Chapter 7 #2
I looked up at him. The lights of the Ferris wheel reflected in his eyes, spinning in slow circles.
"Cameron..."
"I don't like people looking down on you," he said fiercely. "You're not a charity case, Mila. You're with me. And as long as you're with me, you're royalty."
My heart hammered against my ribs. Royalty.
"Let's get that hot chocolate," he said, dropping his hands. "Before I freeze."
The Ferris Wheel
" absolutely not," Cameron said, staring up at the giant wheel. "It's a mechanical deathtrap. Look at the rust on the bolts. It was probably assembled by a guy named Earl who was drunk at the time."
"It's romantic!" I insisted, tugging on his sleeve. "Come on, Vance. Live a little. Where's your sense of adventure?"
"I leave my sense of adventure on the ice," he grumbled. "This is just poor risk management."
"Please?" I used the weapon. The eyes. The pout. "For me?"
He stared at me. He sighed, a long, suffering sound.
"Fine. But if we die, I'm haunting you."
We got in line. When it was our turn, the operator—who did look suspiciously like an Earl—locked us into the swinging bench.
The wheel jerked to life. We ascended.
The carnival fell away below us. The lights blurred into streaks of neon. The air grew colder, crisper.
At the top, the wheel stopped.
We were suspended in the dark, high above the world. The view was breathtaking—the snowy fields, the distant lights of the campus, the stars above.
"Okay," Cameron admitted, gripping the safety bar with white knuckles. "The view is... acceptable."
"Admit it," I nudged him. "You like it."
"I tolerate it," he corrected. But he loosened his grip on the bar and put his arm along the back of the seat behind me.
I leaned back, resting my head against his arm. We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, swaying gently in the wind.
"Thank you for tonight," I said softly. "I needed this. I felt... normal. For the first time in weeks."
"You're welcome," he said.
"Can I ask you something?" I turned to look at him.
"Anything."
"Why hockey?" I asked. "I know you're good at it. But why do you love it? It's so... violent."
Cameron looked out at the horizon. His expression softened.
"It's not violent," he said. "It's honest. On the ice, nothing matters but the puck. Not your bank account. Not your last name. Not your past. It's just you and the shot. If you stop it, you're a hero. If you miss, you're a failure. It's binary. It's clean."
"Control," I whispered.
"Exactly," he nodded. "And... when the mask is on, no one can see my face. No one can see if I'm scared. Or angry. Or tired. I'm just a machine."
"I see you," I said. "Even with the mask on."
He turned to look at me. The vulnerability in his eyes was breathtaking.
"I know you do," he whispered. "That's why you terrify me."
"Why?"
"Because," he reached out and touched my cheek with his gloved hand. "Machines aren't supposed to feel. And when I'm with you... I feel everything."
The wind howled around us, swinging the car gently.
"Is that a bad thing?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"It's a dangerous thing," he said. "For a goalie. Feelings are distractions."
"Maybe you need a distraction," I challenged softly.
He looked at my lips.
"Maybe I do."
He leaned in. I closed my eyes, waiting for the kiss.
The wheel jerked.
"Whoa!" I grabbed his coat as the car swung violently.
The ride started moving again. We were descending.
Cameron pulled back, exhaling a frustrated breath that clouded in the air.
"Earl," he muttered. "I'm going to kill him."
I laughed, the tension breaking. "Next time."
"Next time," he promised.
We reached the bottom. The moment was gone, but the feeling remained. A warm, glowing ember in the center of my chest.
He helped me out of the car. He didn't let go of my hand.
The ride back to the penthouse was quieter. The radio was off. The only sound was the hum of the tires on the snowy road and the heater blasting.
But it wasn't an awkward silence. It was a heavy, comfortable silence. The kind that exists between two people who have shifted their axis to align with each other.
Cameron drove with one hand on the wheel. His other hand was resting on the center console.
Halfway home, I reached out. I placed my hand on top of his.
