Chapter 7 #2
“Yeah. At one point, I excused myself to the bathroom just to get a break. Seriously considered climbing out the window.”
“Did you?”
“No, but it was close.” I grinned at her. “Your turn. Most embarrassing moment.”
“Oh god.” She covered her face with her hands. “I have so many.”
“Pick the best one.”
She peeked through her fingers. “I was styling a client for a gala in a very high-profile, very expensive dress. I was using double-sided tape to make sure everything stayed in place, and I accidentally stuck the dress to myself. When she moved away, it ripped a huge chunk of fabric.”
“No.”
“Yes, Sir. I had to completely restyle her with thirty minutes to spare and no backup dress.”
“What did you do?”
“Found scissors, turned it into an intentional slit, added a statement belt, and convinced her it was avant-garde.” She dropped her hands, grinning. “She got more compliments on that dress than any other outfit I’d styled for her.”
“That’s not embarrassing. That’s genius problem-solving.”
“It was mortifying at the time. But yes, Sir, it worked out.”
We kept trading stories. She told me about her fashion blog, about difficult clients and wonderful ones, about the satisfaction of helping someone feel beautiful.
I told her about learning carpentry from my father, about the first piece of BDSM furniture I’d ever built, about the strange satisfaction of creating something beautiful and functional.
“Show me,” she said suddenly.
“Show you what?”
“Your hands.” She reached across the table, and I gave her my right hand without thinking.
She turned it over, examining my palm, tracing the calluses with gentle fingers. “You can tell you work with your hands. They’re strong.”
“Comes with the territory.” My voice was rougher than I intended.
“I like it.” She looked up at me through her lashes. “I like that you create things. That you build.”
“What else do you like?” The question came out before I could stop it.
She bit her lip, considering. The wine had flushed her cheeks, making her eyes brighter, her guard lower. “I like the way you laugh. The way you make everything feel less scary. The way you looked at me today when I was on Starling.”
“How did I look at you?”
“Like you were proud of me.” Her thumb brushed across my palm. “Like I’d done something incredible even though I was just sitting on a horse.”
“You did do something incredible. You faced a fear and conquered it.”
“Because you made me feel safe enough to try.”
The air between us had shifted, charged with something electric and inevitable. I should have pulled my hand back, should have put distance between us, should have remembered that Lex and I needed to talk to her together before anything happened.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I stood, pulling her up with me, and suddenly we were chest to chest, her face tilted up to mine, her breathing quick and shallow.
“Majesty,” she whispered.
“Tell me to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
I cradled her face in my hands, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones. “We should wait. Should talk first. All three of us.”
“I know.” But she didn’t pull away.
“Cami...” I rested my forehead against hers, breathing her in. “You’re making this very difficult.”
“Good.” Her hands came up to rest on my chest, fingers curling into my shirt. “You’ve been making it difficult for me all day.”
I laughed despite the want coursing through me. “Fair point.”
We stood there, suspended in the moment, neither of us willing to cross the line but neither of us willing to step back. The tension was delicious and torturous all at once.
The sound of a car in the driveway broke the spell.
We stepped apart, and Cami pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. “That’s Lex.”
“Yeah.” I ran a hand over my hair, trying to collect myself.
“We should clean up.”
“Probably.”
But neither of us moved for a long moment, just looking at each other, acknowledging what had almost happened and what was still simmering beneath the surface.
The front door opened, and Lex’s voice called out, “I’m back. Something smells amazing.”
Cami laughed softly, the sound slightly breathless. “Saved by the bell.”
“Or condemned to waiting,” I countered, then raised my voice. “In the kitchen. We made pasta.”
Lex appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene—the wine glasses, the intimate table setting, the way Cami and I were both slightly disheveled and clearly flustered.
His dark eyes moved between us, and a small smile played at the corner of his mouth.
“Looks like you two had a good evening,” he said, his tone warm rather than accusatory.
“We did,” I confirmed, meeting his eyes with a silent communication that had developed over years of partnership. We were okay. This was okay.
He nodded slightly, understanding. Then to Cami, his expression softening, “After dinner, the three of us should talk. Nothing heavy, just to check in. Making sure we’re all on the same page.”
She nodded, and I could see the nervousness creeping back in. “Okay.”
“Good.”
He moved into the kitchen, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he passed, a gesture so natural and caring that it made me smile. This was what it could be. What it should be.
“Save me some of that pasta. I’m starving,” he directed as he turned and left the room.
As he disappeared to wash up, Cami looked at me with wide eyes. “Is everything okay? He’s not upset?”
“There’s nothing to be upset over,” I assured her, squeezing her hand. “We just need to make sure you’re comfortable with how things are progressing. That we’re not moving too fast or pushing you in directions you’re not ready for.”
“Oh.” She seemed surprised by that. “I thought... I don’t know what I thought.”
“That we’d be fighting over you?” I asked gently, pulling her back into my arms. “That’s not how this works. Not with us.”
“Then how does it work?”
“That’s what we’re going to talk about,” I said. “Together.”
She laughed against my chest, and I held her for one more moment before letting her go.
Because Lex was right. We needed to figure out what the hell was happening between the three of us and what we were going to do about it.
But first, he’d have dinner. And then we’d see where this led. Together.