Chapter 2
TWO
Camilla danced until her feet hurt, then collapsed in a chair to suck down half a bottle of water. A weight had been lifted off her shoulders earlier, and now that she’d spoken to Marlon, she’d have a bed to sleep in tonight as well. That was a relief.
She hadn’t been lying when she said it was temporary. A few days. Maybe a week. Two, max. Just enough time to scrounge up a security deposit and the money needed to secure a new place to live. The bakery’s coffers would be pilfered once more, but she’d make it work. She always had.
This morning, she’d paid off the last of her bad debt, and now she could finally move on. The yoke around her neck had split and fallen off when she’d pressed “Confirm” on the last loan payment, and now Camilla was finally free.
For the next little while, Camilla would hustle a little bit harder to get some more wedding cake orders, run a few promotions to drum up daily business, work longer hours, do anything she could to get back on her feet. It would be difficult now that the wedding season was slowing down, but Stirling, New Hampshire was a place that made weddings its business. The slow months were still good if you knew how to make sales.
She’d had a good couple of months. In the fall, with leaves shivering in a thousand shades of red, orange, yellow, and green, people had been tying the knot in droves. Now in early November, the trees were mostly bare and the weather was starting to turn, but she’d get last-minute orders for courthouse weddings; she was sure of it.
Everything would be okay. Finally.
Freedom tasted good . After so many years with her debt hanging over her head, she’d be able to move forward with her life. And as a bonus, she didn’t need to sleep in her bakery’s office on a blow-up mattress until she filled her bank account back up again. She had a bed and a roof and a very surly roommate. A surly, gorgeous roommate.
Hope was a more potent drug than the three vodka-sodas she’d had over the course of the day. Ten years of stress had compounded into a hard ball in the middle of her chest, and she could finally sense it loosening around the edges.
The debt was gone, her best friend was married, and Camilla was on top of the world.
“You ready to head out?” Marlon’s deep voice shivered down her spine, sending warmth spiraling through her veins.
Camilla turned. He loomed behind her chair, all dark hair and luminous eyes. His shoulders were so big and wide they blotted out the fairy lights strung up on the wall behind him.
She’d never spoken to him, other than a nod and a casual hello when she and Amelia were around the St. James brothers. The force of Marlon’s hazel eyes was something she’d never had to contend with. Not like this.
A big hand came up to scrub his jaw as he popped a brow in question.
Camilla blinked. “Oh. Right. Sure!”
A few hotel workers were stacking chairs in the corner, and most of the weddinggoers had already left. Amelia and Leo were hovering near the door, saying goodbye to the last of their guests. Scarlett and Lucy were cackling against the bar with two bartenders leaning toward them. The other groomsmen had disappeared long ago.
The wedding was over.
Dragging herself up, Camilla winced at the pain in her feet. She should have broken these heels in before tearing up the dance floor for so many hours. Today had been a celebration in more ways than one, even if she hadn’t shared her financial problems with anyone. It didn’t matter, though; those problems were over. She could pour all her relief and hope and happiness into Amelia and Leo’s big day.
“What’s wrong?”
She startled at the gruff question, then shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, everything’s great .”
“You’re hurt.” The question was little more than a growl.
Startled, Camilla blinked. She grabbed her purse from the back of her chair and slung it on her shoulder, lifting her chin. “I’m not hurt. I’m fine.”
Marlon was already annoyed at having to house her in the first place. She wasn’t going to stand there and complain about a few blisters. Plus, she’d been telling the truth. Everything was great! When she walked toward Amelia and Leo, Camilla tried her best not to wobble on her sore feet.
Marlon let out a noise that sounded decidedly displeased. It sent a little thrill down to Camilla’s stomach, which was ridiculous. She hadn’t had a man fuss over her in a long time—maybe ever—but so what? Marlon didn’t mean anything by it. He was probably annoyed that he had to host her at all, even for the few days she’d be staying with him.
He hovered near, frowning at her. His gaze ran up and down her body in a way that was more assessing than sexual, but it still made Camilla feel hot all over. That wasn’t good. She was going to be living with the man for the next few days; the last thing she needed to do was develop inconvenient feelings for him. Her life was complicated enough as it was.
