The One That Got Away (9 page)

No
more regrets.

The
lift whooshed to a smooth stop and the doors swept back. Cammy
gingerly stepped into the silent hallway and looked at the doors to
her left. She determined that his apartment was to the right and
stepped closer to his door.

112.

She
looked up at the chrome numbers and twisted her hands together as
fear stabbed her chest and held her throat in an iron fist. Here. He
lived here. She looked along the plush hallway and felt proud he’d
found a nice place to live—even though his father had thrown
him onto the streets.

His
evil bastard father.
She swallowed back her rage, touched her scar and closed her eyes.

What
will he say?
Her
throat worked to swallow even as her mouth dried up. She took another
deep breath and raised her hand to knock. The relatively small sound
echoed around the hallway and Cammy suddenly felt the need to run.
Her heart pounded and her head spun.

This
was it…hopefully.

She
held her breath as the door was snatched open. Will stood with red
eyes and a definite wobble to his stance. His eyes flared in
recognition before he grumbled a few slurred words, turned and
staggered towards the sofa that sat in the middle of the very large
and very modern apartment, leaving Cammy to stand alone in the open
doorway.

For
a moment she couldn’t move; all she could do was stare at Will
as he scooped up a beer bottle and slumped back in the stylish chair.
The apartment was gorgeous. Cool colors and sexy furniture sat
proudly, as if each were purposefully selected for this very space.
There was an air of money and taste. And as her eyes wandered back to
Will and his clearly drunken form, she wondered what was going on.

“
Come
in, then!”

His
deep, angry voice startled her from her musings. She turned closed
the door and dropped her handbag. This wasn’t right. She had
never seen Will drunk. She knew she hadn’t seen him in a very
long time, but this was not right. Will hated drinking; he hated
anything his Dad had done, and drinking was the major thing his Dad
had done. The apartment was spotless — except for the small
space around him, which was littered with empty bottles. She narrowed
her eyes and wandered over to him.

“
What’s
going on here?” she said even as she began to clean up the
littered floor. Will lurched forward and tried to snatch a half-empty
bottle from her, but Cammy was too fast—sober more likely—and
skittered out of his grasp. In her line of work she had dealt with
enough drunken people to know she could out-move them.

“
Hey,
‘m not finisssed wi’ dat,” he slurred as he wobbled
on his seat, his eyes half closed.

Cammy
shook her head, grabbed his hands and pulled him up to his feet. Oh,
Christ, he was heavy! He lurched forward and she quickly grabbed at
him before he fell. Man, he was drunk as a skunk! She groaned under
his elephant-like weight and tried to maneuver him across the room.
She spied a door and headed toward it.

“
Is
your room this way?” she asked, even as she huffed with effort.
He grunted and Cammy took that as a yes. He suddenly went even
heavier and Cammy swore as her legs threatened to buckle.

“
Aw
Jesus, Will!” she moaned. “Next time you get pissed, do
it in bed so I don’t have to carry you.” She dragged him
through the door and raised her eyebrows at the sexy bedroom. The
room was big, with a large floor-to-ceiling window on the far wall.
The décor was deep brown and cream, and Cammy thought it was
the nicest room she had ever seen.

She
took the last few steps to the massive dark wood bed, and shoved him
out of her grip until he flopped face first onto the mattress. She
stood up, bent her back to stretch it out, and sighed at his
immovable form.

“
I
can’t leave you like this,” she muttered icily as she
pulled off his boots, swung his legs onto the bed and pushed, shoved
and heaved him onto his back. When he was rolled over, Cammy took a
minute to stare at him. Her heart melted and her chest hurt. He was
so totally handsome; heartbreaking—literally.

She
had come here to tell him how she felt, to tell him about how she had
been scarred, in the hopes he would understand. Now, as she stared
down at him, she realized he was no longer the Will she once knew; he
was a man who clearly drank—and a lot by the looks of it. A man
who had carved out a life for himself—a life she was no part
of. And she accepted that maybe he wouldn’t understand. Maybe
he wouldn’t care.

Maybe
she should just hold what they shared the other night close to her
heart and cut her losses.

She
leaned forward and brushed her hand over his face. “Oh Will, I
missed you,” she muttered to herself, wondering what was to
happen to them. Her heart ached at the thought of not knowing him.
Her mind rebelled against her agonizing pain, torn between staying
and going.

But
what she saw was a man in pain, a man who had just lost his father—no
matter that the old man was a bastard. And she wouldn’t leave
him like this, not tonight anyway.

Just
as she was to bring her hand away, Will reached up and gripped her
wrist. His eyes opened and he stared at her. Confusion crashed into
his expression, a frown dug a deep curve into his forehead.

“
Cammy?”
he asked, and Cammy couldn’t stop the rush of excitement when
he said her name. She had always liked her name on his lips. It
sounded…right.

“
Yes,”
she replied, stroking her fingers through his hair.

“
My
Cammy?” he asked and her heart melted.

His
Cammy?
She
smiled then, and nodded.

