Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
They slept in their own rooms, and Camilla woke up feeling like a pit had opened in her stomach, an aching hunger that couldn’t be sated with food.
She still tried, though. She baked muffins and ate two of them piping-hot before hearing the first rush of water upstairs that told her that Marlon was awake.
They shuffled around each other as Camilla’s skin heated. A brush of his hand on her lower back was enough to make her pant, but all Marlon gave her was a curl of his lips and a chaste kiss on the forehead.
“See you tonight,” he said, and then he was gone before her brain could form words.
This was getting out of control. Shaking her head, Camilla finished getting ready and headed to the bakery. She was happy to see a bustling early crowd, with the espresso machine hissing and a line forming at the counter. Tying her apron on, Camilla painted a bright smile on her face and joined her staff behind the counter to help serve customers.
She’d let Frankie intimidate her on Friday, but she wasn’t broken. If he insisted on extorting ten thousand bucks from her, she’d pay him off then tell him to go to hell.
When the rush had died down, Camilla headed to the back and settled at one of the workstations at the cooler end of the kitchen, away from the ovens. She brought up a picture of Fred and Nadia’s cake topper and got to work crafting a placeholder out of modeling chocolate. Fred’s employee had sent over detailed photos and measurements for that exact purpose. Once she had the topper replica, she could get a sense of scale, and she could finalize the design of the rest of the cake.
She didn’t need to do this, but having a visual reference helped her plan the rest of the design. Also, she enjoyed it. Was it so bad to do things she enjoyed? What was the point of life otherwise? (Conveniently, this line of reasoning could be used for what had transpired the day before as well.)
Fred and Nadia’s cake was quite a bit more effort than a standard wedding cake, but Camilla knew that Fred Goodhew’s recommendation held weight in Stirling and beyond. This job was huge, not just for her money problems but for the future of her business. She wouldn’t mess it up.
After a couple of hours of detail work with the replica, Camilla stretched her back and wandered to the front of the bakery to see how things were going. The sounds of happy conversation filled the warm space, and Camilla felt a rush of pride.
She’d built this. She’d done it. On her own.
Frankie Smith couldn’t take that away from her, however much he tried. She’d find some way to end this; she had to.
“Hey, girl!” Amelia pushed the door open and smiled at Camilla. “You got time to have a coffee with me?”
Camilla smiled. “Of course.”
They settled at one of the bakery tables while Ben prepared their drinks, and Amelia gave Camilla an amused look. “So,” she started, and Camilla knew what was coming. “You and Marlon, huh.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Amelia cackled like a villain crowing over her evil plans. “Sure you don’t.”
“This is a bit hypocritical of you, isn’t it? You weren’t exactly forthcoming when you and Leo were circling each other.”
Amelia wiggled her left hand to make her ring glint. “And look at me now.”
Camilla pursed her lips, but it was mostly to hide her smile. Ben appeared with their drinks, bringing over a small plate with two cookies on it as well. “I’m going to take my lunch break,” he told Camilla. “You good with that?”
“Of course.” She smiled at him.
“Welcome back, Amelia,” Ben said, then padded out through the kitchen door with a wave. He and Amelia had become friendlier in the past few months, often having long conversations about computer- and data-related things Camilla didn’t have a hope of understanding.
Amelia sighed happily. “Look at this place, Camilla. You’re doing so well. I can’t believe it.”
Camilla felt her smile tighten. How would her friends react if they knew about the ten-thousand-dollar noose wrapped around her neck? Camilla was sure they’d be supportive—they might even offer to contribute—but shame held her tongue. Shame, and self-preservation. She was fiercely private about her finances ever since her ex had taken advantage of her. Even mentioning anything about money made her palms sweat.
Plus, if she told them, what if word got back to her family? She’d be fielding phone calls and criticisms for the rest of her life. Her father might even start openly opposing her bakery, and what if that affected her business?
It was easier to deal with her problems on her own and be done with it. She was so close.
She forced herself to relax. “It’s been going well. I think the broken window actually brought more people in. I’ve had so many people tell me they want to support local businesses.”
“That, and your food is amazing,” Amelia said, nabbing one of the cookies from the plate between them.
Camilla grinned. “That too.”
“I bet Marlon agrees as well.” Amelia’s eyes glimmered. “And don’t think I’m going to get distracted away from that topic. Scarlett and Lucy are on the way over, and you’re going to start from the beginning to catch me up. I can’t believe you didn’t call me the first time you kissed him!”
Camilla’s face grew hot. “You were on your honeymoon. I wasn’t going to bother you with trivialities.”
“Kissing my brother-in-law is not trivial, Camilla.”
Neither was mutual masturbation, but Camilla wasn’t going to mention that detail right now.
She took a sip of her drink. “You’re not mad, are you?”
Amelia snorted. “Are you kidding? We could be sisters!”
“Okay, although I love that thought, I feel the need to point out that Marlon and I aren’t serious. We just fooled around a bit, that’s all.” But why did that feel like such a lie when it crossed her lips?
Amelia’s arched brow disagreed. “Mm-hmm,” she hummed, skeptical. “And you’re now the type that just ‘fools around,’ are you? How long have I known you?”
