

“What? A mistake? A fluke? A bad idea? Yeah, probably, but you can’t blame alcohol this time because we were both stone cold sober. I knew exactly what I was doing. I wanted it. Hell, I wanted to climb the ladder and see you touching yourself, taste you as you came, then fuck you until neither of us could walk.” Her flinch made him feel like a jerk, but he’d had enough of second guessing himself and censoring his words. This tap dance they’d been doing around each other since returning home had gotten old. If she was stuck here for a few days, they were going to hash this out right now. “Tell me you didn’t want that, too.”

She straightened in her seat and met his gaze, her eyes full of her damned stubborn pride. “I didn’t. I don’t. Not with you.”

“You’ve never had much of a poker face, Cardoso.”

“Cam…” she said his name faintly, almost an imploration. He shook his head, cutting off any excuses she might try to make. He wasn’t in the mood for them.

“I’m sorry. That’s where we stand, and we can’t go back.”

Walking out of the kitchen was the hardest thing he had ever done, knowing that this might be the end of their friendship and he’d never see her again when the snowstorm ended. But she had to make a choice and she couldn’t do it with him hanging around, riling her up.

He shut himself in the en suite off his bedroom and leaned on the sink, refusing to let the sense of defeat rising in his chest get him down. She wanted him as much as he did her. He knew it without a shred of doubt. So why was it so damn hard for her to admit?

“She’ll come around,” he told his reflection. He just had to be patient a little longer.

But, fucking hell, after five years he was nearly out of patience.

Groaning at himself, he shoved away from the sink and stripped off his sweatpants. He started the shower and jumped in without checking the water temp, welcoming the blast of ice over his head until his nipples pebbled, goose bumps prickled across his skin, and his boys threatened shrinkage. Only then did he adjust the water to a more comfortable temperature, but that was as far as he got. A hot shower wasn’t the kind of heat he’d wanted when he woke up this morning. Stupid of him to hope for more from her, but after last night’s mutual masturbation session, he had.

She’d called his name as she came. And he imagined her doing it again as he pounded mercilessly into her, punishing her for making him so crazy.

His cock strained out from his body, looking for something it wasn’t going to get any time soon. He wrapped a hand around his shaft, stroking it none too gently, punishing himself for wanting something he shouldn’t. But, yeah, his heart wasn’t in it. Besides, there was something sleazy about whacking off in the shower when the object of his desire sat in the other room. Disgusted, he reached for the bar of soup—

And the bathroom door opened.

Holy shit. He almost didn’t dare look and turned slowly, afraid he might spook her. Through the steaming glass of the shower door, he watched her strip off her shirt and drop it beside his pants. Next, she reached around to unclasp her bra and that hit the floor, too, her nipples pebbling in the humid air. He swallowed a groan as she slid her thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants and pushed them down. She wasn’t wearing panties.

She pulled open the shower door, but hesitated and lifted her gaze to his.

This was it, the part where she’d start worrying and second guessing. He saw the indecision in her eyes and braced himself for the sting of yet another rejection. If she ran this time, he would not chase her. If she ran… Well, that would probably be the death of everything good between them.

“I want you, too,” she said and stepped into the shower, closing the door firmly behind her.