Chapter 9
NINE
On Saturday, they started by cleaning out the living room. Once it was empty of Marlon’s grandmother’s knickknacks, the curtains were down, and all the furniture was moved out, Marlon stood in the center of the room and felt a weight lift off his shoulders.
Camilla came barreling into the room with a tape measure in one hand and her phone in the other. Her hair was tied up in another messy bun, and she had a green, paisley-patterned scarf wrapped around her hairline. It was tied in a big floppy bow on top of her head, and it matched the green top she had on with her jeans. Every beautiful curve was highlighted by her clothes, and Marlon thought he wouldn’t survive the weekend if she looked like that the whole time.
“Okay. First things first, we prep. We’ll have to sand everything down…” She frowned at the ceiling, then squinted at Marlon. “And you can do the ceiling because you’re tall and to be completely honest with you, my arms get tired when I blow-dry my hair. There’s no way they’ll make it through sanding a whole ceiling. Do you have a stepladder?”
“Sure do.” He led Camilla to the garage, where they hunted through his tools and made a list of what was missing. They had to make a pit stop at the hardware store, and Marlon got to enjoy watching Camilla march through the aisles, get distracted by paint chips, then refocus herself on what they needed.
“You want to buy the paint while we’re here?” Marlon asked, peering over her shoulder to see the colors she’d chosen.
She tilted her head from side to side. “Maybe we can get samples and put swatches on the walls. Oh! We should look at the light switch plates. Can’t leave those old yellow ones if we’re updating everything else.” She was off like a shot to the electrical aisle, and Marlon could do nothing but follow. She waved at one of the employees working in the plant nursery out back. “Hi Bill!”
“Mornin’! Not baking today?”
“Nope! Today, we’re renovating,” she replied, lifting the basket holding all their items and smiling as they passed. Bill grinned at her, then glanced at Marlon and nodded.
How many times had Marlon been to this hardware store, and he’d never learned Bill’s name? He’d lived in this town his whole life, and it was only as he watched Camilla interact with people that he realized how completely he’d kept himself apart. After his grandparents died, he’d isolated himself. Up until a week or so ago, he’d thought that was the best decision of his life. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Back at the house, they scrubbed and sanded and worked beside each other until Camilla’s stomach growled so loudly he heard it from across the room. She laughed and looked down at her midsection. “I need food.”
“How about in honor of my grandmother, I make us her famous grilled chicken sandwiches?”
Camilla beamed. “I would love that.”
Warmth spread through Marlon’s chest. He nodded, happy to be able to share something of his past with Camilla. They went to the kitchen. Above the fridge, he’d stashed his grandmother’s old recipes. The books were covered in dust, and way at the back was the box where she’d kept her handwritten recipe cards.
Camilla gasped when she saw it all, touching the books with soft, admiring strokes. “These are amazing.”
“I haven’t looked at them in a long time. Shoved them up there after the funeral and haven’t taken them down since.”
Camilla’s brows arched, her face full of sympathy. “Is it okay that we’re doing this? I don’t want to cause any bad feelings.”
Sinking down in the chair next to hers, Marlon shook his head. “It’s nice. I should have pulled these recipes down a long time ago. She used to make the most amazing carrot cake. I’d ask for it for every birthday.” He flicked through the handwritten cards until he found it. “Here.”
Camilla inspected the card and hummed. “This looks good. Did she have a frosting recipe?”
“Yeah. Here. I remember the smell of it.” He glanced at the old oven and smiled. “It was so exciting to come home from school, walk in the door, get hit with all the spices, and know that she’d made it for me.” Chuckling, he shook his head. “God, I forgot about that. My grandpa hated carrot cake, but he’d always have a bite. He said it was bad luck not to eat your grandkids’ birthday cakes. Sometimes I thought he was pretending he hated it just to make a big production out of taking a bite. He always finished his slice.”
Suddenly, Marlon felt choked up. He huffed and busied himself flicking through the recipe cards until he found the grilled chicken recipe, which included a quick marinade and homemade mayo, only pausing when he felt Camilla’s hand on his arm.
