Be Mine Forever (7 page)

“It was probably one of the best dates I’ve ever had.”

You asked, masochistic bastard.

“So you like this guy?”

“I like this guy a lot.”

Cam had no right to feel like a froth-mouthed rabid dog at the thought of some other man having Jo. He’d spent the last decade and a half doing everything in his power to convince her, without words, that they would never work.

Looked like she finally believed him.

And it was a stiletto twisting in his gut. Cutting through his good intentions. Slicing through flesh, tendon, sinew—until it reached the evil, selfish bone. He wanted to cut the gold confection right off Jo’s lean, curvy body. Snip it away from her lush ass and splay her on the desk. Spread her, eat her, consume her until she didn’t even know her name. Couldn’t even speak because pleasure stole her words, stole her breath, stole her reason. Show her what it really felt like to be possessed by a man who couldn’t keep his eyes off her, as hard as he’d always tried.

Who cared enough about her to keep his damn hands to himself.

It was much harder watching Jo ride off into the sunset with some other guy than he had thought it would be. Even one so obviously perfect for her. So obviously much better for her than
he
would be.

Cam stood and walked toward Jo, stopping just shy of her immediate orbit. The truth and a lie wrestled in his mouth until they both escaped through tight lips, sounding exactly the same.

“I’m glad.”

“He asked me out again tomorrow.” She tilted her head, considering him like a misbehaving theorem. “Should I go?”

Cam refused his face what it wanted—to frown, scowl, furrow,
squeeze
his displeasure out through each feature. Instead he freeze-dried all his emotions for later and blanked his expression.

“I can’t tell you what to do.”

Jo searched his face with those eyes, the color of the moon and as omniscient. So like Ms. Kris’s eyes. Not the color or the shape, but gifted with true sight.
Insight
. In her wisdom, surely Ms. Kris had seen the darkness that even now threatened to swallow Cam whole, but she had loved him in spite of it. And Jo had those eyes, too, only something had changed since he had so deliberately hurt her in New York with Etty. Something in Jo’s heart was dying a slow but certain death. Probably the misplaced affection she’d held on to for years. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to place a pillow over its head or give it mouth-to-mouth. Kill or save. Alive or dead, it threatened his peace of mind.

He walked past her to the door and onto the sprawling front porch, not stopping when he heard her bare feet crossing the foyer behind him. He pointed to the bank of buildings adjacent to the house.

“My motorcycle’s in the garage.”

“You’ll be home for a while?”

Home? Was this still home? He’d come here hoping to recapture some feeling. The safeness, the rightness he’d experienced here once upon a time. But nothing felt right. If anything, the dreams had gotten worse and the nights longer since he returned.

It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel safe. It didn’t feel like home.

“For the most part until the exhibit. I’ll see you when…I see you.”

“Will you? See me, I mean.”

Her words at his back pulled him around to face her. Jo tucked one foot against her ankle, leaning a shoulder against a sturdy column, arms folded across her chest.

“Seems to me,” she continued, “you didn’t see me for six months after Christmas. Then another month since New York. No telling how long it will be this time. You used to like me.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Cam took a few steps backward in the direction of the garage, his motorcycle, and escape. “Why don’t we pretend this conversation never started?”

“Why would we do that?”

“Because of how pointless it would be.”

“Are we going to ever have an honest conversation, Cam?”

“We’re always honest with each other.”

“I used to think so, but lately…”

Jo dropped her eyes to her feet, shaking her head and dislodging one rebel curl, which broke free from the rest. Cam walked back up, stopping one step below Jo so they were eye level. He lifted her chin, trusting himself with only that much of her.

“Jo, I know things have been…strange between us lately.”

He waited for her nod. She met his eyes, and he hated seeing her tears. He slid his fingers from her chin to cup her jaw. He’d only seen Jo cry a few times in all the years he had known her. Didn’t she know by now he wasn’t worth it?

He thumbed the wetness at the corner of her eye.

“Jo, don’t. Things will get back to normal soon.”

Her fingers caged his hand against her face. She raised tear-spiky lashes, and he wished she’d kept this vulnerability to herself.

“What if I don’t want things to go back to normal?”

Cam stepped back down the steps until her hand had no choice but to let him go. He found his keys in his pocket and tossed them in the air, catching them a few times, taking care with his answer.

“Peter seems like a good guy. You
should
go on that date.”

She drew a sharp breath like his words had slid between her ribs, before expelling it in a long exhale. She blanched like a white flag. Surrender and resolve settled like sediment on her face, layer by layer until her thoughts were completely buried alive, and he had no idea what she was thinking. Was left only with what she said.

“You’re right. Peter is perfect for me. I don’t know why I even hesitated.”

“Well, as sappy as it sounds, sometimes we don’t know our hearts, I guess.”

“Oh, I know my heart. Now I just know better.”

