Chapter 10
TEN
“A sex famine,” Scarlett cackled. “And it’s your own fault.”
Camilla lay on the gym’s exercise mats in a puddle of her own sweat. She groaned, not able to look her friends in the eyes. Her four-times-weekly bootcamp sessions had moved indoors when the weather cooled, but they hadn’t gotten any easier. Chet the personal trainer had a sadistic streak. He was over there, laughing and joking with other bootcamp members like he hadn’t just spent the last forty minutes tormenting them all with a big smile on his face.
Camilla sat up and scowled at the trainer, then turned to Lucy and Scarlett, who were in fits of giggles beside her.
“It’s not that funny.”
“Girl, just get your vibrator out and go to town,” Scarlett said, motioning in the general area of her crotch. “Take care of business.”
“You think I haven’t done that?” Camilla answered darkly. “I’m going to wear the damn thing out.”
She remembered the way Marlon had pressed her against the wall, the way he’d kissed her like he’d been dying to do it all week. She could still feel his hands on her body. And the way he’d stopped—like he liked the thought of denying her the pleasure—had brought her to orgasm three times since yesterday afternoon. She’d needed it. She was losing her mind.
Camilla sat up. “I need to get home and shower. We’re prepping, priming, and painting so we’re ready to pick up the furniture next weekend.”
Lucy turned on her side and propped her head on her hand. “So…what’s going on there?”
“I told you. I’m helping him redecorate his living room.”
Scarlett and Lucy exchanged a look. Lucy pursed her lips. “Hmm.”
“Maybe we should call Amelia,” Scarlett suggested.
“Amelia is on her honeymoon. Why would we call her?” Camilla knew she sounded shrill, but she hadn’t been able to help it. “We don’t need to bother her.”
“Wouldn’t Leo want to know what his brother is up to?” Scarlett wiggled her eyebrows. “Marlon did push you up against the wall and kiss you when he’s supposed to be housing you.”
“His brother isn’t up to anything,” Camilla grated out, which was a blatant lie. “We should just let Leo and Amelia enjoy their first couple weeks of marriage. Yesterday was just… I don’t know what it was.”
“Amelia sent me a picture of her hotel room, and her laptop was out on the desk. I saw a spreadsheet on the screen,” Lucy said, eyes glimmering. “If she has time for data analysis, she has time to learn that one of her besties is engaging in some questionable behavior with her new brother-in-law.”
“I’m going home.” Camilla stood and glared at her friends, who fell into another spasm of laughter. Scarlett hooted so loudly Chet looked over with that gleam in his eyes that said he wanted to prescribe more burpees. The sadist.
“Enjoy your ‘renovations.’” Lucy wiggled her eyebrows as she put the last word in finger quotes.
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Scarlett sat up on her elbows, grinning.
“I hate you,” Camilla lied, then stomped out of the gym.
The drive home gave her time to prepare herself. Yesterday had thrown her for a loop. She couldn’t stop thinking about Marlon’s hands. Marlon’s lips. The insistent press of Marlon’s cock against her stomach.
It was a terrible idea to get involved with him. Or, rather, get more involved with him.
He’d used that house rule like a weapon yesterday, and Camilla had nearly melted into a puddle right there on the living room floor. She wanted Marlon with an intensity she’d never experienced before.
But maybe it was a good thing they’d stopped. Maybe the rule could serve as a desperately needed handbrake, because obviously her body was completely out of control.
Her mind, thankfully, was still partially operational. Camilla knew that these next few weeks were crucial. She couldn’t afford distractions or slip-ups. Her business was on the line.
What if she followed her lust, got caught up in Marlon, and let sales slip the tiniest bit at the bakery? She’d lose everything.
Now was the time to focus on her business, her debt, and her future. Men shouldn’t be part of the equation, especially not when they held the keys to her temporary home.
The risks of getting involved with Marlon were just too high. Their kiss had rocked her world, and she’d nearly had an orgasm from him playing with her breasts, but that was as far as things would go until her life was more stable.
Even though it really did feel like she was ravenous—and not for food.
She opened the front door to the smell of coffee. Down the hallway, through the open kitchen door, she saw Marlon moving around the space. He wore plaid pajama pants and a white tee. His feet were bare. Her heart gave a sharp squeeze.
It was a lot easier to tell herself to stay away from Marlon when she wasn’t in the same house as him.
“Morning,” she called out, then dumped her gym bag by the console table at the front door. She walked to the kitchen and smiled when Marlon handed her a cup of coffee. It was in the polka-dot mug, which she’d started thinking of as hers.
But the mug wasn’t hers, she reminded herself. None of Marlon’s stuff was. She needed to stay focused on what was important. Business. Life. Stability. Independence.
“How’d you sleep?” Marlon stirred the oatmeal he was cooking on the stove.
“Like the dead,” Camilla replied. “I was so tired after all the work we did yesterday.” And she made herself orgasm until she passed out, but she wasn’t going to mention that out loud.
Marlon’s laugh was warm, his eyes glimmering like he might be reading her thoughts. He tipped his head toward the living room. “Ready to get back to it?”
She groaned theatrically, which made Marlon chuckle harder.