Then again, she was free now, wasn’t she? Maybe she could indulge in a bit of lust now and again. Was there anything wrong in feeling good in her body?
“Let me say goodbye to Amelia and Leo,” she said, then set off in their direction.
Amelia turned toward her and threw her arms out. They hugged, swaying from side to side, and came apart with tears in their eyes.
“Congratulations,” Camilla whispered.
“Thank you for everything.” Amelia glanced at Leo, who was hugging his brother while they both walloped each other’s backs in that I’m-a-manly-man-and-I-care-about-you kind of way. “If you hadn’t told Leo where I was having dinner that night, I don’t know where we would have ended up.”
“Probably exactly where you are now,” Camilla answered with a soft smile. “You’re meant for each other.”
Happiness suffused Amelia’s features. She hooked her arm around Leo’s and beamed, besotted. Camilla couldn’t help but smile back.
Amelia deserved all the happiness in the world. She’d been so closed off for so long, and finally someone had recognized what an amazing person she was. Leo would cherish her; Camilla was sure of it. Maybe one day, Camilla would find someone who looked at her like that.
“Ready?”
She glanced up at Marlon, who placed his hand on her lower back to guide her out of the room.
“Sure,” she said, only slightly breathless at the touch.
And, really, wasn’t that just a little ridiculous? The man just wanted to get home. If he was touching her, it was just because he was impatient and wanted her to hurry up. But it still felt good.
“You okay to drive?” He opened the front door of the hotel for her then returned his hand to her lower back when she stepped through.
“Yes,” Camilla answered. “I’ve been drinking water for the past three hours, and I only had three drinks all day.”
“Good. You can follow my car.”
They drove for five minutes, into one of the old neighborhoods near the heart of Stirling. When she parked in the driveway next to Marlon’s car, Camilla leaned on the steering wheel and stared. Her heart gave a violent, sudden lurch.
The house was gorgeous . Miles of gingerbread trim decorated every balcony and every eave. Two white pillars framed the front of the house, holding up a tall porch. It needed a new coat of paint, but the yard was well kept. A big oak tree clung stubbornly to the last of its leaves, watching over the house like a sentinel.
This was the house of Camilla’s dreams. This was where she pictured herself growing old, right in the heart of her hometown.
Her family would snort at that dream, of course. Both parents and both siblings were fancy, important people with important jobs who wanted more from their lives than a little clapboard home on a small lot. They never failed to let Camilla know that her dreams were too small. Too mundane. Too female.
But as she stepped out of her car and took in every detail in the yellow light of the nearby streetlamp, Camilla couldn’t help but clasp her hands at her breast and feel . She didn’t even know what she was feeling, only that it was powerful. Her gusted breath caused a cloud of white to puff in front of her face. The cold of the evening air was a distant sensation.
This day just kept getting better, and better, and better.
Marlon stomped up the three steps to the front porch, opened the screen door, and unlocked the front door. He reached inside and flicked on the porch light, then turned around and frowned at her. The light cast his face in shadows, with his strong brow shadowing his eyes. It sent a thrill down Camilla’s middle to have him look at her like that, which was ridiculous. She was loopy from the emotion of the day and the relief of having a bed tonight. That was all.
Smiling brightly at his scowl, Camilla opened the back door to grab her things. As soon as she had her duffel bag in her hands, it was promptly removed from her grasp. Marlon threw the strap over his shoulder, then put his hands on Camilla’s hips and firmly moved her to the side. She let herself be manhandled by him, mostly because she liked the feel of his hands on her hips but also because she wasn’t quite sure how to react.
He peeked inside her car and grabbed the two other bags of toiletries and miscellaneous items that hadn’t fit in the duffel, carrying them both in one big fist.
“That everything?”
Oh, Camilla loved his voice. It was deep and rumbly, and it made her vibrate all the way down to her toes. She nodded, glad she could blame the cold for the flush in her cheeks. “Yep.”
She didn’t have much. She’d been living with roommates before and had had to get rid of her bed when she moved out. She had no other furniture to call her own. There were a few boxes of clothes stashed in one of the bakery’s storerooms, but these few bags were all she really owned. Once her life was back on track, she could find somewhere to settle and grow roots.
