Chapter 7
SEVEN
The only thing that could fix Camilla’s black mood was sugar. Sugar, butter, flour, and chocolate chips. Copious amounts of each one, shaped into humongous, face-sized cookies, filling the house with the scent of happiness. She flew through the front door and called out a, “Hello!” but got only creaks and groans from the old house in response.
Marlon wasn’t home.
That was fine, even if it did send a twinge of disappointment through her gut. It was for the best, really. Camilla needed to brighten her mood before she could face him.
She slammed her grocery bag onto the kitchen counter and got to work. The first thing she did was brown her butter, because that was the secret to complex, delicious chocolate chip cookies. She swirled the pan and inhaled the nutty smell of the foaming butter, and the muscles in her back began to relax.
Her hands moved on their own, through motions that had been practiced a thousand times. Baking was a beautiful mix of precision and art. It called to Camilla’s innate attention to detail, and it had the added benefit of creating something delicious at the end of it all.
It wasn’t exactly eating the baked goods that Camilla loved so much, although she couldn’t deny she had a sweet tooth. It was the whole process of creation that appealed to her. That, and sharing. She loved having other people eat her treats, loved seeing their faces light up.
All her family’s insults about her business, about her eating habits—they ignored precisely what she loved about what she did. She liked giving . She liked feeding people and making them feel at home, even if they were thousands of miles away from it.
Tonight, the only face that would light up would be her own, and that would have to do. She felt more at home here, in a house she’d slept in for only a few nights, than the mansion she’d lived in for the last two years of high school, or the apartment she’d shared with three roommates for years, or the home she’d tried to make with her creepy predator of an ex-boyfriend.
By the time she was folding chocolate chips into her cookie dough and sticking the whole thing in the fridge to chill, Camilla felt calmer.
She was home, and she was baking, and everything was going to be okay. She’d make sure of it.
Then, reconsidering, Camilla opened the fridge right back up again and scooped out enough dough for four palm-sized cookies. They would spread too quickly and wouldn’t have the depth of flavor as the rest of the dough, but tonight was not the time for depth of flavor. Tonight was a time for sugar and comfort.
With the oven preheated and the cookies dropped, Camilla slid the tray into the middle rack and closed the door. Her timer went on, and she started washing the dishes she’d created in her frenzy. She was scraped as raw as her mixing bowl, but she didn’t feel like she was on the edge of a breakdown anymore.
“What am I smelling?” Marlon said behind her.
Turning, Camilla blinked at the sight of the man looming on the other side of the kitchen. Her heart gave a funny little lurch, and she hid it with a smile. “You are smelling pure, uncomplicated joy. Also known as chocolate chip cookies.”
“Never leave,” he blurted. “Don’t ever move out.”
He was joking, but the words still made Camilla’s heart thump. Then she took a breath to compose herself, because that was as good an opening as any. She smoothed her hands down her apron and faced Marlon. “That’s something I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”
He combed his fingers through his hair and opened the fridge to peek inside. “What’s that?”
“With everything going on at the bakery, I was hoping… Would it be okay for me to stay here longer than we’d originally planned? I’ll contribute as much as possible; I promise. Money’s tight right now, but I can do other?—”
“Yeah,” Marlon said, grabbing a container of leftovers from the refrigerator. “Sure.”
Camilla’s teeth clicked shut. She watched him put his food in the microwave, unable to move.
“Sure? As in…you’re okay with me staying here? I might need to stay until the end of the year…maybe even a bit longer…”
He nudged her aside to get to the cutlery drawer. “Stay as long you need,” he said as he closed the drawer. He met her gaze, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “As long as you follow the house rules.”
Relief rushed through Camilla’s veins, quickly followed by a wave of desire. She turned her back on him to fiddle with the kettle on the stove, needing to change the subject. “How was your day?”
She filled the kettle and turned the stove on, keeping her back to him the whole time. The ignition clicked a few times and the gas caught. Finally, she peeked over her shoulder, because she was a weak-willed woman, and she couldn’t resist.
