Chapter 5
FIVE
Marlon checked the time and scowled. Camilla hadn’t called.
He pulled up outside the bakery, but she’d drawn the blinds on the unbroken window. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, worry gnawing on his gut. Was she okay? She’d looked like hell when he left her that morning.
Then the door opened. Camilla stepped out and locked the bakery’s front door, so Marlon got out of the car and leaned on the hood. She turned and saw him.
“Marlon,” she said, sounding shocked.
He gave her a slow blink and arched a brow. “You,” he answered slowly, “didn’t call me to say you were done with work.”
Planting her hands on her hips, Camilla gave him a look full of false bravado. He knew it was false from the shuttered look in her eyes. “Last time I checked, Mr. St. James, I’m an adult, and I can make my own way home.”
Her voice trembled slightly, and Marlon’s heart thumped. She looked worn out, and all Marlon wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and fix everything that had gone wrong. Instead of answering, he moved to the side of the car and opened the passenger door for her. She scowled at him, but then her shoulders slumped and she got in. She sank into the seat with a long sigh, and Marlon hustled around the front of the vehicle to get behind the wheel.
A part of him knew he was acting on his overprotective urges—but the other, bigger part of him didn’t care. Camilla needed help.
“Can we stop at the bank?” Camilla’s lids hung low, like the heat of the car had made her suddenly drowsy.
“Sure.”
He made the detour, and Camilla shuffled to the deposit slot then slid back into the car. When they’d stopped at a red light, Marlon glanced over.
Camilla had fallen asleep. Her face was soft, her hands limp in her lap. Marlon drove as smoothly as he could, but she woke up when he turned the engine off. She rubbed her eyes, making a little plaintive noise.
“Inside,” Marlon growled, frowning at her.
“You are very grumpy, mister,” she said, but she followed him inside anyway.
The food Marlon had made earlier filled the house with the scent of home. Camilla let out a little noise as she kicked off her shoes, stumbling slightly.
Marlon put a hand on her upper back. “Food, then bed.”
“You treat all your roommates like this?” Camilla grumbled.
“Last I checked, you’re the only roommate I’ve got, sweetheart.” He led her to the kitchen, where he’d set a place for her at the round kitchen table. He served her a bowl of chili with a thick slice of buttered bread, and Camilla audibly moaned as she took the first bite.
“This is going straight to my hips,” she said absentmindedly before biting into the bread.
“Best place for it,” he replied, then frowned as he served his plate. Did she not realize her hips were perfect?
When he turned, she was looking at him strangely, like she was trying to figure out if he’d been insulting her or not. Then she went back to her food. They ate in silence, and Marlon’s heart settled at having her near, where he could take care of her.
He’d question himself about it later.
When she stood up to clear her plate, Camilla swayed.
“Bed,” Marlon commanded, taking her plate.
Camilla nodded, eyes drooping, then disappeared out of the kitchen and up the steps. He heard the water run for a moment, and then silence settled over the house.
Marlon spent the rest of the evening ruminating. He didn’t like the vandalism at Camilla’s bakery. Not one bit. He’d already decided he’d set up a new security system to cover her business. He’d already put the job into their company systems, and Cormac had called him to ask about it.
And now that Cormac knew, Archer and Leo would find out soon. When Leo heard that he was hooking up Camilla’s bakery with the latest tech, he’d get curious. Marlon would have to explain this itching under his skin that increased anytime he thought of a rock smashing through Camilla’s window. What if she’d been there when it happened? What if she’d been hurt?
Frustrated, Marlon scrubbed the pot he’d used to make dinner and tried to take his aggression out with the scouring pad.
This was the problem. This was exactly what Marlon didn’t want. Camilla had lived with him for twenty-four hours, and he was already worried about her. Already wanting to take care of her. Already following those protective urges wherever they’d lead him.
He already knew where they’d lead. Burnout. Destruction. Isolation. He’d give and give and give until there was nothing left. Then he’d be alone again.
Just like he had when he was a child, with his mother, then with Leo, then with his grandparents. Maybe he was broken, because what normal person felt like they had to take care of other people like this? He should be able to let Camilla deal with her problems on her own.
But how could he resist? He couldn’t just do nothing .
Someone had broken Camilla’s window, and she’d looked utterly devastated. Marlon couldn’t stand by and watch without helping. Not when her features were tight with tension. Not when her face turned bloodless and her eyes widened with worry. Not when she’d come home as a shell of herself.