“
I
never wanted to see you again, ever,” he said, and his frown
deepened as if he didn’t understand what he was thinking.

Hurt
stung her chest and her smile melted like hot wax. He didn’t
want to see her again? She knew she had been sharp with him, but…

She
allowed her hand to drop away and stood up. How stupid she had been
to come here.

She
looked around at his perfect apartment and felt ashamed. What would
he want with her in his clearly happy life? Will reached out for her
hand as she removed it. Her heart begged for her to place it back on
his face, but pride made her step back.

Chapter
Nine

Will
opened his eyes and quickly closed them again. His head throbbed and
his mouth tasted like old football socks. He was lying in his bed
fully clothed and clearly hung over.

This
is why I don’t drink.

He
groaned when his stomach lurched. He tried to sit up but found the
effort too much, so he fell back and counted to ten. Then he rolled
onto his side and rose in stages. By the time he was sitting up, his
bladder was screaming for attention. He looked up to the bathroom
door and wondered if he could make it.

After
much effort and many groans Will stepped into his bathroom. Broken
glass sat in a neatly swept pile in the corner of the floor,
confusing him for a moment before his mind played a hazy memory of
him crashing out of the shower. Shame stung his cheeks even as he
turned to use the toilet.

When
did I sweep it up?

He
tried to sift through his memories of last night to determine when
exactly he had been clear-headed enough to use a broom. He was just
washing his hands when the image of Cammy filled his mind. His heart
stopped for a painful moment and his stomach lurched.

Had
she been here?

He
turned his head and sucked in a deep breath as his question was
answered. There she sat in his bedroom—in
his
bedroom. With her hair loose and her skin slightly pink as she slept
in the chair, her arms were folded around her tummy and her brow
furrowed even as she slept.

He
walked out of his bathroom and fought to find thought.

She’s
here?

He
stood in front of her and watched her sleep. She didn’t look
relaxed or comfortable in the upright chair, and his chest tightened
at the sight. He looked back at his bed and cringed. He had slept in
his bed, while she sat here? He let his mind wander over last night,
and he supposed she had thought him too drunk to leave alone—or
to sleep with.

He
looked back at her and watched her chest rise and fall with fitful
sleep. Her plump sexy mouth was slightly open and Will felt his body
stir as his mind reminded him of their night together. She had been
wild and brazen—so utterly sexy. And in this moment Will could
not think why he had decided to leave her again.

Why
did I walk away again? Oh, yes; because she didn’t want me
.
Her callous words and cold brush-off after their love-making had
stung. The belt of hurt had closed over his heart and made him walk
away again. She had made out that their time together was cheap and
easy.

In
Will’s eyes it was definitely not cheap; it had cost him his
heart. And it most certainly not easy; easy didn’t hurt this
much.

But
even with those thoughts in mind, Will still stared at her and
believed he saw the most beautiful woman in the world sitting slumped
and asleep in his room.
His
room! All those years he dreamed he would see her again, all of those
hot little fantasies where she was in his bed calling out his
name—never once in those desperate musings did he ever imagine
her sleeping on his chair while he slept in the bed.

He
leaned forward and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, the
back of his fingers brushed over the skin and his desperate cock
throbbed in delight. He had always imagined he had held her on a
pedestal all these years, and that when—if ever—he saw
her again, she would be a pale truth.

How
wrong he had been. The pedestal was not high enough.

As
if she sensed that he was staring at her, she flicked her eyes open
and looked up. For a second she appeared startled, her eyes flew wide
and her hands flicked to the arms of the chair. But when he locked
his gaze with hers, she soon relaxed.

“
Hi,”
he muttered, feeling a little stunned by his own bodily reactions to
just seeing her lovely eyes. His heart beat wildly and his blood
pounded down to his cock. She looked young and innocent as she stared
back up and gave a half smile.

“
Hi.”

Will
let his hand rest on her cheek. She leaned into his touch.

Just
beautiful.

He
watched as she seemed to fight a reaction too. Her breathing hitched
and her hands gripped the chair tighter. Will dipped his head,
desperate to taste her plump mouth.

Just
as he would have met her lips with his, Cammy dropped her head and
gave him her forehead. Rejection. It crashed inside his chest and
tightened the belt around his heart one notch more. He could almost
laugh, if he wasn’t so hurt. But, fuck, how many times was he
going to take this pain from her?

The
first time, when he was eighteen, standing in the pouring rain with
nothing but a bag of clothes and twenty pounds in his pocket, she had
rejected him then even as he laid his heart out flat and begged her
to join him. And then again, two days ago, when she had fucked him
and walked away as if it was nothing to her. And now.

Will
stood up and stared down at her. She looked up with surprise and an
apology in her eyes.

“
Will,
I—” She stopped talking when the phone rang, and darted
her eyes toward the living room. Will ground his teeth, but secretly
thanked the phone and its perfect timing. He wasn’t ready for
her ‘rejection’ speech. He had seen enough in her eyes,
he didn’t need to hear it.