Chapter 10
The walk back to the beach house after our almost-kiss was excruciating. Cam and I walked to the house in silence, the only sound between us the soft thud of our footsteps on weathered wood and the distant rhythm of waves against the shore.
I'd nearly let him kiss me. Worse – I'd wanted him to.
For one reckless moment on that moonlit beach, my body had remembered what it felt like to be close to Cam Murphy, and wanted more.
My lips still tingled with the phantom sensation of a kiss that never happened.
My skin burned where he had touched my cheek.
Now, as we approached the sliding glass doors that led back to the warm glow of family dinner, I tried to compose myself.
To slip back into the armor of professionalism I'd been attempting and miserably failing to maintain since we'd arrived.
But my hands were trembling slightly, and my heart refused to settle into its normal rhythm.
"Ready?" Cam asked, his voice low and careful, hand hovering near my lower back but not quite touching – a habit he'd developed over the last few days that somehow felt more intimate than actual contact. His eyes searched mine, and I wondered if he could see all the chaos swirling behind them.
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and plastered on what I hoped was a convincing smile as we stepped inside.
The family dinner table was exactly as we'd left it – my parents and brothers deep in conversation, Serena laughing at something Drake had said, plates of half-eaten key lime pie scattered across the table.
For a surreal moment, it felt as if time had frozen while Cam and I had been on the beach, as if our almost-kiss existed in some parallel dimension that hadn't affected the normal flow of the evening at all.
"There they are!" my mother exclaimed, glancing up with a beaming smile. "We were starting to wonder if you two had decided to take a late swim."
"Just needed some air," I said, sliding into my empty seat and reaching for my abandoned wineglass with fingers that weren't quite steady. "It's a beautiful night."
"Gorgeous," Cam agreed, settling beside me with easy grace. "The Gulf is like glass tonight."
His voice betrayed nothing of what had almost happened between us. The almost-kiss, the charged moment, the question hanging in the air between us when I'd stepped away. He was the picture of relaxed contentment, smiling as my father launched into a story about a fishing trip gone wrong years ago.
Only I noticed the way his knuckles whitened slightly where he gripped his water glass, the slight tension in his shoulders as he leaned back in his chair. And I caught the flash of something unreadable in his eyes when they briefly met mine across the table.
And Zayne, apparently. My brother was watching us with narrowed eyes, his gaze flicking between Cam and me with suspicious precision. When our eyes met, he raised one eyebrow in silent question. I took a large gulp of wine, avoiding his scrutiny.
"Did you show Cam the boathouse?" Drake asked me, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents below the table.
"Not yet," I said, grateful for the distraction. "Maybe tomorrow."
"If the weather holds, we could take the boat out," my father suggested, passing a plate of cookies that no one really needed after the key lime pie. "Show Cam some of our favorite fishing spots."
"That would be great," Cam replied with genuine enthusiasm. "I haven't been fishing in years."
"You'll love it," Drake said. "Dad knows all the secret spots where the redfish hide."
"It's settled then," my mother said happily. "Fishing tomorrow, bonfire tomorrow night. The rest of the family is coming back for s'mores and ghost stories."
"Decker tradition," Drake explained to Serena, his hand finding hers on the table. "Dad tells the same three ghost stories every year, and Mom pretends to be scared even though she's heard them at least thirty times."
"They get scarier with age," my father protested good-naturedly, winking at my mother.
The conversation flowed around me, but I remained hyperaware of Cam beside me – the scent of him mingling with salt air, the casual brush of his arm against mine when he reached for his water glass, the warmth of his thigh inches from my own beneath the table.
Every small contact sent a jolt through me, keeping me on edge.
Memories of the beach kept flashing through my mind – the look in his eyes as he'd leaned toward me, the gentle touch of his fingers on my face, the way my heart had raced in anticipation.
At one point, he reached for the salt at the same moment I did, our fingers colliding. The brief contact sent a shock up my arm, and I jerked back as if burned. Zayne's eyes narrowed further.
My mother, bless her, seemed to attribute my distraction to romantic bliss. "You two look so happy together," she said, beaming at us over her wineglass. "Don't they, Frank?"
