Chapter 3
THREE
Her skin was soft as silk. Marlon didn’t want to take his hands off her feet, didn’t want to stop stroking the protruding bone of her ankle. That was the only explanation he had for the words that had come out of his mouth; her skin had rattled his brain somehow, and his good sense had been stripped away.
But he wasn’t going to take them back. He watched his words sink in, watched Camilla’s eyes narrow. She was soft and sweet all over, but there was an edge to her, a stubborn streak he could see in the wrinkle between her brows. “I suppose that’s fair,” she conceded. “A sex-free zone. You sure you can manage that? A man who can’t even remember whose thong is in his couch cushions would be starved without a constant stream of women in and out of his door.”
Oh, he’d be starved all right. Especially if Camilla was walking around his house wearing oversized sweats and flushed cheeks. But she’d be going through the same thing. The ridiculous, primal part of Marlon’s brain flexed in satisfaction. No, she would not bring another man into this house. For a moment, he lost himself to those caveman urges. Lost himself so badly that his mouth started moving before he could stop himself from digging the hole a little bit deeper. “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. You sure you can handle it?”
Camilla shrugged, the soft jersey of her long-sleeve tee stretching slightly. “Not a problem,” she said with a huff. “I’m too busy for men anyway.”
Her voice did something to him, something profound. It was soft yet sure. It burrowed under his skin, wriggled into all the corners of his psyche he’d kept to himself all these years. Her very presence melted his brain. He needed to take his hands off her ankles, stand up, and walk away.
He’d meant to show her the master bedroom, bid her goodnight, and avoid her until she moved out. But now he was touching her skin and making her promise things he had no right to demand.
With all his willpower, he managed to pull his hands away from her skin and picked up the first-aid kit. Camilla grabbed the towel and bucket, and the two of them put the items away without speaking about their new house rule. The mysterious pink thong went in the trash. A few minutes later, when they were both at the top of the stairs, Marlon glanced at Camilla and thought she wanted to say something.
Moonlight shone on her hair, her skin, her body. She looked like a goddess sent to destroy him. She blinked those big blue eyes at him and gave him a soft smile. “Goodnight, Marlon.”
Camilla slept badly. The conversation in the living room had thrown her for a loop. She’d overstepped by asking him not to have overnight visitors; she knew she had. It wasn’t her house, and she had no right to dictate to Marlon who he hosted. Or got intimate with.
It was reasonable to ask him not to shove dirty thongs between the couch cushions, but she’d taken it too far. She shouldn’t have said anything at all.
As she twisted and turned in her beautiful bedroom, Camilla replayed his words, felt the memory of his touch on her bare skin. It was well after midnight by the time they went to bed, and it was even later when she fell asleep. But her body was used to a very early rise, and it hadn’t gotten the memo that she wanted to sleep in.
So, with dawn lightening the sky outside, she woke tired, bleary, and incredibly horny. Rubbing her thighs together, Camilla tried to ignore the sensitivity between them. The ghost of Marlon’s touch lingered on her ankles, her calves, her knees. She wanted to feel him everywhere.
Marlon was exactly the kind of man Camilla didn’t need. He was serious and growly and obviously used to getting his way. Camilla had been dealing with men like that ever since she started her business. She’d taken loans from men like that. She was looking forward to enjoying a life free of their shackles.
But there was something in his eyes, in the tenor of his voice. Marlon’s presence ignited a spark in Camilla’s body that had lain dormant for a long, long time. Maybe it was the tender way he’d tended to her feet, the way he’d done it without hesitation, like it was his duty to make sure she was taken care of.
For someone so utterly independent, someone who had moved out at seventeen, put herself through culinary school, and endured all of life’s trials since then, that was an experience that didn’t come around very often, if at all.
Marlon’s gentle care, given to her wrapped up in a gruff package, seemed to be the key to Camilla’s most lustful desires. She felt like a tightly wound spring, ready to explode. She was wired and tired and a little embarrassed.
Reaching between her legs, Camilla let out a sigh as she touched herself. She just needed to take the edge off, to feel normal again. Ever since Marlon had set those glimmering hazel eyes on her and agreed to let her stay in his perfect house, she’d felt off-balance.
An orgasm would help. She could set her body to rights, and her mind would follow.