Marlon sank into a chair and tucked into his leftovers. “My day was fine. There were about a dozen fires to put out with various clients, and they all wanted personalized attention. But it all worked out.” He watched as she leaned against the counter, his head tilting. “What’s wrong?”
She straightened. “What?”
“What happened? You look like… I don’t know. Like something’s bothering you.”
“What?” Camilla repeated, forcing out a laugh. “I’m fine.”
He gave her a flat stare. “Something happened. Tell me what it is. Did the cops come back and talk to you about the window? They find who did it?”
Camilla’s pulse jumped. No one could tell when she was upset. She’d crafted a thick, impenetrable armor through years of enduring her family. She painted a bright smile on her face and wore the bubbly persona she was known for, and she dealt with her problems on her own. That’s how things had always been.
But Marlon had seen right through her. He stood up and stalked toward her, and Camilla found herself edging sideways to try to get away.
He caught her against the stove. “Camilla,” he growled. “Talk to me.”
He smelled faintly of sweat and the freshness of the cold outdoors. Camilla gulped, staring at the open collar of his black shirt, and shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
A sigh ruffled the hair at her temple; that’s how close Marlon was to her. He had his hands on the oven handle, and the heat of it warmed the backs of her legs. “Did something happen at the bakery? The windows again?”
She shook her head. “No, the windows are fine. The glazing company is coming out next week to put a new window in. That was no big deal.”
“But…?”
Ugh . He wasn’t going to go away, so she’d better just tell him what was bothering her—part of it, anyway. “I had dinner at my parents’ house. We do it once a month, and it always sucks. Big time.”
“How so?”
She kept staring at his throat, at the coarse hair that grew there, the little hollow at the base. “My sister is a lawyer, my brother is a corporate executive, and my parents love to remind me just how much of a disappointment I am.”
To Camilla’s horror, her voice caught on the last word. She clamped her lips shut and squeezed her eyes closed. Then she forced herself to say, “Tonight, my dad called my business a hobby. He’s trying to set me up with one of his old business associate’s sons.”
The oven handle creaked, and Marlon abruptly let it go. He grunted. “Oh. You like him?”
A strange-sounding laugh fell out of her, caught between a cackle and a sob. “Like him? I don’t even know him! My dad didn’t even tell me his name. He just told me how the guy was related to his old professional life, which is all that ever mattered to the great Dean Fox.” She huffed, pushing the frizzy tendrils of hair stuck to her forehead back up into her messy bun. “It’s like they think that just because I’m not some high-flying businesswoman, I should accept the consolation prize of being a stay-at-home wife for one of their snooty acquaintances. But you better believe they’d have something to say about that too. And you know what? I’d make a great stay-at-home wife. I’d be so freaking good at it, but they would just look down their noses at me anyway. If I ended up having a kid and didn’t ‘bounce back’ within weeks, my mother would never let me eat in her presence again.”
She slapped her hands on her face and tried to reel the words back in. Marlon didn’t need to hear any of this. He didn’t even want her living here, no matter what he said when he smelled cookies baking. He was doing her one massive favor, and she was repaying him by dumping all her childhood baggage on his kitchen floor and insisting that he didn’t invite any other women into his own home.
Now she was being her messy self, and she couldn’t even hide it behind her usual bubbly armor.
“Hey.” His fingers wrapped around her wrists, and he pulled her hands away. He curled a finger beneath her chin and tilted it up. His eyes were steady and serious, and his tongue slipped out to wet his lips. The only place where they touched was his single finger on her chin and a hand wrapped around her wrist, but Camilla felt like she’d been caught by him, and she didn’t want to escape.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”
“Don’t ever apologize for telling me how you feel.” His body angled closer, his finger uncurling to slide down the side of Camilla’s throat. She shivered at the touch, lips parting, coming undone.
Maybe this had started that first evening, when they’d made their silly new rule. Maybe the thought of not sleeping with anyone else—even if it was just within these walls—ignited a new kind of arousal, and that’s why Camilla’s body suddenly felt like it was out of control.