My father grunted what might have been agreement, though his eyes held a hint of skepticism as they moved between Cam and me.
"Young love," my mother sighed. "It reminds me of us, darling. Remember how we couldn't keep our hands off each other?"
"Mom!" Drake and Zayne protested in unison, while I felt heat creep up my neck.
Once dinner finally ended, dishes were done, and leftovers put away, I seized the opportunity to escape.
"I think I'll turn in," I announced, stifling an exaggerated yawn. "It's been a long day."
"Me too," Cam said immediately. "Those beach photos wore me out."
I shot him a look, he didn't have to follow me upstairs right away, but it was too late to object without seeming odd. So we found ourselves making goodnight rounds to my family, enduring my mother's knowing smile and Zayne's suspicious glare as we headed upstairs together.
The bedroom door closing behind us felt like a thunderclap in the sudden silence.
With the door closed and the pretense temporarily suspended, the air between us felt charged with unspoken words and the echo of our almost-kiss on the beach. The room suddenly seemed much smaller than it had this morning.
"Well," I said briskly, moving toward my suitcase, needing something to do with my hands. "I'm going to get ready for bed."
Cam nodded, running a hand through his hair, mussing the golden strands. "Sure. You take the bathroom first."
I grabbed my toiletry bag and pajamas, then locked myself in the bathroom, leaning heavily against the door. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. Cheeks flushed, eyes too bright, hair slightly tousled from the sea breeze. I looked... affected. Undone.
My fingers drifted to my lips involuntarily, tracing where Cam's mouth would have touched mine if I hadn't pulled away. What would it have felt like? Would it have been like that night in college – hungry, desperate, consuming? Or something softer, deeper, more dangerous?
I rinsed off in the shower and took my time with my nighttime routine, brushing my teeth methodically, washing my face, applying moisturizer in slow, careful circles.
Anything to delay facing Cam again. I changed into my silk pajama shorts and matching camisole, a practical choice for Florida's humid nights that now felt dangerously revealing.
When I finally emerged, Cam was standing by the window, staring out at the ocean, still fully dressed.
His profile was bathed in silver moonlight, casting half his face in shadow while illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the muscular line of his shoulders and back.
He turned at the sound of the door, and something flickered in his expression as he took in my appearance: a momentary darkening of his eyes that made my breath catch.
"All yours," I said, my voice sounding strangely formal to my own ears.
He cleared his throat. "Thanks. I'll be quick."
The door closed behind him, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
I moved to the bed, pulling back the covers and sliding in on my side.
The sheets were cool against my bare legs, and I pulled the comforter up to my chest, staring at the canopy above me, listening to the muffled sounds of water running in the bathroom.
True to his word, Cam spent less time in the bathroom than I had.
I heard the shower run for just a few minutes, probably a quick rinse to get any remaining sand off.
When he emerged in a fresh t-shirt and athletic shorts, I was lying stiffly on my back, pretending to be absorbed in a text on my phone.
I snuck a glance at him – his hair was damp at the temples, his face freshly washed, and the scent of toothpaste and soap followed him across the room.
Something about seeing him like this – clean, rumpled, domestic – made my chest ache.
He slid into bed beside me, careful to maintain the invisible boundary down the middle of the bed.
I set my phone on the nightstand, every part of my body acutely aware of his proximity.
He reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness broken only by strips of moonlight sneaking through the gauzy curtains.
"Goodnight," I said quietly.
"Night," he replied.
Silence fell between us, thick and complicated.
I lay perfectly still, listening to the sound of his breathing, feeling the warmth radiating from his body even across the careful space between us.
Outside, waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, a soothing counterpoint to my restless thoughts.
A ceiling fan whirred softly overhead, stirring the air and making the gauzy bed canopy flutter like a ghost.
Sleep was impossible. My mind kept replaying the beach scene on an endless loop. The moonlight on the water, the warmth in Cam's eyes, the way my heart had pounded as he'd leaned toward me. The words he'd whispered, "Is this okay?" still echoed in my ears.