Somewhere just like this, she decided. Now that she was debt-free, there were endless possibilities. She could buy a house of her own! She could finally indulge her romantic side and find someone to date seriously. She could move on.
Inside, the house was just as charming as Camilla expected. Wide timber floorboards stretched down the hallway. To the right, a large sitting room opened with a big bay window looking out on the street. To the left was a small TV room dominated by a big L-shaped couch.
Marlon walked straight ahead and climbed the stairs. They creaked with every step, and Camilla couldn’t help her smile as she let her fingers trace the whorls and fanciful details on the spindles of the banister. Crown molding decorated the top of every wall, and in the middle of the foyer, a big ceiling medallion held up a dramatic, dusty chandelier.
She was in love with this place. It hit her like a rogue wave, and she could do nothing but let herself get swept away. Maybe it was wedding frenzy. She’d just spent hours celebrating love with all her best friends, and now she got to live in a gorgeous old house packed with character from wall to wall and floor to ceiling.
She followed Marlon up the steps to the top level, where he led her to the front of the house. A thin carpet runner ran down the middle of the corridor and stopped at the entrance to her room at the end of the hall.
She stood in the doorway as Marlon placed her bags down next to the dresser. She couldn’t move. It was too perfect.
Marlon frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“You live here?” Camilla whispered.
He planted his hands on his hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She stepped inside, letting her fingers run over the thick doorframe, eyes scanning the room. Her heart leaped. “There’s a fireplace,” she said, still whispering.
Marlon turned to the wall, staring at the iron grate. “It doesn’t work,” he grunted, scowling.
“Who cares if it works? It’s so pretty !”
At this, Marlon turned back to her, frown deepening.
She crossed the room toward him and before he could move, threw her arms around his torso. Her hug pinned his arms awkwardly to his sides, but Camilla didn’t care. She squeezed him tight as he stood stiff as a board, shoving her face into his chest.
He smelled amazing .
She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t. Eyes watery, she pulled back. Unable to resist, she let her hands slide to his arms and gave them one last squeeze. “Thank you, Marlon. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
His frown hadn’t gone away. He shook her off. “Okay. Well. If you need anything, I’m just down the hall.” He stalked out, leaving her to explore her space.
A gigantic, old, navy-and-cream rug spread out over the floor under the bed, stretching nearly out to the walls. She had a four-poster bed. A four-poster bed! A little squeak of delight fell from her lips. She moved closer and saw the creases in the sheets that told her they had been folded for a long time. Upon closer inspection, she decided they looked brand new. Had Marlon done that? When?
The built-in closets had gorgeous little golden knobs shaped like seashells. The fireplace mantel had curlicues and swoops. The window sashes were thick and dramatic, and probably needed to be scraped down to bare wood and repainted, but they were charming all the same.
It was so beautiful she thought she was dreaming. She kicked off the torture devices on her feet and felt the worn rug beneath her toes. She couldn’t stop smiling. Even though this was temporary. Even though she’d used every last penny to make that final loan payment. Even though her finances were in an incredibly precarious spot, she couldn’t help the wave of bliss that overtook her.
Marlon wouldn’t regret letting her stay here. Not for a minute. She’d make sure of it.
Stripping off her bridesmaid dress, she hung it up in the closet and found a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee. She had to roll the sweats twice at the waist so they didn’t drag on the floor—she was tall and generously proportioned, but she’d purposefully bought them a couple of sizes too big for maximum coziness—before throwing open the door to her bedroom and stepping into the hall.
The single bathroom upstairs was two doors down, and it had a clawfoot tub. Camilla just about died when she saw it. She touched the intricate patterned tile on the floor with the tip of her toe and let out a happy sigh. Then she went off in search of Marlon. His bedroom door was open and the room beyond was empty, so she headed downstairs.
She found him in the kitchen, which had obviously been renovated sometime about thirty or forty years ago. It wasn’t original, and it didn’t have the same charm as the other rooms, but it was big, and judging by the windows lining the far wall, it would be flooded with light in the morning.
Marlon looked up from his position at the sink, where he was filling up a bright-red kettle. “You want some peppermint tea?”
Was he kidding? Of course she did! “Yes!” She beamed at him. “I’d love that.”