He barely recognized her face, covered with this sparkling new indifference. He had put distance between them. Deliberately. Cruelly. Mercifully. It had taken him hours to undo damage the light flirtation with Etty in front of Jo had done. That girl had clung for a week, and he’d barely convinced her he still wanted only friendship, but it had been worth the trouble. If it convinced Jo once and for all that he was a triple-A asshole, then it was worth it. He should get out of here before she lost that. He walked toward his bike like the devil had a warrant for his arrest. This time, she didn’t try to stop him.

J
o spread peanut butter on white bread. Her eating was all shot to hell. And she’d skipped her run this morning.

That ass won’t keep
itself
in check.

Ignoring her inner fit bitch, she sliced up bananas and laid them across her not-wheat bread and her full-fat peanut butter. Cam had introduced them to peanut butter and banana sandwiches the first time he’d spent the night. She and Walsh had devoured them, going through an entire loaf of bread in one sitting. Cam had a whole list of sandwiches he’d used to survive in Barfield projects.

Ah, the good old days. When things were slightly less complicated. As she had expected, she hadn’t heard from nor seen Cam since her first date with Peter two weeks ago. Shaundra was coordinating everything with Cam’s agent Sebastian for now, leaving Cam to “create.”

Meredith’s “Wild Thing” ringtone made Jo grin, as usual. She answered, using Bluetooth to keep her hands free.

“Hey, Mer. What’s up?”

“I should ask you that,” Meredith said, her words slightly distorted by whatever food she’d shoved in her mouth. “You’re the one with a new boyfriend.”

“You mean Peter?” Jo paused in slicing her banana, allowing herself a small frown. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a friend.”

“But you say he’s just a friend!” Meredith sang the Biz Markie classic before continuing in her usual deceptively light voice. “A friend who takes you to the ballet, to the opera, to concerts, fancy dinners.”

“Peter’s a great guy, but I’ve been very clear that I need to take things really slowly.”

“You might wanna tell your libido that before you Forrest Gump yourself into a size zero.”

“Excuse me?” Jo abandoned the sandwich altogether, plopping onto the leather stool and leaning her elbows on the marble island countertop.

“You think I don’t know you run like a million miles a day to keep that sex drive under control?”

Well, damn. It had taken Jo months to make the connection.

“Barking up the wrong tree, Mer. I just like to run.”

“Oh, yeah, right. And all that knitting.” Meredith smacked her lips together, clearly disgusted. “If I get one more scarf, hat, or glove from you in the middle of July, I swear!”

Jo couldn’t help but laugh, even though her cheeks heated up. So she needed hobbies to keep herself from combusting.

“Knitting is a very constructive and satisfying pastime. I will share the fruit of my labor with someone more appreciative.”

“Look, unless you are a helluva lot kinkier than I thought, a knitting needle won’t satisfy you.”

“Gross, Mer.” Even alone in the house, Jo buried her head in her folded arms on the counter to hide her face. “Just…no.”

“All I’m saying is you’re dating this strapping Viking. He’s obviously got it bad for you. He wants to screw you. You need to be screwed. Badda-bing, badda-bang.”

“No badda-banging. I like Peter a lot, but I’m not ready for that, and he knows it.”

“To me, it’s simple, sexy math. Your one plus his one equals you less horny and knitting me fewer muffs.”

There wasn’t anything
simple
about the situation Jo found herself in. Did she find Peter attractive, witty, considerate, intelligent? The perfect package?

Absolutely.

Could she make herself forget the brooding man who seemed determined to push her away at every turn and make her life a living hell of unrequited torture?

So far, no.

“It’s been a long day, Mer. Can I go now?”

“Oh, because you have soooo much to do tonight. Your daddy’s out of town. So you’re home alone. Unless Mrs. Quentin is there and prepared a gourmet meal for you?”

Jo glanced at the pitiful sandwich on a paper towel in front of her. Her taste buds weren’t thirteen anymore, and they weren’t impressed.

“Q is actually out of town, too.” Jo pulled the crust off her bread and glanced around the kitchen to see if there was a casserole or a loaf of something she had overlooked. “Her aunt in Arkansas died, and she’s attending the funeral.”

“Poor little rich girl home alone. Get some rest, then.”

“We running in the morning?”

“Six o’freakin’ clock again?” Meredith moaned. “You know things happen once the sun is up, too.”

“Meet me at the park, or I’ll come get you.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?”

“Yeah, I told them to shut up or I’d fire them.”

“Must be nice.”

“It is rather.” Jo swiveled on the stool, tugging at the shorts that kept inching up. “Guess what I’m wearing.”

“Don’t you have a Neiman Marcus in your bedroom? How am I supposed to guess what you have on? It could be anything.”

“But it’s not. It’s your Christmas gift to me.”

“That’s my girl. Of course you would wear them when nobody’s home.”

“No one will
ever
see me in these shorts.”

“I have a matching pair, you know. Maybe I should wear them out tonight.”