It was easy to imagine what could have happened last night, in another universe. Marlon would have stripped her sweatpants off her legs and taken her right there on the couch. His big hands would have spread her wide, and he’d have let out one of those low groans at the sight of her. Maybe he’d have turned her over his knee for being so demanding, for making him promise things in his own house. His big, broad palm would sting when he spanked her, his voice rough in her ear. The thought sent fire racing through her, her hand working hard between her legs until she gasped and arched off the bed.
Body limp and mind blank, she drooled on her pillow for a few minutes while her brain rebooted.
It wasn’t until rational thought returned that Camilla’s cheeks burned.
This was very, very bad.
She groaned, curling onto her side, and regretted ever bringing up the thong with Marlon. She could have simply stuffed it right back in the couch cushions and pretended it didn’t exist.
Instead, she’d insisted on a stupid house rule, and now neither of them would be getting any satisfaction. All she could think about was the brooding, growly man down the hall denying himself for her sake. Embers of lust still glowed inside her at the thought. The way he’d looked at her with darkened eyes, how he’d stroked her skin like he couldn’t help himself.
Had she made a mistake? Had she crossed a line already, before she’d even spent a full twenty-four hours in this house?
She snorted at herself. That was a no-brainer. Of course she’d crossed a line, and she’d made it worse by masturbating to the thought of him.
But Camilla couldn’t let things get awkward between them. Staying here was a godsend, and she wouldn’t blow it. A place to rest her head while she built up a bit of cash and looked for a more permanent place to live was exactly what she needed right now, especially after she’d just escaped the sharp, snapping teeth of Stirling’s worst loan shark.
She exhaled and came to a decision. No more overstepping the boundaries of a regular roommate relationship. No more talking about sex. No more masturbating at the thought of Marlon touching, teasing, and tormenting her.
Her temporary sex famine had begun. Celibacy would be the armor she wore to protect herself against the ravages of Marlon’s gaze. She’d abstain, and she would be stronger for it.
Resolve strengthening, Camilla swung her legs off the bed and sat up. She went through her morning ablutions as quietly as she could, then crept downstairs to the kitchen. Even though she’d only briefly been in here last night, her shoulders relaxed.
Kitchens were where Camilla felt most comfortable. While her body settled, she inhaled deeply and spun around the space, taking in the energy of the heart of the house. She didn’t have to go into the bakery today, having recently hired a new employee to take over weekend shifts, but her fingers itched to feel flour and sugar and butter between them.
Setting the coffee maker to brew a new pot, she hunted through the cupboards until she found what she needed. Marlon had all the basics, but she could tell he wasn’t a baker. His bag of flour was so tiny it almost made her laugh, but it was enough. He had a muffin tin, but no muffin liners. She’d have to butter and flour the molds. In the depths of the freezer, she found an old bag of frozen blueberries. Her muscles eased completely, and Camilla got to work.
Forty-five minutes later, the scent of blueberry oatmeal muffins filled the kitchen. She pulled them out of the oven to cool, refilling her coffee mug for the third time. The carafe was empty, so she made another pot. She wasn’t sure when Marlon would get up, but it wouldn’t do to have him wake up to an empty coffee machine. Finding the striped mug he’d used last night, she set it beside the coffee maker so it would be ready for him.
She was just drying and replacing the big metal bowl she’d used to mix the muffins when she heard shuffling footsteps approach. Marlon rubbed his eyes and frowned at the muffins cooling on top of the oven. He sniffed, blinking, then shifted his gaze to Camilla.
Did she imagine the way heat flared in his gaze when he took in her appearance? Probably. She was just wearing her sweatpants, the same tee as last night, and her favorite floral apron with the white ruffles along the hem and neckline. She wasn’t exactly a paragon of fashion and sensuality.
Her orgasm from this morning was obviously still messing with her mind. Cheeks flushing, she lifted her chin and met Marlon’s gaze. “Good morning.”
“You baked muffins.” Marlon was still staring.
Camilla’s eyes dropped to his hands. Hands she’d imagined doing all manner of dirty things to her body. Needing to regain some semblance of control, Camilla spread her arms and gave him a bright smile she hoped would hide her blush. “It’s what I do! Coffee?”
He blinked at her. “You got up this morning and made coffee and muffins before I even woke up.”