She smiled at him, and they didn’t need to speak. In that moment, he knew that she understood him in a way no one else ever had. She knew what it was like to be alone, to not have family to turn to. How you could cling to small moments for years and years.
Suddenly, being alone seemed like a lot worse proposition than being with her.
Holding her gaze, another bit of his heart thawed out. Then she leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck. She hugged him tight for a few long moments, until Marlon took a long, shuddering breath.
He pulled away and waved the recipe card. “I’d better get started.”
“Can I help?”
“Sure.”
They cooked, ate, and talked about childhood memories. He told Camilla about the time he’d tried to bake a cake for his grandmother’s birthday and nearly burned the house down. The fire department had come, and he’d gotten to ride in the fire engine’s cab.
“Not a bad outcome,” Camilla joked. “Maybe you planned it that way.”
“I was a Machiavellian nine-year-old.”
She laughed at that, and Marlon’s cheeks creased in response. They headed back to the living room and tried the swatches of paint on the wall, which, to Marlon, looked like pale beige, slightly darker pale beige, and slightly more gray pale beige.
“Definitely this one,” Camilla said, pointing to the third. “I don’t even need it to dry down. The other ones are way too warm if you want to go with the couch we saw online last night. We’ll know for sure tomorrow when we see it in person. Pictures can be deceiving.”
He stared at the three squares of paint. “Sounds good to me, although they all look pretty similar.”
Camilla gasped theatrically. “Next you’ll tell me that all my lipsticks look the same.”
He grinned, moving toward her. He couldn’t stop himself. It was like their bodies were magnets, pulling them ever closer. “Maybe you should put them on your lips and show me, and we’ll find out.” His chest brushed hers as he crowded her against the wall. His hands found their way to the hollow of her waist, settling right where her body flared out at the hip. She was so beautiful. So soft and sweet and perfect.
“You got a thing for lipstick, huh? Might change your mind if you saw my black lip. Not sure you’d like Goth Camilla.”
Hard as rock and aching for her, Marlon inhaled the scent of her skin. She blinked up at him with those wide blue eyes, and Marlon was lost—or maybe this was what it felt like to be found again after twenty years spent gasping through the desert of his life.
“Any color you paint your lips would look good on you, Camilla.”
Her hands settled on his upper chest, two small points of contact that seemed to burn through his shirt. “That just tells me you don’t know anything about lipstick.”
Lips kicking up at the corners, he leaned in. “Maybe you should teach me.”
Nudging her face up with a touch of his nose, Marlon closed the distance between them. Her lips were pillowy soft, and they parted so sweetly for him. He didn’t deserve her. Not someone so gentle. So tender. So perfect. But he still kissed her and couldn’t bring himself to regret it.
When she curled her hands into his shoulders and arched her body against his, the final threads of his control snapped. Marlon crushed her against him and deepened the kiss, banding one arm around her back and using the other to tilt her head. He tore her headband off and threaded his fingers through her hair, drawing a breathless gasp from her lips. Her eyes fluttered as her body turned pliant in his arms.
Made for him—she was made for his touch, for his kiss.
“Marlon,” she gasped.
“Don’t tell me to stop,” he pleaded, letting his beard rasp against her cheek, her neck. He kissed a trail down her soft, soft skin, inhaling the scent that clung there. She smelled so good it didn’t even make sense. Her hands curled into his shoulders, grasped his hair, tugged.
He loved the way she towed him back up to meet her lips. Loved the demanding way she pulled at his hair and positioned him how she wanted him. He wrapped his arms around her and obliged.
Losing himself in a kiss wasn’t something Marlon had ever done. He’d never touched a woman and felt electrified the way he did at that moment. He’d never felt his soul let out a gasping sigh, like he’d finally found the missing piece.
Tearing himself away from Camilla’s lips, Marlon realized he had her pinned to the wall with his hips. Her eyes were wild and hazy with desire. His hard cock was pressed against the soft flesh of her stomach, and her hands clung to his shoulders as they both panted, wild-eyed.
