Prescription For Love (The Kingsley Series) (10 page)

"We should keep moving," she whispered, stepping slowly away from the heat of his body. The chill of the late spring air slipped between them, and Mac sighed softly, taking her hand again.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to make you skittish."

Cameron sighed, too, allowing him to lace his fingers between hers again as they fell into step together. "It's not you, Mac. I'm just not used to ... this," she said, helplessly.

"Dating? Me? I don't understand," he answered, stopping again, their linked hands bringing her around to face him.

"Any of it," she mumbled, her eyes low, her focus somewhere on the ground between their feet. He slipped a finger below her chin, bringing the liquid darkness of her gaze up to meet his steely blue eyes. Raising an eyebrow, he waited for her to gather her courage and speak again. "I don't do dating, usually. I don't, um, have a lot of faith. You know, in men. I --"

"Don't tell me; just wait until you feel you can trust me. You don't owe me your stories Cameron," he whispered, releasing her chin, his eyes widening as he watched panic cross her face. "But I enjoy your company, and I'm not through with this thing we're starting. And when you trust me, and you believe in me, and you can look at me without seeing whatever monster lives in your past, then you can tell me." Grazing the backs of his fingers over the softness of her cheek, he watched her eyes grow darker, watched her lips part slightly. Not sure whether it was panic or desire that caused her reaction, he released her, clearing his throat and moving away.

Cameron released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when Mac stepped away, keeping her hand linked to his but otherwise allowing her to ignore the chemistry between them. She was thankful for his intuition, whatever it was that had urged him to give her more time. She'd seen the desire, the need in his eyes as he'd stroked her face; she'd known he’d wanted to kiss her. She'd wanted it too, but had felt her dinner rising up at the idea of a man touching her in that way, reaching out and stepping into her personal space.

"Thank you," she whispered, wondering if he would even hear, wondering if he would understand.

"Cameron, I'm not in this for anything you aren't offering. I won't take anything from you, and I don't know what you're afraid of, but I don't want it to be me. I won't lie; I want to wrap you up in my arms when you look at me with your history in your eyes. I want to step back to the Middle Ages and slay your dragons for you. But at the same time, I almost want to run screaming, because we have something here, something I could feel right from the beginning. And I'm as scared of you as you are of me. You don't have to thank me for space, Cam, I'm not a conqueror."

She laughed softly, a sudden breeze lifting the ends of her hair and blowing them toward him, the scent of her perfume floating between them. He inhaled, the fresh vanilla scent invading his senses. It made him wonder if he really had the resolve to stay away from her long enough; it made him wonder if he'd be able to wait until she could come to him.

"All those balls you had to muster up to call me, and now you're a shining, armored knight who slays dragons, hmm?" She couldn't tell him how moved she'd been by his declaration, couldn't tell him that her nose was suddenly runny, that a solitary tear had spilled from her eye and trailed through the makeup on her face.

She didn't have to. He hadn't made a career in psychotherapy by being blind to the things people
weren't
saying. Still, you don't get people to talk by pushing them beyond their comfort zone. Choosing to ignore her quiet sniffle and allow her the pretense of comedy, he wiggled his fingers against hers, lacing them more comfortably together.

"Well, dragon-slaying does have a rather dramatic effect on a knight's confidence, you know," he said, clearing his throat. Cameron smiled up at him, gratefully allowing her steps to carry her slightly closer beside him as he continued. "When you win, and the dragon is gone, the high is unlike any other." He winked at her, surprised to see her grin disappear.

"And if you lose? If you don't have enough fight in you? What if it swallows you up?" she asked quietly.

"Well, I haven't had one swallow me up yet," he reassured her.

"Not even Alex's cancer?"

"Nope. If it got me, it would have taken my son with me. But yours hasn't gotten you either." As they'd walked, they'd slowly passed through a tree-lined street, coming back to the restaurant they'd eaten in. Now, they were approaching Cameron's car, and Mac found himself walking slower, drawing out the time they had together before she was gone again.

"You don't think it has? I mean look at me. I'm in my thirties, never married, no children. Because my past paralyzes me." She turned to face him, bracing her hip against the hood of her car, the red paint darkened to maroon in the twilight. Her perfume drifted over again in the breeze, and he closed his eyes slightly, inhaling.

"It doesn't have to," Mac answered her, stepping closer to join their other hands, creating a loose circle between them. Her tongue darted out, nervously wetting the corner of her lips, and he stepped closer still, watching the way her eyes flew to his face. "Your past doesn't have to be a weight for you to crumble under, Cameron. And if you aren't done hauling it yet, you should at least know that you don't have to shoulder it alone. I mean, look at you, you're a wedding planner. Don't you believe in love, partnership?"

Cameron scoffed, her panic easing as he stiffened. "Not really. I see weddings all the time, but more often than not, those aren't first-and-only weddings, Mac. They're I-hate-my-ex, gotta-try-again-now weddings. And I don't want that."

"It isn't always that way. People who want it to work can make it work. Love is a real thing; I know it is. I've tasted it. Can you really be cynical about it forever? Or don't you ever want to let someone in?" His eyebrows lowered, drew together.

She took a breath. This was the moment of truth, it seemed. This was Mackenzie Caswell, standing vulnerable in front of her, asking her if she was worth what he'd given her. Asking if she had the courage to give him something back. Panic fluttered through her chest at the idea of letting him down, tripping and crashing through her as she realized what it would cost to live up to him.

