Chapter 13 December 13th #4
“Stop overthinking it, Camryn,” he warns with gentle scorn, his voice getting louder as he closes in on me.
My spine clicks one vertebra at a time until it’s poker straight, my shoulder blades pinching.
He puts himself behind me, eyes on mine in the mirror, and slowly sweeps my hair aside, exposing my neck.
I’m rapt, tingling all over, as he lowers his mouth to the column of my throat, gently pressing his lips into my skin.
My exhale is a quiet, quivering sound, as my blood throbs in my veins.
The way he’s looking at me, not touching me anywhere with his hands, only his lips, watching my unstoppable reaction.
I’m not overthinking anything now, because my brain has short-circuited.
And I’m done for when he drags his lips to the small, sensitive hollow beneath my lobe, his hot breath close to my ear, sending a wildfire of desire racing through me.
I lean into his body, my head falling onto his shoulder, my eyes closing.
The burning, wet sensation of his tongue licking up the shell of my ear is my undoing, and my moan’s lost in the back of my throat.
“Turn around,” he whispers, looping an arm around my waist and turning me.
My hands land on his shoulders, and I wait with agonising anticipation for him to kiss me.
“I’m sorry I pushed your boundaries.” His fingertip traces the fading nick on my cheek, his other palm cupping my arse, forcing me closer.
“It’s okay.”
He gently kisses the corner of my mouth. “Something tells me you’d say anything in this moment. It wasn’t okay.” Kissing the other side of my mouth, he withdraws. “I just want to get to know the woman I’m falling for before I take her to bed.”
If a cannon ball hit me in the stomach right now, I wouldn’t feel it. Because the weight of that statement feels like it’s knocked me out.
He’s falling for me?
I don’t have the capacity to unpack that in this moment, but I vow to myself to revisit it as soon as cognitive thinking is mine again.
He’s smouldering so fiercely as he holds me tight to his body, our breathing ragged, mixing between our close mouths.
“I’m not going to be a man you fuck and forget, Camryn,” he whispers, his fingertip tracing back down my cheek to my bottom lip.
“There won’t be any walks of shame, you won’t be slipping out in the dead of night and disappearing into the darkness.
When I make love to you, we’re moving on to the next stage, and I want you to accept that before I take you home, not because you desperately need me inside you right now, but because you’re falling for me too. ”
He sees me. He sees my pain.
No.
He wants to understand my pain. Understand so he can help me overcome it.
I’m so tired of hating the world.
I want to make you love it again. Is that possible?
Is it?
Can he?
My mind feels as if it could explode under the pressure of thoughts pouring in, quickly filling my head to capacity. I haven’t got it in me to unravel this now. It’s too . . . charged. But I do know one thing beyond all the things I’m sure I don’t know.
I am falling for him too.
I want him to make love to me, not fuck me. I want him to hug me, kiss me, talk to me, listen, give me those smiles on repeat. It’s lightened up my world, offered a reprieve in my tragedy-filled existence.
I can’t hope for him to be my cure, I know I will never be completely cured, but I can hope he eases my heartache and gives me something to live for.
I swallow, what I’m about to say feeling so monumental.
Because it is.
“I’m falling for you too,” I say. “I’ve been falling for you since the moment you caught me on the pavement and walked me home.”
His answer is a suppressed, satisfied groan, as he lifts me and seals our lips.
Seals the deal.
We’re falling.
Together.
I get utterly lost in his worshipful kiss. “Do you trust yourself?” he murmurs around my mouth, sweeping his tongue through, delaying my answer.
“No,” I admit, halting our kiss in its tracks. “But I trust you.”
He nods, setting me on my feet and framing my face with both hands, pushing his mouth onto my forehead. “Time to go.”
I’m led out of the ladies’ back into the bar.
Dec finds my coat and holds it open, helping me into it before getting his own on as I switch my heels for my boots.
He grabs my bag, then the jumper off the bar and chucks it to Julio.
“Merry Christmas.” Two twenties follow the jumper. “It was nice knowing you.”
Translated: you won’t see us again.
I look back over my shoulder as I’m being pulled from the bar, hearing Julio laughing behind the jumper. “Nice knowing you,” I say quietly, throwing him a smile when his face appears.
He mouths something to me, tapping his chest as he does.
Be brave.
My God, am I that transparent?
I nod, repeating the mantra over and over as Dec walks us through the lobby and past reception. “Where are we going?”
“You think I’m taking you to a hotel room, Camryn?” he says, not stopping.