Restriction had bounced back into this violent lust, this wave of desire that threatened to knock her over.
Because she wanted him. She craved him. Her pulse pounded heavily between her legs, an aching beat that demanded release.
As Marlon moved a fraction closer, the heat of his body rivaled that of the stove behind her. His free hand curled over her waist, and she loved how big it felt against her body, how strongly he held her pinned exactly where she was.
“Camilla,” he breathed, lids dropping.
“Don’t talk.” She slid her hands to his biceps. “Please.”
He groaned, then angled his head?—
The smell of something burning jarred Camilla back to the land of rational people. She yelped, then shoved Marlon away with both hands. Then she spun around and tore open the oven door, but the cookies weren’t even fully cooked. What was?—
“Don’t move!”
Marlon whacked her butt with a wet tea towel with the strength of a big, burly, six-foot-four private security consultant. Camilla screeched and jumped like a frightened goat, trying to turn, but Marlon clamped a hand on her shoulder and swatted her with the tea towel until the smell of burned fabric filled the room. Every thump he gave her rattled her body like a rag doll.
This was not what she’d imagined that first morning when she’d slipped her hand between her legs. This was a cruel universe cackling at its awful joke because Marlon spanked her ass with a tea towel, and he definitely wasn’t thinking about sex. Abruptly, he stopped and tore her apron strings apart, then ripped it off her head.
He threw his weapon—if a damp tea towel could be considered a weapon, which Camilla thought it most definitely could—onto the pile of fabric and started stomping.
Then he stood on top of the whole wet, singed mess, turned to her, and glared. “You,” he huffed, “were on fire.”
Camilla did not like his tone. She put her hands on her hips. “And whose fault is that?”
“You could have been hurt, Camilla.”
“Yes, well, maybe next time you manhandle me, don’t shove me up against the open gas flame. Hmm?” Her cheeks were smarting, and her heart still pounded. That was…
They’d almost kissed .
Oh, that would have been a disaster . How could she look him in the face after they kissed? And why would he want to…how…
Her eyes narrowed. “Is this because we made the no-overnight-guests rule? You can’t go three days without sex, so you thought you’d try your luck with me?”
Marlon stared at her, neck corded with tense muscle, eyes flashing dangerously. “You think I wanted to kiss you because you happen to be the only convenient option? Is that honestly what’s going on in your head right now? You’re smarter than that, Camilla.”
He seemed…angry. But Camilla had had a very rough couple of days, and she was sick of feeling pushed around. Not to mention she’d almost just caught fire, which was horrific enough on its own. But the way he was looking at her made her feel like a rabbit caught in a snare.
She lifted her chin. “Well, what else am I supposed to think? Maybe we should rescind the rule. Go forth and fornicate, my friend. You seem like you need it. Just keep the dirty thongs out of the couch cushions.”
He rounded on her, caging her against the kitchen counter. A dangerous glint lit his eyes. “I don’t need to rescind anything, sweetheart. If anyone seems wound up, it’s you.” He inched ever so slightly closer, his voice dropping. “I’m not letting another man take care of that problem while you’re staying under my roof.”
That sounded like a promise. That sounded like Marlon wanted to take care of that problem himself. Camilla’s breath caught, but she lifted her chin and lied: “I’m completely fine.”
“You practically dragged me forward and mauled my face, you wanted me so badly.”
“Now you’re just making things up.”
“If you need some alone time with the shower head, you go right ahead. I’ll wait down here until you’re done.”
“Don’t be crass, Marlon. Unless you need some alone time in the shower, in which case I’ll wait. What do you need? Thirty, thirty-five seconds?”
He barked out a laugh, his body crowding hers. Warmth bled all down Camilla’s front, and she pretended it was only because of his body heat and not because of the lust going off like sparklers in her veins.