“Food first,” he said, which proved that he might indeed be the perfect man.
Sipping her coffee, Camilla took a seat at the kitchen table and watched him cook. This was another reason not to get involved with the man: She loved these moments. She’d never felt at home as much as she did right here, at the kitchen table, with her polka-dot mug in her hands and Marlon at the stove.
This one little vignette was everything she’d ever wanted from her life, as simple and unambitious as that might be. A warm kitchen, beautiful scents, comfortable company. A home—and, if she were honest with herself, a family.
“I think we can get the moldings on the walls, get everything primed, and get the first coat of paint down,” Marlon said. “We might have to wait until next weekend to do the lighting. I can get one of the electricians from my company to help us with the chandelier.”
“Sounds good.” Camilla smiled as he put a bowl of oatmeal down in front of her. He brought mix-ins to the table—fresh berries, brown sugar, cream—then took a seat at his chair across from Camilla. She dressed her oats and took a bite, sighing in contentment.
It had only been a week since Camilla had moved in, but their routine was quickly becoming precious to her. Maybe this was why her body was confused. She’d never had this kind of companionship with anyone before. Not with her family, not with any previous partner, not with friends. She’d always been the one to take care of others. She baked, she cooked, she took care of her home and her business.
No one ever took care of her .
Her first boyfriend—the one she’d dated when she was still a teen—had treated her like little more than a live-in maid and walking vagina. She hadn’t moved in with a boyfriend since.
But Marlon didn’t wait for her to make breakfast. If he was up first, he’d have her cup next to the coffee maker, just like she’d do for him. He cooked and cleaned up after himself. He picked her up from work when he said he would.
No wonder the man turned her on. He was the only person in her life who’d ever bothered to care for her.
But Camilla needed to leash her wayward impulses. There was too much on the line to throw it away over some famine-induced horniness and a few thoughtful favors. Was the bar really that low? A man could make his own coffee and wipe down the counters after he cooked, and Camilla was ready to fall on the ground with her legs wide open?
Ridiculous. She needed to focus on what was important.
So, after she finished her breakfast, Camilla took a deep breath and lifted her gaze to his. “Marlon,” she started. “I’d like to talk about something.”
He took a sip of coffee and nodded, his face solemn. “Okay.”
“I’m attracted to you,” she blurted. “Very attracted to you.”
His expression didn’t noticeably shift, but it did become more intense. “But…?”
“But it’s really not a good time for me to get involved with anyone. You’ve opened your home to me, and the last thing I want to do is mess that up. If we start adding sex into the equation and things turn sour between us, I’d never forgive myself. Things are…complicated right now.”
There was a pause. “I understand,” Marlon answered slowly.
Camilla’s throat felt tight. The oatmeal sat in her stomach like a lump. She hated having these kinds of conversations, but her life was already a rickety roller coaster. She couldn’t add a relationship right now, however casual—or not—that relationship might be. “There’s a lot going on at the bakery. I have a...deadline coming up, and I can’t afford to mess up.”
Brows furrowing slightly, Marlon tilted his head to study her. “What kind of deadline? The Goodhew wedding?”
“Um, yeah.” She shouldn’t have mentioned the deadline at all, but the fact that she had was just more proof of how frazzled she’d become around Marlon. “I just really need to focus.”
A deep nod. “Okay. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable yesterday. That wasn’t my intention.”
“You didn’t.” She gave an awkward laugh. “I…I wanted to kiss you. But it’s not a good time for me.”
Marlon seemed like he wanted to say something more, but he let out a huff and relaxed in his chair. “This is what rules are for, I guess. This should be a sex-free zone.”
Camilla huffed, surprised. The tension melted from the air as they got up to clear the dishes. When she shut the door to the dishwasher, she bumped Marlon’s shoulder, and he bumped hers back. Then they got to work.
By noon, they’d installed the moldings, sanded and cleaned the walls, and put down drop cloths. Camilla set out a paint tray and watched Marlon pour silky white primer into the plastic dish. Dipping a paint brush into the primer, Camilla started on the corners, moldings, and edges while Marlon loaded the roller up with white.
“How does it feel to be redecorating your grandparents’ place?” Camilla asked after a few minutes of quiet work.
Marlon let out a hum. “Feels good. Like a fresh start.”
“Good. I was worried I pushed you into this.”
“I think I needed the push.” He looked over at her with a hint of a smile on his face. He had a bit of primer in his beard, and Camilla smothered the urge to walk over and wipe it off. “I think I get too comfortable leaving things as they are.”
“But you run your own business,” Camilla pointed out. “You can’t do that without pushing yourself out of your comfort zone at least a little. Ask me how I know.”
Marlon hummed as he dipped the roller into the tray once more. “True. Business seems different somehow. Maybe because I can leave it behind when I come home.”
“I had the opposite experience. When I started the bakery, I was living in a literal closet under the stairs in a house full of college kids. It was the only room I could afford. The bakery became my refuge.”
“You couldn’t live at home?”
Camilla let out a bitter snort. “I moved out when I was seventeen. My parents didn’t approve of culinary school, so I was on my own from then on. Moving home would have meant giving up my chosen career path.” She grabbed the stepladder to start on the top corners where the walls met the ceiling.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished.”