He stared at her face for a second too long, expression serious. Then he shook himself and moved to the stove. Gas, Camilla noted. Wonderful! This whole place was just fabulous .
“You can go to the front room; I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”
“Sure.” She padded out along the hardwood—original floors, she thought, and in good condition—and ducked into the sitting room she’d spied when they walked in. There was another dramatic chandelier in here, along with a gilt-edged mirror above the mantel of a second fireplace. The crown molding was about a foot tall, and there was honest-to-goodness stained glass in the top sections of all three of the bay windows.
The furniture didn’t go with the architecture at all. It looked like the kind of stuff a college kid would pick up from the side of the road. But Camilla sank down into the old sofa and let out a happy sigh. She didn’t have to wait long for Marlon, who walked in carrying two gigantic mugs. He handed her one that was pale green with white polka-dots all over it and kept the navy-and-white striped one for himself.
“Probably needs to cool another few minutes,” he said when Camilla brought the mug to her lips.
She took a sip anyway, burned her mouth, then agreed with him and put the mug down on the coffee table. Marlon took a seat on the armchair opposite her and set his own mug down. He had coasters that looked like mosaic tiles. They were fantastic, and Camilla wondered if he’d chosen them himself.
There was an odd little silence while they studied each other. Then Camilla took a deep breath and put her hands on her thighs. “Marlon,” she started. “I just want to say thanks again for letting me stay here. I’ll only be here for, like, maybe a week. Two, max. And I promise I’ll be the best roommate you’ve ever had. Your house is so, so gorgeous, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you.”
At her words, Marlon frowned. He glanced around the room as if seeing it for the first time. He didn’t seem to agree with Camilla’s assessment, because the creases between his brows got deeper.
“I don’t know how much Leo told you, but I’m in a bit of a bind right now. I can’t afford to pay you market rent for this place, but I’ll contribute any way I can while I’m here. I can cook and clean, and?—”
“You don’t need to do all that.” He waved a hand. “I can cook for myself.”
Camilla straightened. “Oh. Okay. I just…I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you. I’m not a leech.”
“Never said you were.” He picked up his drink and took a deep swallow. His throat moved as he did, and Camilla couldn’t help but keep her eyes on the motion. Why was that so hot? Why did she suddenly feel flushed?
No—she needed to get a grip. This was an important conversation. If she was going to stay in this house with Marlon, they had to come up with house rules. They had to be on the same page so that resentment didn’t build, even if she was only here for a short amount of time. She would not mess this up.
Camilla had learned what it was to stand on her own. From the time she’d moved out at seventeen, she’d made a litany of mistakes, but she’d learned. She cherished her independence, and she didn’t want any favors. Not one as big as this. This was the beginning of her new, debt-free life. She’d start it on the right foot.
“I’d like to contribute any way I can,” she repeated. She brushed her hands down her thighs to get rid of the dampness that had gathered on her palms. “I want this to be fair for both of us. You’re doing me a favor, but I don’t want to take advantage of you. It’s important to me that I contribute.”
Marlon followed the movement of her hands, his eyes coasting along her body with an unreadable expression on his face. Maybe she shouldn’t have worn sweatpants for this conversation. Maybe he was judging her? It was late. Should she have waited until morning? He probably just wanted to sleep after the excitement of the wedding.
His expression changed when his eyes dropped down to her feet, his mouth thinning. Did he hate feet? Why hadn’t she put socks on! He probably thought she was some gross slob who was going to take over his house and never leave, and?—
“What happened to your feet?”
She blinked. Looked down. Saw the red marks where her shoes had blistered and ripped open her skin. She had small scabs forming near her big toe, and her heels were red and puffy. He probably thought it was disgusting. She really, really wished she’d worn socks. “Oh. That’s just from my shoes. I didn’t break them in properly. I’m sorry. I’ll grab some socks.”
He stood up suddenly, and then he was in front of her, looming in all his muscle-bound glory. Camilla leaned back, gripping the arm of the sofa with one hand. “Um. I. Uh…”
Marlon dropped to his knees and picked up one of Camilla’s feet. His touch was gentle on her calf as he glowered at her injuries, his other hand cupping her heel so he could turn her foot for a better look. Warm, calloused hands supported her limb in a firm, gentle hold. A jolt went through Camilla, and heat began to flood her cheeks.