Why his urge to care for her was so strong, Marlon didn’t know, nor did he want to pursue that line of thinking too deeply. He just knew that he had the ability to help her, so he would.
He also fixed the latch on the powder room window before heading up to bed, scowling at the lock the whole time.
The next morning, Marlon woke to the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee. He found Camilla standing at the stove, wearing that ruffly apron. She looked like a fantasy housewife that had been dropped into his kitchen in order to drive him out of his mind. He hadn’t realized how much he liked the thought of waking up to a beautiful woman in a floral apron. But his body heated, and he couldn’t deny it.
Camilla glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled brightly. “I’m making breakfast. How do you like your eggs?”
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, even though he felt like he’d died and gone to heaven.
She shrugged. “I know. But it’s nice to be able to share meals with someone else.”
While he filled his favorite striped mug with coffee—which Camilla had set next to the coffee maker for him again—Marlon mulled over her words. “Is that why you started the bakery?”
“My love language is food,” she joked, then blushed. “I mean—not… You know. I just like feeding people. You like your bacon crispy or chewy?”
“Crispy edges, chewy middle.”
“A man of refined tastes,” she said with a grin. “Eggs?”
“Over easy, if you don’t mind.” Marlon took a seat at the table and watched her cook. She’d lived here for a little over a day, and she moved like this kitchen belonged to her. Within minutes, breakfast was set in front of him, perfectly browned toast, beautiful eggs, and bacon exactly how he liked it.
Camilla set her own plate down across from him. “Dig in!” She followed her own instructions without waiting for him, and they ate breakfast in comfortable silence.
There’d been quite a bit of that type of silence since she’d moved in, and it surprised Marlon. He’d expected to be on edge, to feel uncomfortable in his own home. But…was it possible Camilla’s presence made it feel more like home? How could that be?
Insisting on doing the dishes, Marlon watched her exit the kitchen and listened for her footsteps all the way up the stairs and down the hallway to her room. He was nearly done cleaning up when the shower turned on, and he filled up his mug, trying to ignore the trembling in his fingers. In less than two days, Camilla had torn through his life and shown him everything he’d denied himself.
He’d never imagined what it would be to live with a woman. He’d always assumed it was better to be on his own.
He’d been a fool.
Now she was up there, stripping her clothes off her naked body, rubbing suds over every soft curve. He pressed a palm against his hard cock and forced his thoughts in another direction.
Work—he’d think about work. And he’d do it outside, where he couldn’t hear the sound of the shower. It wasn’t that cold, and he hadn’t brought in the cushions from the patio furniture yet. He sat on a rickety chair and ignored the fact that a beautiful naked woman was in his shower. Ignored the fact that she’d cooked for him. Set his coffee mug out for him. Hummed in his kitchen like she belonged there.
It felt so good, Marlon was afraid to think about it too hard, because it was temporary. It had to be temporary. He didn’t have space in his life for someone else, couldn’t bear to have another person to take care of after everything he’d survived.
Life was better when he was on his own. That hadn’t changed because of a ruffly apron and a few muffins.
He looked down at his crotch and scowled. “Down, boy.”
Work was largely uneventful, and Marlon found himself wondering how Camilla was dealing with the window repair. Then he shook himself and turned back to the computer in front of him. Letters and numbers blurred together on the screen until he lifted the glasses he used for concentration tasks and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Here,” Cormac said, placing a coffee down on Marlon’s desk. “You look like you need it.”
The cup had swooping, cursive lettering on it that informed him it had come from The Sweetest Thing. He stared at the letters, then up at his business partner. “You went to Camilla’s bakery this morning?”
Cormac had drifted over to his desk, and he glanced over his shoulder with raised eyebrows. “That a problem?”
“No.” Marlon took a sip, willing his shoulders to stay relaxed. “How’d the window look?”
“Like it was made of plywood. Hey, did you get the email about the Winter Festival gig? They want to up the security from five p.m. until close every evening. We’ll have to call Jace and Kyle to see if they’re available. I’ll check the roster to see who else is free.”
The Winter Festival happened every year on the first weekend of December in Stirling. It was one last hurrah before the cold set in for winter, and Elite Security had been providing security at the event for the past three years. It was one of their biggest contracts of the year, but the organizers were scatterbrained. Planning always took up way more time than it should.
Marlon glanced back at his computer. “Yeah. Already called them. I’ve got three of the six slots filled, but we might need to contract out the rest. I’m putting together a proposal for security cameras for the duration of the event, especially in the beer tents and the main stage.” He took another sip. “So the repairs hadn’t started on the window?”