She had almost mauled his face. In fact, she wanted to do it right now. His beard would abrade her skin. His big hands would coast over her body, claiming it for his own. She could nearly get herself off just thinking about it. Desire gnawed at the edges of her stomach, her hunger for him entering a new stage.
But Marlon pushed off the counter when the kettle started whistling. He turned the burner off, then Camilla’s timer began to ring. She busied herself removing the cookies from the oven and kept her eyes far, far away from Marlon’s.
Marlon could still taste chocolate chip cookies when he closed the door to his bedroom. Scrubbing his face, he let out a long breath. Every time he was away from Camilla, he’d berate himself about falling into old patterns. But the minute he’d see her face, all that would melt away and all he wanted to do was care for her.
Well. That wasn’t all he wanted to do, unless screwing her until they both lost their minds counted as caring for the woman.
Their new house rule was redundant, because Marlon hadn’t thought of any other woman since the moment Leo had arranged for her to live here in this house. He wanted her desperately. Anytime she moved, or spoke, or laughed, Marlon twisted himself into knots to stop himself from pouncing on her.
He was glad she was staying longer than she’d anticipated. He’d only been half-kidding when he told her to never leave.
Waking up to Camilla in his kitchen, humming to herself in her frilly little apron, was the sweetest thing he’d ever experienced. It made him hard as stone to see her glance over her shoulder and smile at him, her apron strings tied into a big, floppy bow at the base of her spine.
He needed to get her a new apron. Her old one was singed beyond repair. Maybe one day, she’d wear it for him with nothing else underneath. He could bend her over the kitchen counter and have her in her floral, ruffly apron while something delicious baked in the oven. Closing his eyes, Marlon let out a long breath.
He couldn’t pretend this was just some innate protective instinct anymore. This was something utterly different.
A noise interrupted his thoughts. Marlon paused, still standing inside his bedroom door, and tried to place it. It was faint. Buzzing? Murmuring?
He opened his door and the noise got louder. Definitely buzzing. Marlon glanced at the bathroom, but it was empty. So it wasn’t Camilla’s electric toothbrush. He paused and listened—and realized the noise was coming from Camilla’s room.
All the blood in Marlon’s body rushed to his groin so fast he nearly fell over. Lightheaded, he braced himself on the hallway wall and heaved a breath just in time to hear a faint, barely-there whimper. The buzzing got louder.
She had a vibrator, and she was using it just a few feet away from him.
Marlon’s zipper gave way to his insistent tugs. He had his pants around his thighs so fast, he had to waddle into the open bathroom to lock himself inside. From there, he could just hear the buzzing coming from Camilla’s room through the paper-thin wall that separated them. For once, Marlon was grateful for the old house, for all its noises and creaks and lack of soundproofing.
He had his hand around his cock before he could think better of it. The thought of Camilla with her legs spread on her bed, rubbing that vibrator over her clit, shoving it inside…
The softest, faintest noise reached his ears, like she’d gasped or tried to hold back a moan. Maybe she had moaned and the wall had muffled it. Maybe she was thinking about him right now. Thinking about what could have happened in the kitchen with him.
He jerked himself off faster, wishing he had the right to open her door and join her. Wishing it was him holding that toy, torturing her, watching her cheeks flush pink as he brought her to orgasm.
Cock hard as stone and rational mind down for the count, Marlon imagined Camilla spread-eagle for him, under him, on her hands and knees before him, bouncing on top of him. A thousand images flicked through his mind. He imagined how her lips would look wrapped around his cock. Imagined how she’d tug his hair when he licked her pussy. Imagined her riding his face while he grabbed big handfuls of her beautiful thighs.
Biting back a groan of his own, he grabbed a washcloth just in time. His orgasm was as violent as it was sudden, tearing his body into pieces where he stood. Blinking, he came back to himself and realized he was standing in the middle of his bathroom with his pants at his knees, his chest heaving in big, violent gasps. A thin sheen of sweat covered him, and his muscles felt loose and tired.
The buzzing had stopped.
Marlon took another shuddering breath and turned on the shower.