“So how long are you here in New York, Cam?”
She watched, fascinated, as his shoulders lowered a few inches and the firm,
beautiful line of his mouth relaxed.
“I’m not sure.” Cam plated her French toast, sliding it to her across the counter.
“Sebastian wanted me to scope some galleries for my first official exhibit.”
“That’s great.” Jo said the words around the delicious caramel goodness
dissolving in her mouth. “Also great? This French toast! Have you been cooking a lot
while you’re here?”
“Nope. First time. Been eating out every day and night.”
Jo slowed her chewing, noting the makings of her favorite omelet on the counter.
Shitake mushrooms, spinach, and turkey bacon. Those weren’t items you’d have just
lying around in the fridge of a suite like this, even if it was more of an apartment than a
hotel room. Especially if he hadn’t been cooking. Jo computed all the information and
landed on a conclusion that raced straight from her brain to her never-does-learn heart.
“Did you get all this stuff just for me? This morning?”
Cam frowned, folding the omelet with much more concentration than it should
require. He finally turned the burner off and looked at her, eyes guarded.
“It was nothing.”
“But did you have to go out? I could have ordered room service.”
“There’s a grocer up the street.” Cam slid the omelet onto a plate for her. “I
wanted to at least give you a home-cooked breakfast.”
“Is that supposed to make up for six months of pretending I don’t exist?” Jo gave
her usually checked irritation a little free rein.
“Don’t start.” Cam poured eggs for his own omelet into a bowl, glancing away
from the bowl just long enough to narrow his eyes at her. “I told you I needed some
space.”
“From me?”
“From everything. From Walsh, from Kerris, Amalie, Rivermont.” He stopped
whisking and met her eyes, his still hiding something but more frank than they had been.
“Yeah, you, too, a little. I needed to make my own way and live without all the drama for
a little while.”
“So are you coming back to Rivermont now?” Jo stuffed her mouth with French
toast so her rebel tongue wouldn’t beg him to consider coming home.
“Actually, I had an idea.” He settled his elbows on the counter and leaned forward
to stab a square of French toast from her plate and placed it in his mouth. “Hmmm. That
is good.”
Jo tried to focus on what he was saying instead of the maple syrup and caramel
glistening sticky sweet on his full lips.
“What idea?”
“What would you think of me holding my first exhibit at Walsh House?”
Hosting his exhibit at the community center Aunt Kris had built for foster kids?
The strain of resisting licking those lips and of keeping a safe distance disintegrated. Jo
scurried around the counter and threw her arms around Cam’s neck, heedless of the
tension that had been snapping between them.
“Cam, that is so perfect.” Jo blinked back tears against his neck before pulling
away to look up at him. “Aunt Kris would have loved that.”
Her aunt had always considered Cam a second son and almost from the first day
he’d shown up at the foundation’s camp for foster kids had treated him like family.
Cam grinned down at her, wearing the expression she’d seen him only give her
aunt. A fusion of tenderness, reverence, and respect. She recognized that look because
even growing up with Aunt Kris and seeing her just about every day of her life, she had
felt the same.
Jo rested her hands against Cam’s chest, the thud of his heart pounding into her
palms. Second by second, Jo became aware of Cam’s hand molding her back. Of the
other hand gripping her hip. Of her softness melting into the hard lines of his body. He
dipped his head, nose brushing behind her ear.
“I’m sweaty.” Her words floated out on a husky breath.
“You smell good.” His breath misted her neck and he ran one hand up and down
her back in long, slow strokes. Coming closer and closer to her butt every time. She
wanted to grab his hand and slide it inside the tiny running shorts that barely contained
the generous curves of her backside. She wanted to hop onto the counter, drag him
between her legs, jerk his zipper open, hold him in her hands, stroke him, and then…