Cormac stared at his screen. “What window?”
“At the bakery.”
The office chair squeaked as Cormac rolled back from his desk, braiding his fingers together behind his head. He was a serious, solemn man, but there was a gleam in his eyes as he watched Marlon. “Why do you care?”
“Just want to see when we can start installing the security system I was talking about yesterday,” Marlon grated, but they both knew it was a lie.
“Hmm.” Cormac watched him. “You sure it has nothing to do with your new roommate? What price did you quote her for the new system?”
“It’s covered,” Marlon answered, taking another deep draught of his coffee. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I always worry about our bottom line.”
Marlon glared, but he knew it was true. He and Cormac had started this company thirteen years ago, and it wouldn’t have been half as successful if Cormac hadn’t been involved. But Marlon didn’t want to get the third-degree grilling he deserved right now, because the truth was, he would pay for Camilla’s new security system himself.
He just couldn’t figure out why he was doing it in the first place.
Okay, that was a lie. He knew exactly why he was doing it: because Camilla tugged on every protective instinct, and he couldn’t stand the thought of her heading to work at five or six o’clock in the morning without some kind of security system to keep her safe. If Marlon had his way, he’d be driving her to work and checking the premises himself.
But that was crazy. He knew it was crazy. He wouldn’t indulge his crazy urges.
Cormac shrugged and rolled back toward his desk. “Whatever. If you’ve got the Winter Fest covered, I’ll start on the quotes for the Goodhew wedding. After what happened this spring, they want their wedding buttoned up tight. You still available to oversee the crew that day?”
Marlon nodded. “Yeah, all good.” He turned back to his computer. He worked, drank coffee, and when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he stalked to the surveillance room where their tech wizard Elton was busy managing two dozen screens. Marlon knocked on the doorframe. “You got a minute?”
Elton tapped on his keyboard and didn’t look over at Marlon when he said, “Yeah. What’s up?”
“Need a new system over at the bakery on Hemlock Drive.”
Elton spun around in his chair and gave Marlon a wide smile. “Is this for your new girlfriend ?” he asked, like he was a teenage boy and not an ex-Army vet.
Marlon scowled. “It’s for a client.”
“A client who lives with you.” Elton wiggled his eyebrows. He had to be the most annoying person Marlon had ever met. Elton was lucky he was a genius with technology, because he was a monumental pain in the ass.
Marlon let those thoughts show in a deep scowl. “How the hell do you know about that?”
Elton just laughed and cracked his knuckles, turning back to his computer. “I have my ways. What are you thinking, boss? The works? Alarm, cameras, audio, 24/7 coverage? We setting it up tonight? Did she give you the keys? I’m guessing you’ll want to put in a new touchpad lock, right? Silent alarm or no?”
Marlon paused.
What—
What was he doing ?
He’d been living with Camilla for mere days, and he was going to jump in and install a full security system for her? For free ? She didn’t need him to swoop in and save the day. A bunch of bored kids had broken her window; it wasn’t the end of the world. Marlon was acting like an overbearing prick.
Camilla owned a business. She had insurance. A vandalized window was a normal hiccup that happened during normal business operations. She’d figure it out.
Marlon was falling into old patterns. He was acting like a savior, a protector. But he didn’t want to be. He didn’t need to be. This reaction was probably some messed-up chemical imbalance caused by the two sleepless nights he’d spent thinking about Camilla lying down only a few rooms over from him. He was just horny, and it was coming out in weird ways.
Marlon straightened. “Actually, forget it,” he told Elton.
“What?”
He was already walking away. “Never mind.”
“So you don’t need the security system?”
“Nah.”
Angry at himself, he ignored Cormac’s curious stare and sat behind his computer to figure out the rest of the Winter Festival roster. Tonight, he’d have a nice, long (or, more likely, short) session with himself and his hand. Once he wasn’t so keyed up and horny, it would fix his brain—and get Camilla out of it.
His phone rang, and he was grateful for the distraction. “Elite Security,” he clipped.
“Hi. I’m calling about a quote I received last week. I’d like to go ahead with the project. My name is Frank Smith, and I asked about your premium alarm system package for my business premises.”
It only took a moment to pull up the quote. “Hi, Mr. Smith. Glad to hear you’d like to proceed. I can schedule you in with our technicians as early as next week. Does Monday work for you?”
“Monday would be great.”
Marlon shoved all thoughts of Camilla aside. These were the types of jobs he should be taking: ones that actually made his business money.