“Wait, we’re going to your house?”
“Yes, we’re going to my house.” He looks back as he pushes round the revolving door, making sure I get in the same section as him. “Problem?”
“This suddenly feels very serious,” I murmur, and Dec laughs, the same, soulful laugh he laughed earlier over the jumper. I smile at the back of his head.
“In you get.” He pulls open the back door of the grey Defender, and I take a deep breath, getting in.
“Evening,” the driver says, the same guy I saw outside Dec’s office.
“Evening.” I settle in my seat, Dec climbing in after me, and watch as he taps at the screen of his phone.
“Home, please, Ron.”
“Sure thing, boss.” He flicks his eyes to me in the rearview mirror, and though I can’t see his face, I know he’s smiling. I look away, down to my hand when Dec takes it, still focused on his phone. It’s an unconscious move. Natural.
“I’ve just got to take care of a few things before I turn off my notifications.”
“Okay.”
“Done.”
“That was quick.”
“It’s amazing how fast I work when there’s something special waiting for my attention.”
“I’m not waiting for your attention.”
“No, you’re not. You have it.”
His phone rings in his hand, Dad lighting the screen. Dec rejects the call. “I thought you said your father’s dead,” I say, confused.
“He is.” He kind of shrugs, kind of sneers. “To me.”
“Wow,” I blurt, withdrawing. “There’s something we need to unpack.”
“There’s not much to unpack. Bank it and ask me another time.”
I mentally file my questions away for a more appropriate time, turning my attention to our joined hands. His fingers are weaving languidly through mine, easy and slow. “Is it far to your home?”
“Fifteen minutes, depending on traffic.”
“Twenty-four,” Ron says from up front. “Can I offer any ambient music?”
“No,” Dec says slowly, seriously, his eyes narrowed Ron’s way. “Just get me home as quick as you can.”
“Right, boss.”
Exactly twenty-four minutes later, Ron slows down outside a line of Georgian houses and eventually stops, and I lean forward in my seat.
I can’t exactly see the top of the low box hedging lining the front garden, but if there wasn’t a sheet of snow hiding it, I know I’d see it’s impossible pristine, not one leaf out of place.
Two snow-topped bay trees, cut into perfect spheres, flank the central stone steps that lead to the front door.
“You live on Ilchester Place?” I ask, trying not to sound intimidated.
“I believe that’s where home is, yes.” Dec steps out, and I shuffle along the seat, taking his offered hand. “It’s slippery, be careful.”
My neck cranes to look up the face of the house. “Jesus, Dec,” I breathe, losing my battle. “You live here?”
“That’s what I just said.” He dips when Ron lowers the driver’s window. “You can knock off now, unless Lynette needs to be anywhere.”
“She’s good, I checked in with her an hour ago.”
“Good man.” Dec slaps the side of the Defender.
“See you in the morning.” I’m still taking in Dec’s home, a beautiful Georgian double-fronted townhouse, every detail in keeping with its era—the symmetrical sash windows, the cast stone door surround, the pediment, the hipped roof with three dormers.
Iconic. And right now, under a thick blanket of snow, it’s also magical.
“This is so gorgeous,” I muse, feeling a bit foolish. And wholly inadequate.
“I’m glad you like it.” He pulls me on, leading the way, which is good because my eyes are still up, not looking where I’m going.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Ten years. Watch your step.”
I peek down and get my bearings, taking the first of seven steps up, feeling grit under the soles of my boots.
There’s a short expanse of flat area before three more steps to the front door.
Light shines out from the downstairs windows, the black cast iron lanterns, mounted either side of the door, lighting the way too.
Dec slips a key into the lock and opens the door, and I step in, rendered mute, taking in the endless, exquisite detail.
A crystal chandelier hangs proudly from an ornate ceiling rose, and elaborate cornicing frames the high ceilings.
“Dec,” someone says, a woman, snapping me from my admiring.
“Lynette.” Dec throws his keys into a gold-leaf bowl on a white console table that has a huge dumpy glass vase rammed full of clipped white roses, then kicks his shoes off, prompting me to do the same. “This is Camryn. Camryn, Lynette.”
Lynette smiles, and it’s such a warm smile, her brown eyes shining. “Hi, Camryn.” She tucks her mobile into the back pocket of her jeans.
“Hi.”
“I just texted you,” Lynette says to Dec, just as his phone dings.
He opens the message. Nods. “Got it.
“I’ll leave you in peace. See you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Lynette.”