I’m afraid to tell him exactly what happened, because I suspect by his tone, posture, and expression, he’ll march right out the door, find Michael, and make him wish he were never born. I go with a generalization instead. “He’s an asshole!”
Cam takes my face in his hands and forces me to look at him. He growls, “If he got fresh with you, I’m gonna break his bloody knees!”
Though I feel like crying, that makes me smile a little. “Got fresh with me? That’s cute, grandma.”
“I swear to God, woman, you better tell me what he did to get you into this state or I’m gonna assume the worst, hunt that bastard down, and divest him of his testicles. Talk.”
In a small voice, I ask, “Why is it so hard for you to wear a shirt, prancer? This conversation would be a lot easier on me if I didn’t have to pretend you’re not half-naked.”
Though his expression is hard with worry, a glint of humor shines in his eyes at my words. He sweeps his thumb over my cheek, probably wiping away smeared mascara. “All these muscles are distractin’ you again, aren’t they?”
The truth is, they are. He’s huge and muscular and covered in tattoos, the exact opposite of Michael in pretty much every way.
And he’d never “get fresh” with me. He’ll joke and flirt and tease me mercilessly, but I know this man Michael once described as “an absolute animal” would rather cut off his own hands than do anything to hurt or disrespect me.
Like force himself on me in a ladies’ room in return for a promotion.
“Lass,” says Cam, watching me think with a furrow between his brows. “I dunno what’s goin’ on inside that brain of yours, but—”
I rise up on my toes and kiss him.
He sucks in a startled breath, but I steal it back from him and kiss him harder. He allows it, taking my tongue into his mouth with a small groan, but almost immediately takes control back from me, twisting his head to break the kiss. We stand there for a moment, breathing raggedly, the silence yawning wider with every tick of the clock.
“What was that?” he asks, his voice rough edged.
“That was a kiss.”
My arms are still around his shoulders. His arms are still around my back. Our chests are pressed so tightly together I feel his heart thudding like mad against my breasts.
“You mean a revenge kiss? Because I don’t think that was really about me.”
Groaning, I close my eyes and drop my head to his chest.
“Just answer me this: Did he hurt you?”
“Only my ego,” I admit, miserable. “And maybe my faith in humanity.”
And my poor, stupid heart, of course, which is weeping at the death of a beautiful dream. Not only have I lost Michael, my career is over. Even if Michael doesn’t fire me, Portia will report me for fraternizing with the CEO, and that will be that. She’s already interrupted us together in the kitchen and probably made written notes of every time she saw us together at the office. Even if I deny any involvement with him, all they’ll have to do is a search of my email to find enough evidence to put my head on the chopping block.
My job is toast.
“Your instincts were right about him, Cam. He was at the party with his wife. I’m such a fool.”
Cam lifts my head with a knuckle under my chin. “You’re not a fool,” he murmurs. “Have you already forgotten what I told you before you left?”
“No, but you’re biased because you’re in love with me.”
Cam stops breathing. The air goes electric. I was teasing, the way he always teases me about being in love with him, but the look on his face . . . oh God. How many times I wished Michael would stare at me with such reckless desire. Entire cities are burning to the ground behind Cam’s eyes.
There’s a split second of hesitation, then we move at the same time, with the same need, our hearts drumming the same crazy beat. Our mouths connect with the sense of two puzzle pieces slipping into place with perfect alignment.
The kiss is deep and hot but also impossibly tender. I’m being peeled open, layer by layer, unraveling to my most vulnerable core. I had only a sip of wine at the party, but I feel drunk. Disoriented. Like my entire world has tilted on its axis and I’m tumbling down a dark rabbit hole toward the center of the earth.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with him.
Without another word, Cam swings me up into his arms and heads toward the bedroom, his strides long and quick. When we get there, he lays me down on the bed, braces his hands on either side of my head, and looks into my eyes.
“I’m gonna get you naked. Then I’m gonna make love to you. Then you’re gonna tell me if you want it sweet and tender again, or if you want it dirty and hard.”
His voice is a whisper, thrilling in its intensity and control. There isn’t a man alive who could make those words sound so threatening and so exciting all at once. I feel as if I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into an abyss, wind whipping my hair around my face.
I don’t know what’s on the other side of this moment. To be honest, I don’t care.
He kisses me deeply, his hair tickling my cheeks. Then he moves his mouth to my neck, the scruff on his jaw scraping the sensitive skin under my ear, his lips warm and soft, his breath ragged like mine. I can tell he’s trying to go slow, but his hands are shaking where they’re pressed against my head.
I realize we’ve both wanted this too long to start with tenderness.
“Forget about making love to me, Cam,” I say, my blood like fire in my veins. “Let’s do it dirty and hard.”
He breathes, “Thank God,” and fists his hands into my hair, kissing me again like he’ll die if he doesn’t.
He makes a sound deep in the back of his throat, like an animal’s growl. That wolf of his, coming out to play. It sends a weird thrill all the way through me, right down between my legs. I drag him on top of me by the loops in his jeans, desperate to feel his weight. My thighs open around his waist. He’s already hard for me. I rock against that hardness, desperate like I’ve never been.
He’s up in a whipcrack motion, staring down at me with black eyes. Crazy person eyes, filled with naked lust. He shucks off my shoes, tossing each one over his shoulder to the floor, then slides his open hands from my knees down the inside of my bare thighs, squeezing my flesh as he goes. Then before I can even register what he’s doing, he’s bent between my legs and pulled my panties aside.
I cry out in shock because his mouth—his hot, wonderful mouth—is there.
A shudder runs through my body. I’m aching everywhere. My skin is flushed and burning. “Cam. Oh God. Don’t stop, that’s amazing, that’s—”
I break off with a porn star moan when he slides a finger inside me.
I’m cracking open. My rib cage feels hollowed out, like all my insides have been scraped away and there’s only this, the feel of his tongue and the sounds he’s making—chest-deep grunts that are sexy and dirty and hot, sounds like he can’t get enough of the taste of me, like he’s just as greedy for me as I am for him.
When my thighs start to tremble and my breathing is labored because I’m close, so close to where I want to go, Cam is suddenly gone, hovering over me.
His gaze on mine, he unbuttons his jeans and steps out of them, then drops his boxer briefs. I watch them slide down his legs and pool around his ankles, and I make a little involuntary sound of lust. He palms his jutting erection, watching my face.