"Of course I do," she answered, unable to look at him as she cracked open the place inside of her and cautiously peeked out. "Of course I want to let someone in. I watch couples in love every day of my life, from my clients to my parents, who are still married after over forty years. And I'm a woman; I'm not oblivious to wanting to be held and treasured and loved. But it takes two, you know? And it's rare to find that perfect match."

"Especially if you're too afraid to look," he answered, stepping in and sliding his hands up her arms to rest on her shoulders. His fingers sought her chin as they had earlier in the evening, bringing her face up and forcing her eyes to meet his.

Her heart thrashed wildly in her chest, her stomach clenching in a mixture of terror and delicious anticipation. "So start looking," he whispered, and lowered his lips to hers.

Panic stretched out within her as the heat of Mac's nearness enveloped her. His hands were gentle, one grazing her cheek and the other cupping her throat, slipping around to cradle her head. Still, the gentle kisses he trailed over her mouth made the past rise up in her mind, and she had to struggle to remain still, only moving her lips slightly with his.

"I won't push you," he reminded her, releasing her mouth to press his forehead to hers. "But I want to let someone in, too. I've been alone for a long time without Alex, and I miss the scent of a woman beside me, the feel of fragile fingers laced with mine. So I've been looking Cameron, whether you are or not. And I see you, I see beauty and vulnerability, and I see yearning. But I see distrust, too, and fear. And when I touch you, panic runs wild in your face."

She couldn't meet his gaze for long, her eyes flicking up to meet his and then dropping or floating away. "And?" she asked, humiliated at the way her fears paralyzed her.

"And I'm patient," he said. "Now get in before you get cold, and be careful driving home. Because when I call you tomorrow and ask to see you again, I want you all in one piece when you answer."

Cameron swallowed, nodding silently. But as she stepped away from the car, he came toward her again and her breasts pressed flat against the strength of his chest, an unintentional reminder of his physical power. She stumbled trying to backtrack, and his arms slid around her waist to steady her, muscles caging her in, keeping her still.

"Mac," she whispered, just before his mouth took hers again. Her breathing quickened as fear rose bitterly into the back of her throat. She brought her hands up between them, struggling to be gentle as she pressed him away. "Mac, I can't. I can't, not yet."

He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, his breathing ragged. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just, there you were, beautiful and innocently irresistible, and – Cameron, I'm sorry." His voice was gentle, easy, and completely devoid of the irritation she'd expected to hear. He still held her, though only with the delicate touch of his fingers on her hips, leaving her free to move away.

"I just need time," she said. "Time to - to try, to trust you."

"Like I said, I'm patient. I want to get to know you, Cameron, and I won't push you. Just try to forgive me when I slip because I want to be close to you. I just want you to see that whatever hurt you before is not the only thing available to you." He kissed her forehead one last time, and turned away to open her car door.

"Oh, it's not, huh?" she asked, her voice shivering as she pressed her fingers to her still-tingling lips. "What else is available then?"

He winked, taking her hand and pressing her palm flat to his chest, where she could feel his heart pounding beneath her fingers. "Me," he said. She didn't answer, watching him silently with wide eyes as she lowered herself into her car. He kissed his fingertips, pressing them to her lips, and then he closed the car door and was gone.

"Oh dear god," she whispered into the silence. "Please oh please let me learn to let the past go."

***

"Thanks for coming out with me," Tabitha said, slipping her foot into the stirrup and slinging her leg over the massive back of the horse she'd chosen.

"I don't mind at all," Cameron laughed. They were at Tabitha’s mother's place for the day, and had been charged with working a few of the horses while Carrie was out of town. "Honestly, I'm a little ashamed that I haven't been here more often lately. If Aunt Carrie were here, she'd be giving me an earful!"

Mounting her own caramel-colored beast, she petted the soft mane of the mare she'd chosen for the first ride of the day, murmuring softly to still the horse's restless stomping. Cameron and Tabitha nudged their horses, the soft thumping of the horses' feet breaking the silence of the world around them.

"I know," Tabitha grunted, tugging the reigns to remind her ride who was boss. "Restless brute. No wonder mom wanted us here; this guy might have taken the barn down in another day or so of not being moved!"

"Well, there's someone looking after them, though, right?" Cameron asked. "Feeding them and all?"

"Yeah, one of the neighbors drives in and looks over them, and when she can, she rides. But she's older, so saddling and riding and then settling just one in for the night is about all she can manage. So they're all stuck waiting their turns unless I can get someone to come ride with me. I've been here every evening myself. But mom will be back in a few days, and she and dad will be back at it again, riding all day like old Comanches or cowboys or whatever."

"Oh I see," Cameron murmured, nudging her horse again to come alongside Tabitha.

"Mmhmm, which leaves us here, alone, in the quiet, with no one but the beasts to hear you spilling secrets to me about Mackenzie Caswell. You've seen him twice now, which is huge for you, Ms. Never-Let-Em-Come-Close. So talk to me before I die of curiosity, why don't you?"

Her voice lifted in the wind, the soft rustle of tree limbs along the path accompanying the melodic beats of the horses' hooves beneath them. Her posture was relaxed but strong; her first pet had literally been a pony, so she rode with a level of confidence that was universally envied. Watching her, Cameron wondered again why Tabitha had never followed her father into professional equestrian riding.