“You were bleeding all day today? Is that why you winced when you stood up from the table?”
She tried to pull her leg away, but he held tight. “It’s nothing, Marlon. I get blisters all the time. No big deal.”
“To you, maybe,” he mumbled, then glared at her. “Stay here.”
She was still leaning back on the sofa, gripping the arm with one hand. Her body was in shock. She had felt the warmth of his skin against hers, felt the fingers of his other hand pressed into her calf. She hadn’t known her calves were an erogenous zone before.
Head spinning, Camilla tried to gather her thoughts. Marlon had disappeared again, and she hadn’t even succeeded in finding out what she could do to contribute to the household. If he didn’t want her to cook, fine. She could bring him baked goods from her shop or bake some fresh before he got up in the morning. She could clean—all these rooms were beautiful, but they needed a good dusting and polishing. When Marlon came back, she’d make it clear that she wouldn’t be staying here without?—
He reappeared carrying a large bucket of water with a first-aid kit dangling from his pinky finger. A fluffy towel was slung over his arm.
Camilla started. “Marlon, they’re just blisters. You don’t need to go to all this trouble.”
He set the bucket down without spilling a drop, then gave her a dark, sullen look. “You were bleeding , Camilla.”
She looked at the tiny scab just below her big toe, where the shoe had dug in and split her skin. “I mean, barely.”
He huffed, like that was a ridiculous thing to say, then grabbed her foot and pushed her sweatpants up to her knee. Her first thought was, Thank goodness I shaved my legs this morning . Her second thought was, I hope he keeps touching my leg forever.
Then, with his bare hands on her bare skin, he lowered her foot into the water. After the initial sting of the water against the blister on her heel and the wound on top of her foot, it felt warm and lovely. Despite herself, Camilla felt herself relax. The other leg got the same treatment, and Marlon set the first-aid kit on the coffee table to start sorting through its contents.
“Rubbing alcohol is bad for wounds, so we’re just going to clean your feet, dry them, and bandage them up. I’ll put some ointment on them to speed the healing.” He grabbed her mug and handed it to her without looking, his gaze still on his first-aid supplies.
Camilla took the proffered drink and drank a swallow of hot peppermint tea. She felt like she’d fallen into an alternate universe, where big, gorgeous, grumpy men doted on her in their beautiful homes. This wasn’t real life. It couldn’t be. She hadn’t been this pampered in all her life.
“Feet on the towel,” Marlon ordered.
Okay, maybe “pampered” was the wrong word. Grumpy pampered? Grumpered?
She lifted her feet from the bucket to the waiting towel and tried to bend over to pat them dry herself. Marlon flicked her hands away and gave her another harsh glare.
Okay, then. She’d let him play doctor. It had been a while since someone else tended to her. And by “a while,” of course, she meant “never.”
“So,” she said in the lingering silence as Marlon patted her feet dry and inspected her wounds. “I’m going to clean, and if you ever want me to cook for you, just say the word. Are there any house rules?”
“Dishes go in the dishwasher. Garbage is every Thursday. That’s about it. You got anything to add?” Marlon dabbed ointment onto the wound on top of her foot, then wiped his fingers and grabbed a bandage.
Camilla sank down in the sofa, thinking. Her fingers drummed on the edge of the cushion as she thought. “Well, I have a bit of a strange schedule because of the bakery,” she started. “I’ve hired a bread baker so I don’t have to go in at three o’clock in the morning anymore, but I’m still up around five and in bed around eight on weekdays. So if I’m in my room between those hours, I’m probably sleeping. I’d appreciate it if you could keep it quiet or at least let me know ahead of time if you’re having guests over. But like I said, it’ll only be a week or two, so…”
He grunted in acknowledgment, struggling with a finicky backing on the adhesive back of a bandage. He was cute when he focused like that. Cute in a big-scary-man kind of way.
Camilla smiled, her hand tracing the edge of the couch cushion. Marlon’s fingers were surprisingly deft, but he had short fingernails and was struggling to get the last bandage unpeeled. She was about to offer to help when he finally got it unstuck, then smoothed it over her wound. He moved on to the next one—and Camilla felt something with the tips of her fingers.