Camilla tilted her head. “Um. Yes?” Doubt slithered in. “Is this because I used your ingredients? I’ll replace them, I promise.”
A wave of a hand, and Marlon was cutting toward the oven. He picked up a muffin, then put it back down and glanced over his shoulder. “Can I have one?”
She laughed. “Of course! I made them for you. I’m sorry if I woke you by banging around in the kitchen. Did you say yes to coffee?”
Marlon had half the muffin stuffed in his face. His eyes rolled back for a moment, a gruff sound of enjoyment rumbling through his throat. That noise sent an equally strong shiver arrowing down between Camilla’s legs, which was inconvenient. Sex famine , she reminded herself. No more imagining Marlon naked and thrusting into her. No imagining him spanking her while she writhed on his lap. No talk of mystery thongs and overnight guests.
For all intents and purposes, Camilla was now a nun. She’d change her email signature to Sister Camilla of the Order of the Sexless Roommates next time she logged onto her laptop for good measure.
She busied herself by pouring him coffee. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Black,” Marlon responded between bites. He grabbed a second muffin and promptly demolished it.
Pleasure spread through Camilla’s chest. She loved baking for people. She loved hearing the noises they made while they enjoyed her food, loved knowing their bellies were full because of her. Smiling, she grabbed a muffin of her own and bit into it. They ate in silence for a moment, then sat across from each other at the kitchen table.
With her heart settled by having fed him, Camilla let her lips curl into a smile. “So,” she started, not quite sure what was going to come out of her mouth next, “our new house rule is in full effect. Did you survive the night without someone to warm your bed?”
Her brain blared a red alert. Danger! Why were these words coming out of her mouth? Why was she engaging in flirtation when she should be backing off?
She had just resolved to avoid that topic of conversation entirely! What was wrong with her?
But she already knew the answer: Marlon sat in the warmth of the kitchen with her, enjoying her food, looking delectable, and Camilla couldn’t help herself. Apparently, gorgeous men devouring her food was her biggest pleasure-button.
Marlon sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim. His dark brows arched as he held her gaze, setting his mug down on the table. “I did. Did you?”
Nonchalance was difficult to affect when she’d spent the night twisting in her bedsheets, remembering the feel of his calloused hands against the skin of her feet and calves, and especially when she’d spent the minutes after dawn gasping at the thought of him inside her. But she managed a flick of her hand and a casual shrug. “Easy.”
His laugh was a warm rumble that felt like velvet over her skin. Camilla’s cheeks flushed. Her silly thighs trembled where she sat at the table, a dart of lust piercing her below the navel.
This was ridiculous. All of it. Why had she brought it up? Sex famine , she reminded herself. Sister Camilla. Her body was a nunnery.
“I think last night was torture for you,” Marlon answered.
“Projection, much?” She stood and put her cup in the dishwasher, then threw him a pointed stare. “See? Dishes in the dishwasher. I’m a rule follower, Marlon. Through and through.”
The chair creaked as he leaned back, a dark smirk on his lips. “Oh?”
Danger! Danger! Danger!
Her brain flicked the air raid siren on, but Camilla’s body paid it no heed. She met Marlon’s gaze and wondered how his palms would feel sliding down her back, over her curves, between her legs.
But before Camilla could embarrass herself any more, her phone rang. She turned her gaze away from his so fast she got a crick in her neck, then crossed to the counter where she’d left the device. Staring at the screen, Camilla frowned at the caller’s number: her bakery’s landline.
“Hello?”
“Camilla,” Ben said, a bit breathless. He’d been her regular barista for a few years now. “You’ve got to come to the bakery. Someone tried to smash the front window last night. I just called the cops, but I think you should be here too.”
All the blood drained from Camilla’s face. “On my way,” she clipped, then hung up the phone. Her heart thumped and her hands felt clammy. The playful, sexy interaction with Marlon was already a distant memory. She took a moment to compose herself, sucking in a deep breath to try to calm her rioting pulse.
When she turned around, Marlon was frowning. “What happened?”
“Someone vandalized the shop,” she said. She tried to ignore the relief of Marlon’s presence, his concern for her. It didn’t matter if Marlon was beside her when she got bad news. He couldn’t do anything about it. Camilla had been standing on her own since she was seventeen years old; one night enjoying this man’s hospitality wasn’t going to change that. “I’ve got to go to work.”