Camilla’s head fell back against the wall with a soft thump. Her hips made tiny, almost imperceptible circles toward him as her nails dug into his shoulders, then slipped down to grip his biceps.
“There’s something in the air in this house, Marlon. You need to get it checked out.”
“What do you mean?” He kissed her jaw, his hand sweeping up to cup her breast.
“I mean I’ve never been this horny in my life. It’s like I’m starving. You need to check the batteries in your carbon monoxide detector.”
Fierce, intense pleasure nearly drowned him. He felt his lips curl as his hand plumped her breast, his fingers brushing her nipple through her clothes. “I don’t think that’s the house’s fault, sweetheart.”
A delicate shiver coursed through her body, and he teased her nipple once more to watch it happen again. Then he kissed her long and deep.
“What are we doing?” she whispered when his mouth moved to her neck.
“We’re making out.”
She huffed a laugh. “Right. I meant in a more philosophical sense.”
“I’m beyond philosophy right now, Camilla.” He yanked her shirt up and she lifted her arms to help him. Then he groaned at the sight of her generous breasts cupped in white lace. “Way, way beyond philosophy.”
Marlon wrenched the bra down to her waist, cupped her breast, and took her nipple into his mouth. She let out a gasping moan, her hands tangling into the hair at the back of his head to hold him there. He was being too rough. He had her pinned to the wall and he was devouring her body like a savage, but he couldn’t stop. Her skin tasted like heaven. Her tits were fucking beautiful. Her body was made to be worshipped.
“Marlon,” she sighed.
The sound of his name on her lips brought him back down to earth. He loved the sound of it, but suddenly he realized where he was. What he was doing. Who he was doing it to. He straightened, chest heaving, his hands still shaping and stroking her breasts. “You okay?”
Her eyes were lazy with pleasure. She nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
Sucking down a deep breath, Marlon tried to make sense of his thoughts. He wanted Camilla so badly he was ready to toss everything aside and take her right up against the living room wall. But she was Venus riding out of the sea on a scallop shell. She was a Renaissance painting. She deserved a feather bed covered in scattered rose petals, not a hard fuck up against a dusty wall.
And if they had sex, what did that mean for the future? They still had to live together for weeks. Would they be dating? Would he have to take care of her? Would she expect more?
But…maybe he could just have one more taste of her peaked, pink nipples. Maybe he could kiss her for just a minute longer. Maybe he could press his thigh between her legs and feel her grind against it and let out those sweet, breathless whimpers?—
Stop . He needed to stop. Grasping onto the only lifeline he could find, Marlon rasped, “We’re breaking the rules.”
Camilla blinked, and her brows drew together.
“This is supposed to be a sex-free zone,” Marlon continued, his body still pressed against hers.
Her eyes flared, surprising him. She let out a shuddering breath.
She bit her lip, her hands kneading his shoulders. And Marlon realized their silly house rule was turning her on . She liked this tension, this teasing. She’d told him just a few minutes ago that she’d never been as horny as she was since she’d moved in.
Lust slammed into him like a freight train. This woman was made for him, Marlon was sure of it, but he wasn’t ready to take the next step with her. She’d want too much from him—or maybe he’d be too eager to give it to her. It killed him, but he had to stop. For his own sake.
He pulled himself back together and scooped her bra back where it was supposed to be. His thumbs brushed the soft flesh above the bra’s lacy edge as Camilla’s eyes fluttered shut.
If she liked being teased, he could hold back a little bit longer. He could let their craving reach another peak. It would give him time to figure out if he was ready to go there with her, to face the consequences of opening himself up to this woman more than he already had.
“You’re evil,” she complained when he dropped his hands from her breasts. She scowled at him, cheeks red. “And you’re right. It’s not the house’s fault.”
He let out a low chuckle and nearly threw their rule book out the window. Instead, he picked her shirt up off the floor and kissed her while he pressed it into her hands.
They hadn’t quite crossed the line. Not yet. But as her blue eyes met his, Marlon knew he was getting very, very close.