Keeper of the Alphas - Complete (3 page)

Marcus left before Cami could so much as get a word in edgewise. She frowned, tugged her bags inside, and shut the door hard behind him.
Fine
. Two could play that game.

Except…

Had that been
hunger
in his eyes? She’d know that look anywhere. It was her cue to strike. Cami the Tease. Even when she’d been called every name in the book—fat, ugly, piggy, slut—she could get what she wanted when a man got stupid lust-eyes around her. She could be the one
in
control.

So why did she feel so
out of control
with this man?

Cami rubbed her hand over her arm and shuddered at the warmth building inside her.

It was weird. Being back here. Home. At least, that’s what she was supposed to call it. Felt like something else entirely. Like someone else’s life that she’d been a mere spectator in. There’d been a girl once who kicked up her heels and wrote in her diary on that bed. A girl who tossed herself in it when she was having what her mom called a “fit,” who screamed and cried when the world just seemed like too much all at once. A little girl who slept with wall-to-wall stuffed animals because she needed them in front of her and behind her to protect her.

But that had been someone else. Long ago. So long ago she could barely remember what home felt like. Before the nightmares.

She didn’t come home, after that. After the “incident” in the woods. Her mother put her in a van with strange people and a sad smile and Cami was shipped off. Spent three years in a dormitory with girls with hallucinations, mental disorders, and all sorts of ailments in the brain. Charmed life.

This bedroom was pink, sweet. Cute. A happy little girl had lived here. A
Spice Girls
poster hung from the wall beside her bed—this place was truly a time capsule. Baby Spice used to be her favorite; now, if she had to choose, she preferred Posh’s hard edges and no-bullshit attitude. Was that what happened when people grew up? They lost their bubbly, excitable innocence and became cold cynics? Cami slipped her fingers over the bedspread and wondered what it would be like if she hadn’t left. If she’d had a mother that actually cared.

If wishes were horses. A dull pang ripped at her chest.

Cami tossed herself in the bed and felt the mattress give under her weight. She popped her shoes off at the heel and let them fall with little thuds off the bed. She needed a distraction and knew just where to find one.

She closed her eyes and thought about the man downstairs. WWMD. What Would Marcus Do? Dr. O had an opinion or two. The more she thought about him—the thickness of his chest, the scruff on his jaw, that low, heavy timbre or his voice—the more she felt a burning inside of her. A light buzz at first, and then quickly blossoming to a low simmer and burn.

Cami hiked up her skirt and slid her hand down between her legs. She teased herself over her panties and could felt how damp she was already. Her breath hitched and she thought about Marcus shoving her up against the wall with full, untamable force. Kissing down her neck...down her breasts...down...down...

Would the scruff of his beard feel rough against her thighs? Would his strong hands bruise her skin? Would he press his tongue inside of her or...?

Cami’s fingers were already under her panties, rubbing circles. Her nub was sensitive and it made her shiver, her hips pushing up into her hand. A moan left her lips. She felt like she was burning up from the inside out. Rather than easing her ache, her touch just stoked the flames. The more she got, the more she wanted. She pushed a finger inside herself and it slid in easy. But that wasn’t enough, so she pressed another finger inside, desperate for more, more,
more
.

She pumped them inside her, her hips rolling into the bed. Cami was a screamer. There was no quieting her, not even now, and she could hear the whimpers leaving her lips as her pleasure crested. Her fingers were soaked and she used her thumb to flick her clit. That did her in and with a cry, she came, shuddering.

Her body gave small pulses around her fingers as she gasped for breath. Her orgasm hummed through her, and she sank back into bed. Content, at least, even if she wasn’t fully satisfied.

Fingers could only do so much. She needed more. But it took the edge off, for now.

Cami stripped down to her panties and pulled the blankets up around her, suddenly feeling very, very small in the wake of her release. She got up, went to the bathroom, and downed a couple sleeping pills. Her fingers were still sticky and she rinsed them off as she reached over to sip water out of the faucet.

Her feet pattered back to bed. She climbed in, pulled the blankets up over her shoulders, and tried to feel comfortable in a house filled with shadows and sharp corners.

Downstairs, Marcus’s head tilted at a strange sound. The bed creaking. A moan.