“Okay, but don’t call me to bail you out of jail or a brothel or wherever those shorts land you.”

“Did you just say the word
brothel
? There are words from this century at your disposal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I bid you adieu.”

“Also, there’s English.”

“Bye, Mer.”

Jo found herself smiling after they hung up. Meredith might be brash and crazy, but they were friends. Jo hadn’t had many of those. Genuine friends who wanted to know her for herself. Who liked her not because of the Walsh name and fortune, but just as herself. Especially not girlfriends. She, Cam, and Walsh had been the Three Musketeers once. Now…

Jo glanced around the empty kitchen, hearing nothing but her own sighs and the hum of the industrial refrigerator. Maybe she’d binge-watch all the
Vikings
episodes piling up in her DVR. She could knit while she watched, even though she probably wouldn’t make it through one episode without falling asleep. Waking up at four o’clock this morning was kicking her quickly spreading butt.

Just as she was about to force herself to her feet to watch television in the home theater, a key turned in the back door off the kitchen. Daddy and Mrs. Quentin were out of town. Walsh was in New York. The only other person with a key to the house was…

“Cam, what are you doing here?” Jo adjusted the thin strap of the camisole that kept sliding down her shoulder.

Cam walked in, wearing his standard uniform of battered jeans, Chuck Taylors, and inappropriate T-shirt. Today’s message:
THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID
. The dark hair fell around his ears, even longer than the last time she had seen him. Her stupid heart executed a perfect-ten somersault at the sight of him.

He placed a white bag on the island and leaned back against the countertop, crossing one arm over the other. Did he even realize his eyes wandered up and down her body, leaving lava-grade heat in their wake? Over the legs left bare by her micro-shorts. Over her collarbones and shoulders. Lingering on her braless breasts under the camisole. She was dressed to be home alone, not for company.

“Unc and I are supposed to grill tonight and play some chess.” Cam glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist. “He said seven o’clock. He’s not home yet?”

“He’s not home…at all.” Jo crossed her legs, intrigued to see Cam follow the movement closely before fixing his eyes back on his shoes. “There must have been some mix-up. Daddy’s in Chicago for a Walsh Foods emergency board meeting. He must’ve forgotten to tell you or something.”

Cam rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Or something.”

“Well, he’s not here, so I guess you can be on your way.”

Her very pores absorbed him like water, but she refused to ask him to stay. Refused to tell him she had missed him.

He nodded toward her little-sandwich-that-could on the paper towel.

“You in the poorhouse? That the best you can do?”

“It’s been a long day, and Q is out of town at a funeral.”

The quiet pressed against Jo’s ears until she thought her head would burst. She and Cam had literally talked until the sun came up more than once. And now…all they had was this weirdness. Even though only a few feet separated them, it may as well have been a continent. Jo squeezed her fist around the stiffening bread crust, desperate to hold on to anything when everything else seemed to be slipping away.

“It’s kind of silly for you to eat that pathetic sandwich when I have fresh steaks from the butcher.”

“I don’t really feel like grilling. I’m exhausted.”

“Well, I had planned to do the grilling for me and Unc.” Cam focused on some point over her shoulder. “I could grill the steaks and you could rest.”

“You’d do that for me?”

Cam shifted his eyes from over her shoulder to stare at her for a few silent seconds. He looked down at the terra-cotta tile beneath his feet.

“You used to know I’d do anything for you, Jo.”

Jo wanted to leap across the space separating them and claw Cam’s eyes out. To knee him in the groin like he’d taught her to do. She refused to decode his mixed messages and read tea leaves in every conversation. She would take him at face value. Anything else would just make things more complicated and leave her confused and paralyzed.

“Steak would be great. I’m going to my room to lie down for a few minutes.”

She didn’t even acknowledge his last statement. Just stood up and headed toward the back stairs that led to the next level. His indrawn breath drew her curiosity. His wide eyes were pinned to her bottom.

Oh, crap! She’d forgotten about the scandalous shorts Meredith had given her for Christmas.
BACK DOOR ACTION
stretched across her rear end. Jo swung around to face him, cupping her butt, one cheek in each hand, mouth falling open.

“Um…I can explain.”

“No need.” Cam’s voice, rough as a Brillo pad, scratched at the air around Jo. “But maybe you could change for dinner?”

The muscle in Cam’s jaw flexed and contracted each time he grit his teeth. He ran one hand over his face and around the back of his neck. He dug around in his pockets. All signs that her attire might be disturbing him.

Well, let him be rattled.

Jo, calm as a breeze, turned around and added some sway to her walk. Let him stew. He’d been mangling her emotions all these years. If arousing him with a pair of illegal-in-some-states shorts was her only revenge, so be it. She took each step slowly, feeling his eyes on her all the way.

“Change?” Jo wondered aloud for his benefit. “But this is so comfortable. I’ll think about it.”