Camilla huffed. “Okay. So, there’s something there. But I’m busy! He’s busy! And he opened his house to me for free. I can’t mess that up.”
The door opened behind Amelia, and their two other friends breezed in. Scarlett, brown hair tumbling out of her black beanie, ran over and threw her arms around Amelia’s shoulders. “I missed you!”
Lucy hugged her from the other side. “Tell us everything!”
“It was great, we’re married, we had lots of hot sex and romantic walks on the beach. Now let’s talk about Camilla and Marlon.”
Three sets of eyes turned toward Camilla, who scowled. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Scarlett narrowed her eyes, scanning Camilla’s face. She licked the tip of her finger and stuck it in the air. “There’s been a development. My orgasm radar is pinging like crazy.”
Amelia giggled. “Maybe I’m throwing off your readings.”
“Girl, your orgasms are old news. They don’t even cause a blip anymore.”
Amelia laughed harder, then nodded at Camilla. “So. Spill.”
There was no way Camilla was telling her friends about what had happened last night. It was too dirty and too personal. But the ladies were bloodthirsty, so she had to give them something. In a low voice, she admitted, “I like him, okay?”
Hoots echoed around the space, and the patrons in the corner of the bakery glanced over. Camilla hushed her friends, scowling. “Listen, it’s nothing, all right? We’re just…flirting a bit. I’m helping him redecorate his house.”
“I need to find a man to redecorate with me,” Scarlett interjected, and it didn’t sound like she was talking about her living room.
Camilla’s lips twitched despite herself. She huffed and shook her head. “Fine. It’s not nothing. I like him a lot. But I have to deal with all this stuff going on at the bakery, and I don’t have time for anything serious. I’ve got enough on my plate already. We just live together and it’s…convenient.”
Another lie. She scowled at herself.
Lucy tilted her head. “What makes you think it’s just convenience?”
“Well, the whole sex-free house rule, for one,” Camilla started. “How do I know we’re not just hot for each other because it feels like we’re not supposed to be? Forbidden fruit and whatnot.”
“Hold up.” Amelia lifted her hands. “What’s this about a sex-free house rule?”
Camilla knew her face was bright red, but she chose to ignore it. She explained what had transpired on the first night at Marlon’s house, and Amelia nearly fell out of her chair from laughing so hard.
“You know what? Forget I said anything,” Camilla grumped. “You’re no help at all.”
“No, wait. Wait.” Amelia grabbed Camilla’s hand as she got up to clear their table of cups and dishes. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound very sorry.”
Amelia’s laugh was once again nothing more than an evil cackle. “What are you going to do for his birthday? Ceremonially break your house rule? Greet him at the door in skimpy lingerie and pretend it was just convenient to be dressed that way?”
Camilla froze. “His birthday? When’s his birthday?”
Amelia blinked. “It’s today. Leo called him first thing this morning. He’s planning on stopping by for a drink later.”
“It’s his birthday ?” Camilla nearly shrieked. A mug clattered against a saucer in her hand as she whirled toward the counter then back to Amelia. “Today? You’re sure?”
Amelia shrugged. “That’s what Leo said.”
“I need to bake him a cake! Where’s Ben? When does his lunch break end? I need to go home right now!”
“Spoken like a woman who truly has nothing serious going on with her man,” Scarlett said sardonically, brown eyes twinkling. “I can tell how casual it is between the two of you. I also panic about baking birthday cakes for my convenient, no-strings-attached hookups.”
“Why don’t you just bake him a cake here?” Lucy asked, pointing to the kitchen. “Isn’t that the whole point of this entire building?”
“No,” Camilla said, bringing the empty mugs to the dish bin. “I need to use his grandmother’s recipe. She made it for him every year.”
Her three friends exchanged meaningful glances. Camilla huffed at them, then dug through her purse and grabbed her keys. “Make yourselves useful. The recipe card is in a box above the fridge. Just bring the whole box over and I’ll make the cake here.”
She tossed the keys over, and Amelia caught them deftly in one hand. Her lips spread into a broad smile. “Is this what I was like when I first met Leo?”
“You were worse, but at least it was over quickly,” Lucy answered.
Scarlett shook her head, looking Camilla up and down. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“I’m completely normal,” Camilla answered, feeling anything but.
“Sure you are,” Amelia answered, putting her jacket on. “We’ll be back with that recipe in a few minutes.”
Camilla scowled at them and went to the back of the bakery to prep for Marlon’s cake. Then she frowned. She couldn’t bake the cake at The Sweetest Thing, because then he wouldn’t get the smell when he walked in the door. The smell was what he loved. He’d mentioned it specifically.
“Damn it,” she grumbled, and she pulled out her phone to dial Amelia. She would never live this down. “Change of plans,” she said when her friend answered. “I’m going to bake the cake at home.”
Marlon had had a long day. By the time he was getting back in his car to go home, he was already looking forward to the Winter Festival being done. The organizers kept changing their minds about how much security they needed and weren’t taking his advice on board. He’d be surprised if the event went off without a hitch. Mixing humans and alcohol without enough safeguards was never a good idea.