It took him a second to realize what was going on. His fingers tightened around the armchair.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

This girl would be the death of him.

Bare feet parted blades of grass. The moon hung low. The brushes shivered.

Orange eyes flashed. The scar-eyed man smiled.

The bear roared.

Cami jolted up in her bed. She felt damp with sweat and her heart hammered in her chest and in her ears. It took a second for her to calm enough to hear the vibrating rumble beside her bed. Her hand groped clumsily and nearly knocked over the bedside lamp in attempt to get to her phone. She yanked the phone down under her cover of blankets and answered it groggily, still shaken by her dream. “Hello?”

“Oh,
darling Camilla
, is that you? You sound terrible. I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through. My deepest condolences, dear.”

“Hi, Aunt Sadie,” Cami mumbled. The voice was unmistakable; she sounded halfway between a high-end Long Island trophy wife and a phone sex operator, all wrapped up in everyone
else’s
problems. “I just got up.”

“Up all night crying, no doubt.”

Sure, Cami thought. Something like that.

“I’m sorry,” Cami said, genuinely. After all, she hadn’t been the only one to lose Lynn. Cami had lost a mother; Sadie had lost a sister.

There was a soft sniffle on the other end of the phone before Sadie said, voice shaky, “Oh, honey…are you in town? Adeline said you were staying in the old house on Argonne. Why don’t I swing by and pick you up? I’m just dying to see you—pardon the turn of phrase.”

Cami sat up in bed at that, thinking of Marcus downstairs and feeling, somehow, like she was going to get caught doing something
very wrong
. Besides. Lively Aunt Sadie would eat the rugged man alive. “Uh…I’ve still got to get ready…” She sank back down and stared at the decorations on the wall—her
Spice Girls
posters, a black-and-white image of the sailor and nurse kissing in
V-J Day in Times Square
. “Why don’t we meet for brunch at Angie’s or something?”

“Oh, Angie’s has been closed for years, it’s Peaches & Cream
now.”

Right. Because as much as she could sleep in the same bed and wake up under the same roof, she wasn’t fifteen anymore. Why had her mother kept all this stuff up? Better yet, why had
Marcus?
Pink didn’t exactly seem to be his style.

“The menu is delectable, though, really. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”

“Great.”

“I love you, darling. Can’t wait to see you.”

“You too.”

Cami hung up, tossed the phone to her side, and buried her face back in her pillow. She could sleep for another hour, right? Or maybe the next ten years? Maybe she could just sleep, and sleep, and when she woke up everything would be okay.

Her phone buzzed again. Cami tilted it up. Sadie had sent her a link to the revised menu with about five smiley faces.

Alright
. Time to get up. Cami kicked off the covers and pulled herself together. She brushed her teeth, brushed her hair, and popped her pills (one for anxiety, one for hellish migraines). Then she went back into the bedroom, where she unzipped her rolling suitcase and let it unceremoniously explode all over the room in her hunt for the perfect dress (did she feel more
sun-bruised yellow
or
mango orange
today?). Taking her aunt into consideration, she ultimately chose post-Labor Day white with black printed flowers and rolled a second dress into her purse
just in case.
She gave her makeup a minimalist job and it still took her an hour to get all the pieces in place.

By time Cami made it downstairs, she could already hear clanging in the kitchen. At least she didn’t have to actively remind herself it wasn’t her mother—Lynn hadn’t spent an awful lot of time in the kitchen, unless she was microwaving food or popping open a wine bottle. Late nights working at the hospital left Lynn strapped for energy and Cami had often picked up the slack, making dinners as soon as she was old enough to play with the stove.

Smelled good, at least. Smelled like
coffee
.

Marcus was hunched over the kitchen table, a plate of toast in front of him. His plaid shirt hung haphazardly on his shoulders, buttons undone, chest bared. Below, his pants were loose, plain. Even his clothes couldn’t be bothered to fully climb on his body.

“Good morning,” Cami said as she stepped off the staircase and into the kitchen, feeling in a reparative mood after her long night’s sleep.

“Good afternoon, you mean,” Marcus said in his low growl. Apparently, he wasn’t feeling quite so friendly.

