Chapter 19 #2
The studio erupted in chuckles. Aaron smiled—tight, controlled. “We stayed focused on the story.”
Ray Jay grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Mm-hmm. Focused. I’m sure. Camille, after this press tour, if you ever get tired of these intense biblical kings, you can come hang out in Chicago. I’ll show you the real city.”
Camille laughed prettily. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”
Aaron glanced sharply at her, his jaw clenched so hard it ached.
“Aaron,” Ray Jay continued, oblivious or pretending to be, “you’re okay with that? Sounded like a yes to me.”
Aaron’s gaze shifted slowly to him.
“We’re here to talk about the film.”
The temperature in the room dropped a degree.
Ray Jay blinked—then laughed it off. “Fair enough. Fair enough. Focused man, like you said.”
But the tone had shifted.
And Aaron didn’t bother hiding it.
~*~*~*~
The silence on the way back was thick enough to choke on.
Camille stopped at her door and slid the key card in. The light blinked red, then green.
“Goodnight, Aaron.” Her tone was even. Controlled.
He didn’t move.
“What was that?” he asked.
She turned slowly. “What was what?”
“That interview,” he said. “With Ray Jay. What were you doing?”
Her brows lifted slightly. “I was being polite.”
“You were flirting.”
A beat.
Then she shrugged—light, but deliberate. “And if I was?”
Something in his expression shifted.
“What’s it to you?” she continued, quieter now but no less pointed. “We’re just friends, remember? That’s what you said you wanted, wasn’t it?”
He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “I did.”
“Then you don’t get to be uncomfortable when someone else shows an interest in me.”
She stepped back, creating space—distance.
He stared at her. “Don’t I?” he said, voice lower now.
Before she could respond, he reached for her hand. Not rough. But not gentle either. Intentional. He pulled her toward him slowly—and she came. No resistance. Not really. Now she was inches from him. Close enough to feel his breath. Close enough to hear the shift in it.
“Don’t I, Camille?” he repeated, quieter this time. Rougher.
Her pulse jumped. She swallowed.
For a second—just one—they held there. Suspended. Her eyes flicked to his mouth, then back to his eyes. That was all it took. He kissed her. Not tentative. Certain.
Her hands came up to his shoulders, then slid around his neck as she kissed him back—just as deeply, just as urgently. Days of restraint snapping all at once.
His hand moved to her waist, pulling her closer. Hers tightened in his hair. Their mouths moved together with a kind of desperation—like neither of them wanted to give the other space to think. To stop.
“Open the door,” he murmured against her mouth, breath uneven.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the key card again. It took two tries.
The door clicked open.
They barely made it inside before he kicked it shut behind them.
The door had barely shut before he pulled her back to him.
She didn’t resist.
Couldn’t.
Her hands slid up into his hair as his mouth found hers again, deeper this time—more urgent, more certain. Whatever distance they’d tried to keep was gone now, dissolved in the heat of it.
They moved together blindly, instinctively, until the back of her knees hit the couch and she sank onto it, pulling him down with her.
His hands were everywhere—her waist, her back, the curve of her side—drawing her closer as though even an inch of space was too much. Her breath caught against his mouth, a soft sound escaping her that only seemed to drive him further.
“Camille…” he murmured, her name rough against her lips.
She answered him by pulling him closer. It was want—pure and unguarded.
His mouth moved from hers to her jaw, then lower, and when his lips brushed the sensitive curve of her neck she arched into him, a quiet, involuntary sound slipping free.
That did it.
Something in him snapped loose.
His hands tightened at her waist, then shifted—sliding beneath the edge of her blouse, finding warm skin. The contact was electric. He drew in a sharp breath, his restraint fraying completely as his hands moved upward, slow but deliberate—
His fingers brushed the edge of her bra.
Camille froze.
Not immediately.
Not all at once.
For one suspended second she felt it—the pull, the heat, the part of her that wanted to keep going, that wanted to forget everything except him.
Her grip tightened in his shirt.
Then—
“No.”
It came out soft. Breathless. But firm.
She caught his wrist and stilled his hand, pressing it back down.
“No, Aaron… we can’t.”
The words seemed to echo in the space between them.
He stilled instantly. As though something had broken through the haze. Reality rushed back in—sharp, sobering. What was he doing?
His chest rose and fell heavily as he pulled back just enough to look at her—really look at her.
Her lips were swollen from his kisses. Her hair slightly undone. Her eyes still bright with something that hadn’t fully faded.
Desire.
But also resolve.
That contrast hit him harder than anything else.
He pushed himself back, putting space between them, his hands dropping away as though they’d burned him.
“I—” He stopped, dragging a hand over his face. “I’m sorry.”
The weight of it settled in quickly now. What he’d almost done and how easily he’d let himself go there.
After everything they had been speaking about these last few days. About faith. About honor.
He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed, trying to steady himself.
She shifted beside him, still catching her breath. For a moment she said nothing, as though she was steadying herself too.
Then she reached out and placed a gentle hand on his back.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly.
He let out a quiet, humorless breath. “No. Not really.”
He turned to look at her again—and that didn’t help.
If anything, it made it worse.
She still looked… undone. Affected. And the knowledge that she had wanted him too—that she had stopped them not because she didn’t feel it, but in spite of it—tightened something in his chest.
He stood abruptly, needing distance.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, voice rough. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
“You didn’t put me there alone,” she said quietly.
That made him pause.
She met his eyes, steady now, though her voice remained soft. “I wanted it too.”
The honesty landed between them—heavy, unguarded.
“But wanting something doesn’t make it right,” she continued. “I’ve been reading… trying to understand what it means to actually live this out. And I know—this isn’t it.”
He swallowed, nodding slowly. “You’re right.”
He took another step back, creating more space between them.
“I need to go,” he said finally, quieter now. “If I stay… I’m not sure I’ll make a better decision the second time.”
Something flickered across her face at that—something that looked a little too close to disappointment before she smoothed it away.
“I understand.”
He hesitated, just for a second.
Then nodded once, firmly—as though choosing something.
And turned for the door.
This time, when he left, it wasn’t frantic.
But it wasn’t calm either.