He should have charged them more. He’d double his fee for next year, so he’d either make enough money to deal with their crap or they’d find someone else within their budget. Someone who had nothing to do with Elite Security.
Not to mention he’d had to go back to Frankie Smith’s place because one of his employees had messed up the programming of half the cameras. That had taken him and Elton three hours to figure out, and he’d hated being in that seedy place.
Pulling into his driveway, he let out a long breath. The porch light was on, illuminating the snow that was beginning to fall. It melted soon after hitting the ground, but his boots still left partial footprints where snow hadn’t quite lost its battle against the just-about-freezing temperatures.
As Marlon opened the door, a wave of nostalgia nearly knocked him down. It wasn’t until he had the door closed behind him that he realized what he was smelling.
Birthday cake.
His birthday cake, exactly the way his grandmother used to make it. The smell was absolutely identical, and it brought him back to the few happy memories he had in his childhood. His throat closed up. His eyes grew watery. What…
Camilla appeared in the kitchen doorway at the far end of the hall. She wore a sweater dress that clung to every curve, her hair piled high on her head. Marlon had walked halfway down the hall before he even realized his feet were moving.
“Camilla,” he grated, unable to speak all the words that crowded against his lips. He loved her. He was crazy about her. He wanted her to stay here and make his house into a home for the rest of both of their lives. She was his Venus, his woman, his everything.
She smiled at him, lovely and sweet, and stepped into the kitchen to stand next to the table. With a flick of her wrist, she struck a match against its box, and it fizzled to life. She lit five candles on the cake, then shook the match out. “I forgot to ask how old you are, and Amelia hasn’t gotten back to me yet,” she said, as if he cared how many candles were on the cake.
She’d made this. For him.
She’d listened to the silly memory he’d shared about his birthday growing up, and she’d made the exact cake from his childhood.
“Camilla,” he repeated, and once again no other words came out.
The candles burned bright, wax melting in silky drops down their lengths. Camilla gestured. “Make a wish.”
“You made me a cake.”
He knew he sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. His eyes were blurry, and there was something strange happening with his heart. His throat was a mess of tightness, like burning-hot gravel had lodged itself halfway down.
“It’s your birthday,” Camilla said with a shrug, as if that explained everything.
Marlon hadn’t had a birthday cake since he was fifteen years old. Twenty-two years ago today. He closed his eyes and made a wish, then leaned over and blew out the candles.
“Happy birthday,” Camilla said, then yelped when Marlon caught her in his arms.
He wrapped a hand around the back of her head and kissed her like he needed to taste her lips to survive. Hell, that’s how it felt. He was coming apart, and the only thing that would fix it was having Camilla in his arms. She made a soft noise against his lips, smiled, and kissed him back.
He was clawing at the hem of her dress when she pushed at his shoulders. “You need to eat your cake.”
“I will,” he promised. “But I want to eat you first.”
Laughing, she swatted his hands away. “Cake, Marlon.”
“After.”
She relented, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him in for a kiss. His hands skimmed up beneath her dress, climbing up to the waistline of her sheer black tights. With a rough couple of tugs, the tights were around her knees and his hand was at the apex of her thighs.
They both groaned.
She was wet and warm and soft, and all Marlon wanted to do was shove himself inside her until he came. But he wasn’t a selfish lover, and Camilla had made him a birthday cake with a family recipe. She’d bought candles for him. She’d taken time out of her day because she’d been thinking about him. She’d known it was his birthday, and she’d done this. For him.
He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought it was better to come home to an empty house.
“Oh,” Camilla whimpered as his hand stroked her. Lips falling open on the sound, she gripped his shoulders for balance.
Touching her felt better than he could have imagined. Marlon lost his mind for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of her skin against his, relishing her noises, her facial expressions, her panted breaths.
He needed this from her. Needed her pleasure, her lust. Needed to be the man to satisfy her.
“Love the way you feel,” he told her, voice low. “Can’t wait to get inside you.” He entered her with his fingers for emphasis.
“Marlon,” she gasped, eyes dazed. “Please. Now. Right now.”
Those breathless words nearly convinced him, but he wasn’t going to fuck Camilla on the kitchen counter their first time. What he felt for her was too big. He wanted their first time to be perfect.
Plus, less chivalrously, he liked the way she begged.
Instead, he got on his knees and shoved her tights to her ankles. His mouth was on her a moment later, and they both stopped talking for a while. Things got frantic then, as he tried to get closer and she was near her peak. Her hands were tugging at his hair, his hands were gripping her ass, and they both were making unintelligible noises.
But it wasn’t enough. He could sense her frustration. Knew she was getting desperate. Impatient, Marlon ripped her tights off one leg so he could spread her wide, then grabbed her around the waist, collapsed on his back on the kitchen floor, and brought Camilla with him. She landed in a heap on top of his chest, all breathless giggles and wild hair.
“Get up here and ride my face,” he growled, lifting her by the waist to bring her up to his mouth.
“I can’t?—”
But she did. And she was perfect.
A short while later, they ate cake, and that was perfect too.