“You should be,” he told her, and his words made Camilla’s chest warm.
He’d moved closer, so he was rolling the wall right beside her. Camilla glanced over from the top of the stepladder and was struck by the color of his eyes, the line of his jaw, the powerful muscles moving under his tee. He was a gorgeous man, and he looked at her like he meant what he said. He admired her for what she’d achieved.
She wanted to share something else with him. She wanted this connection between them to grow. So, before she could hold back, Camilla said, “It was hard. I made a lot of mistakes, so I don’t want you to think I was some kind of success right out of the gate.”
He hummed and dipped his roller in the tray again. “What kind of mistakes?”
Where to begin? “I dated a guy pretty soon after I moved out. We moved in together within a few weeks of knowing each other, and it…wasn’t good. It took me a long time to figure out he wasn’t the knight in shining armor I thought he was.”
The roller moved along the wall, and Marlon’s body moved with liquid grace. He kept his eyes on his work, but he was frowning. “Why’d you move in with him so quickly?”
Camilla glanced at the wall and kept moving her paintbrush along the edges where the roller wouldn’t reach. She hadn’t talked about her ex in a long time, and she worried that Marlon would judge her. In a way, it was easier to talk as they worked side by side, not looking at each other. After a moment, the words came. “I was basically homeless, and he offered me a place to stay.” She grimaced. “Which seems to be a theme in my life, now that I think about it.”
The roller paused. Marlon glanced over. “Yesterday, did you feel”—he cleared his throat—“did you feel like you had to say yes to me because you’re staying here?”
“Oh!” Camilla exclaimed. “No! Not at all. It’s different now. I’m not entirely homeless; I have options.” Even if one of them was just an air mattress on the bakery floor. She gave him a wry smile. “You just happen to be the best one of a bad lot.”
Marlon snorted, and tension drained out of his shoulders. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”
A laugh fell from Camilla’s lips. She was mangling this conversation, but neither of them seemed bothered by it. “I was young: only seventeen. He was in his mid-twenties. I know now that he was preying on me because I was vulnerable and naive. I worked part-time and managed to get some loans, and he somehow persuaded me to deposit almost all that money into his bank account. He had me convinced I’d mess up my finances if I managed them myself, and that he could make better decisions for the two of us. Of course, now I know he just wanted my cash. He wanted to control me.”
Camilla’s throat grew tight. This stupid loan was the last vestige of her old life. It was the last bad decision she’d made, and she couldn’t wait to be free of it. She’d fought so hard to get to where she was with her bakery, her career. She clung to her independence like a lifeline.
In Camilla’s experience, that’s exactly what it was.
“How’d you get out?” Marlon’s voice was low, and there was no judgment in it; maybe that’s what was so comfortable about speaking to him.
“I finally opened up to one of my mentors at work, the first job I got after culinary school. She was this silver-haired hardass who’d worked in restaurants all her life, and I broke down sobbing in front of her. I thought she’d fire me for sure, but she just bundled me up and brought me to her house. She gave me five hundred dollars and said under no circumstances was I to pay her back, and she sat beside me while I opened a new bank account and had my pay diverted to it. Then she got a couple of the guys in the kitchen to come with me to get my stuff from my ex’s house, and that was it. I lived with her for a year and a half. I had to change my phone number because he wouldn’t stop pestering me, but he eventually moved on.”
“Strong woman,” Marlon said.
“I’ll tell you what,” Camilla answered, huffing, “I felt the furthest thing from strong at the time. Took me a long, long time to date again. I haven’t moved in with a boyfriend since. If anyone asks me about my finances, I get my back up.”
Maybe that’s why she hadn’t told her friends about the loan. It was part shame, part misplaced self-preservation. There were parts of Camilla’s life that felt wrong to share. After she’d got back on her feet and moved out of her mentor’s house, she vowed never to rely on anyone again.
“I don’t think being strong and feeling strong necessarily go hand in hand,” Marlon said. “You asked for help. You got out. You’ve built a life for yourself despite all the ways you’ve been mistreated. The fact that it was difficult just proves how strong you truly are.”
Camilla had to focus very, very hard on her paintbrush, because her eyesight had gone blurry. Her voice was rough when she said, “Thank you.”
Their eyes met for a long moment. From the top of the stepladder, Camilla was a few inches taller than Marlon. It would be so easy to lean over and press her lips to his. She could forget about her hesitations and let her desires take over.
They could work out the tension buzzing between them, give in to temptation. Sex with Marlon would be so good; she already knew it.
But Camilla had so much on her plate. She had to pay Frankie Smith. She had to keep her business afloat. She had to make sure she had a place to live. How would she feel if they slept together, and then it all fell apart?
Marlon seemed to come to the same conclusion, because he let out a breath. “We should keep painting,” he said, but there was a question in his eyes.
Camilla nodded and forced herself to look away from him. Her hands only trembled a bit when she brought the paintbrush back up to the wall.
That night, when her vibrator ran out of batteries, she nearly put a hole in the wall when she flung it across her bedroom in frustration.