He didn't pull away. He turned his hand over and laced his fingers through mine. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles, his eyes never leaving the road.
My heart did a somersault.
This wasn't fake. This wasn't for the scouts. There was no one here to see it.
This was real.
We pulled into the garage. He parked the car.
We walked to the elevator, hand in hand.
When the doors opened onto the penthouse, the silence of the apartment felt different. It felt charged. Like the air before a lightning strike.
Cameron locked the door behind us.
He turned to me. He didn't take off his coat. He just stared at me.
"Did you have fun?" he asked, his voice low.
"Yes," I said. "Best date I've ever had."
"Good."
He stepped closer. He reached out and pulled the beanie off my head. My hair tumbled down around my shoulders.
He ran his fingers through it, cupping the back of my neck.
"I wanted to kiss you on that wheel," he murmured. "But I didn't want my first real kiss with you to be in a swinging bucket operated by a drunk."
"Your first real kiss?" I whispered. "What about the kitchen?"
"That wasn't a kiss," he said darkly. "That was desperation. That was hunger."
"And this?" I asked, my breath catching.
"This," he said, pulling me against him. "This is intention."
He lowered his mouth to mine.
It started slow. Soft. A testing of boundaries. His lips were cold from the outside air, but his mouth was hot. He tasted of mint and chocolate.
I sighed into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my hands in his hair.
The kiss deepened. He groaned, a vibration I felt in my chest. He walked me backward until my back hit the wall of the foyer.
He pressed his body against mine. The friction of the heavy coats, the heat building between us... it was intoxicating.
His hands roamed over my coat, frustrated by the layers. He found the belt of my camel coat and untied it. He pushed the coat open, his hands finding the waist of my sweater dress.
His warm palms on my ribs made me gasp.
"Mila," he murmured against my jaw. "You drive me crazy."
"Show me," I challenged.
He lifted me. Effortlessly. My legs wrapped around his waist.
He carried me into the living room, not breaking the kiss. He set me down on the edge of the sofa.
He loomed over me, breathing hard. His eyes were black with desire.
"I want to take you right here," he confessed, his voice rough. "I want to strip you out of these layers and wreck you."
"Do it," I whispered.
He hesitated. He closed his eyes for a second, fighting a war within himself.
"I can't," he groaned. "Not yet."
"Why?" I sat up, reaching for him.
"Because," he opened his eyes. They were tortured. "Because if we do this... if we sleep together... I won't be able to let you go. And the contract... the deal..."
"Screw the contract," I said.
"I can't," he said firmly. "I promised myself I would protect you. Even from me."
He stepped back. He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect style.
"Go to bed, Camila," he said, his voice straining. "Please. Before I lose the last shred of my control."
I looked at him. I saw the struggle. I saw how much he wanted me, and how much he was holding back for my sake. Or what he thought was my sake.
It was the most romantic, frustrating thing I had ever seen.
"Fine," I said, standing up. "I'll go to bed. Alone."
I walked past him. I paused at the hallway entrance.
"But Cameron?"
He looked at me.
"One of these days," I said softy. "You're going to run out of excuses. And when you do... I'm going to be ready."
I turned and walked to my room.
I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart pounding.
We were dancing on the edge of a cliff. And the fall was going to be spectacular.
Cameron
I waited until I heard her door click shut.
I walked to the kitchen. I poured a glass of ice water and drank it in one gulp.
It didn't help.
I was burning. Every inch of me was on fire.
I looked at my reflection in the window.
You're a fool, Vance, I told myself. A noble, suffering fool.
But as I touched my lips, remembering the softness of hers, I knew I was lying.
I wasn't noble. I was just terrified.
Because she was right. If I crossed that line... if I made her mine completely... I would never let her go.
And a girl like Camila Sterling wasn't meant to be caged by a man like me. She was meant to fly.
I turned off the lights.
But in the darkness, I could still see the spark in her eyes when she looked at me.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was going to burn.