She glanced down between the two cushions, frowning. The couch was a dull brown color, and she saw a flash of neon pink.
A flash of something lacy and neon pink.
With the very tips of her thumb and forefinger, Camilla reached down between the couch cushions and pulled out a woman’s thong, crumpled and forgotten.
A strangled noise escaped her lips. Marlon glanced up, saw the underwear, and paused. Something like confusion flitted across his face. Or was it embarrassment? Camilla glanced away from his face and back to the thong.
“Okay,” Camilla said, struggling to sound calm, “new house rule. No sex on pieces of furniture that I might have to touch.”
Marlon snatched the thong from her hand and tossed it toward the living room entrance. “Understood. That’s… that’s a friend’s. I don’t know how that got there.” He grabbed another bandage, spilling the contents of the first-aid kit onto the table. His face was flushed.
“You know what,” Camilla said, feeling a strange tightness in her chest, “I don’t want to make you curb your sex life just for me. Maybe I can look for somewhere else to live.”
Marlon sat back on his haunches after he’d placed the last bandage on her foot. Her injuries were bandaged up, and there was a little pile of medical detritus by his knee. His brows drew together. “You want to find somewhere else to live because I have sex sometimes?”
“Okay, you’re right, that sounds ridiculous. You can have sex in your own house. Of course you can! But…but…I don’t want to move into some sex den. Even for a week.”
His expression didn’t change one bit as he blinked. “A sex den.”
“Yes!” She waved her hands at him. “I know beggars can’t be choosers. I’m not trying to be rude. And look, I get it. Women are probably throwing themselves at you. I’m cool and all, I’m super chill?—”
“You seem super chill.” Was that a smile twitching on his lips?
“But I draw the line at finding underwear in the couch cushions. I’m probably sitting on your sex juices right now!” Was she hyperventilating? Why was her heart beating so hard?
In some distant corner of her mind, Camilla knew she was being ridiculous. She should just laugh it off and pretend the thong in the couch cushions didn’t bother her. But…it kind of did. But that was absurd! Marlon was a grown man who could have sex with whoever he wanted to.
Visions swarmed her mind. Would she get up for work one morning and find him in here, romancing his latest date? Would she have to creep out the back door so she didn’t witness him screwing another woman? In an old house like this, she’d hear everything .
Oh, no. Camilla tried to wrangle her thoughts. She tried to listen to the reasonable voice that told her that adults had sex, and it wasn’t a big deal. She was staying here for free, and for such a short amount of time. He was doing her a favor. She had no right to impose on him. But?—
He put his hands on her knees, and Camilla’s teeth clicked as she shut her mouth. “Camilla,” Marlon started, “I don’t know whose thong that was.”
“Oh, well that makes everything better, doesn’t it?”
There was a strange, tense silence—and then Marlon began to laugh. His lips split into a wide smile, revealing straight, white teeth, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. Big shoulders shaking, he squeezed her knees with his hands.
She wished the touch didn’t make her core spasm. That was seriously inconvenient. How was she supposed to be a reasonable roommate when his hand on her knee made her feel flushed and hot?
Camilla crossed her arms. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”
Marlon was still smiling when he said, “You are, Camilla. You’re funny.”
“If being completely reasonable is funny, then fine. I guess I’m funny.”
Another squeeze of her knees, which sent a fresh jolt running up her thighs. He slid his hands off her and gathered the first-aid supplies back into his kit. “How about this,” Marlon said, glancing at her sideways. “I won’t bring anyone home while you’re living with me.”
Camilla straightened. “That—I mean—that would be great, but I don’t want to impose…”
He reached over and tugged the legs of her sweatpants down, the tips of his fingers brushing her bare calves. “But.” His hands slid onto her ankles, shackling them to the ground.
Her heart gave a panicked leap. Camilla had the sense that she was walking into a trap. Marlon’s thumbs made a slow sweep around her ankle bone. His touch made her head spin. Camilla couldn’t think straight. She sucked in a breath and whispered, “But?”
Marlon’s hazel eyes were steady on hers. His lips kicked up at the corners, and the trap sprang shut. “But you can’t bring anyone back, either. This will be a sex-free zone for the duration of your stay. If I’m going without, you are too.”