She scoffed, immediately withdrawing her palm branch. “Whatever. What are you eating?”

“Lunch,” he said pointedly.

Cami opened up the fridge and started hunting about. She pulled out a carton of eggs and some milk and then reached into the cabinet above her for the spices. She stretched on her tiptoes, but her fingertips only just brushed the spice jars.

Marcus, apparently, could only bear to watch her struggle for so long before he was behind her, reaching over her head.

“I got it,” she protested, but he wasn’t having it. He plucked the pepper for her and set it down, but she added, “And the paprika. And cayenne pepper.”

“Are you brewing a witches’ stew?” he asked. His voice rang deep in her ear and, if she leaned back just a little, she could feel him behind her.

“It’s called fried eggs.” She brushed against his hard, strong chest and found herself tilting against him. The rough scruff of his beard scraped against her cheek and she thought she could hear him swallow.

He dropped her spices on the shelf and quickly stepped away, moving back to his spot on the table. She grabbed the pan and distracted herself by dropping some olive oil in it. Her medications were making her feel fuzzy, out of her body, but his warmth had helped and food would do the trick to settle her back into her skin.

“How long have you been up?” she asked as she cracked an egg on the lip of the pan, expertly removing any trace of shell.

“Since five.”

“You’re kidding me. No one wakes up at five.”

“I do. Crack of dawn.”

“I’m pretty sure even the
sun
doesn’t wake up at five.”

She fried up a pair of eggs and then slid them effortlessly out of the pan and onto her plate. With that, she took a seat next to him and started digging in. Almost weird, breakfast with a guy. Most (Seth included) preferred she left in the morning. Or they were too busy, things to see, people to do, to even bother with breakfast. She wasn’t sure how to start breakfast (or lunch, depending who you were talking to) conversation, so she glanced around. “Where’s your TV?”

“Don’t have one. Have a radio.”

She stopped chewing to narrow her eyes suspiciously at him. “What century are you from?”

He lifted his eyebrows. “What century are
you
from?”

“1991.”

“Twenty-three. Aren’t you a little young to be so bleak?”

“Twenty-four. Aren’t you a little old to be so bad at math?”

He scowled.

“Okay, so what do you do for
fun
around here?” Cami said and poked at her eggs. He seemed to lapse into thought at that, so she added, “You do know what
fun
means, don’t you?”

“I keep busy,” he said. “I hunt. Chop wood for the fireplace. Keep the place upright.” He pointed to the staircase. “Rebuilt the bannister on that one.”

Ah
. So that was where the bear’s head had come from. Only it seemed so delicate, so precise, and so
unlike
this bull of a man at the table. “Where’d you learn to do that?” she asked, genuinely curious.

He shrugged. “Taught myself.” His eyes were back on his plate, as though he was
embarrassed
about that fact.

A grin lifted the edge of her lips. “And you couldn’t
teach yourself
to do anything about the roof?” For all that this place was beautiful on the inside, it looked like it was crumbling to pieces on the outside.

That drew a wry smile from him. “I like the way it looks. Keeps people away.”

“Uhuh,” she said, dubiously, and finished up her eggs. “What’s so bad about people?”

His expression darkened again. “What is this, an interview?”

“Yeah, maybe,” she said and picked up his plate and hers, dropping them both in the sink. “If I’m going to be living with you, I might as well get to know you.”

“We’re not living together,” he said sternly. “You’re leaving—”

“Yeah, after the service,
I got it
,” she sighed and turned at the sink to face him. “Trust me, no one wants to leave this hellhole of a small town more than I do. But until then, this place belongs to me. You got a car?”

He nodded, fingers curled around the coffee mug. “Out back.”

“Where’re the keys?” He went silent when he started to see where this was going. She spotted a set hanging by the foyer and walked over, snatching them up and holding them up for him to see. “These the ones?”

Begrudgingly, he said, “Yeah.”

“Seeing as your car is parked at my place, I
could
have it towed, but I think I’ll take it for a spin instead. How does that sound?”

His eyes could pierce through her. He growled, “Do what you want, you seem good at it.”

“Great talk,” she said and snatched up her purse, leaving out the back door.

“Be back before dark,” he warned, but she just flipped him the bird on her way out.