by T L Swan
He smirks and keeps typing. “You’re going to look like a banoffee pie soon.”
I giggle. “Lucky, I’m going out with a sex maniac who will like me anyway.”
“True. I prefer cream pie to banoffee, though.” He smirks, distracted.
I roll my eyes. “We already established that, Einstein. This isn’t helping your brain power score.”
He grins. “I’m trying to raise another score out here.” He stands abruptly. “Switch seats with me.”
I frown up at him before I switch seats.
He points to the screen and I focus on what I’m meant to be looking at. “Huh? What’s this?” I ask.
“Classifieds.”
I look over at him. “Why am I looking at old classifieds?”
He widens his eyes in exasperation. “Just read them.”
“Fine,” I breathe, half annoyed. Why the hell we are wasting time here, I have no idea.
I read down the list and then at the bottom I see it.
To the betting man’s wife who
works in an ice cream shop.
We met in Vegas last weekend when you needed a stand in husband.
I lost my phone.
Je n'ai aucun moyen de vous contacter.
Translation: I have no way of finding you.
Wer auch immer eine Wette gewinnt, mag niemals dasselbe sein.
Translation: Whoever wins a bet to you, may never be the same.
I’m in New York looking for you.
Appelle-moin.
Translation: Call me.
0423788900
Oh my God. My eyes rise to search his. “You did try to find me?”
He smiles softly. “I told you I did.”
I look back to the computer and read it again so I know I’m not imagining this.
Nope. It’s definitely still there.
“Cam,” I whisper, and for some reason I get a really big lump in my throat and my eyes tear up.
What a horrible case of sliding doors. If only we’d met back then things, could be so different between us.
His face falls. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head as I try to pull myself together.
He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. Overcome with emotion, I lean in and kiss him softly. He looks down at me as he brushes the hair back from my forehead. “Are you getting soppy on me, Tucker.”
I nod and smile through my tears. “Most definitely.” I pause as I reread the ad.
“I think I just found another dimension,” I whisper.
He smiles softly and kisses me. “Two down, one to go.”
15
Ashley
I walk down the aisle of the plane as I head back to our seat. We’re midway through our flight back to Los Angeles. Cameron is sitting with his head against the seat, and he smiles sexily as I approach, patting his knee.
I feel my heart flutter. Lately, that seems to be a common occurrence. Just one look from him sets me into schoolgirl raptures. As I approach our seat, he pats his knee again and I bend to kiss him gently. “I can’t sit on your knee,” I whisper as I look around.
“Who says?” he grumbles as he pulls me down. “This isn’t coach. We can do what we want here.”
He lays me across lap with my feet on my seat, and then he shakes out the blanket and covers us both. I smile as I curl into him and his warm arms come around me before he softly kisses my temple. “That’s better,” he whispers.
I smile against his chest and snuggle into him. He smells so damn good, and he’s right, being this close is much better.
We laughed, we danced, we made love, and we fucked like animals in New York. I have never felt so fulfilled in my entire life.
If happiness is a gift, Cameron Stanton is my Santa Claus.
I’m falling in love.
With every glance, with every touch, with the air that he breathes every second.
Cameron Stanton is his own kind of magical drug and the high he gives is as good as it gets.
The longer I’m on it, the harder the withdrawal will be.
Unfortunately, I already know our fate, but I’m trying to put it to the back of my mind and enjoy the time we have together.
“Thank you for a beautiful weekend, Cam.” I smile up at him.
He kisses my forehead and he smiles in return. “Thank you,” he whispers against my hair. “It was a great weekend and I don’t want to go home. Can’t we just run away?”
I smile and listen to the drone of the engine while sitting on top of my beautiful traveling companion, his lips pressed to my forehead. I somehow drift into a peaceful sleep.
First class really is the only way to travel.
* * *
The car pulls up in Cameron’s driveway at 11pm and we both climb out of the car on sleepy feet. We’re tired. After drinking copious amounts of alcohol and engaging in a million sex sessions over the last forty-eight hours, our bodies have literally given up. The driver retrieves our bags from the trunk and Cam takes them. “Thank you.” He smiles as the driver hands his credit card back.
We walk up the driveway. “I’m going to go home, babe.” I yawn.
He frowns. “I thought you were staying…”
“I didn’t bring any of my stuff for work.”
His eyes hold mine. “Don’t go.” He bends and takes my lips with his and brushes the hair back from my face. “Stay with me again.”
I smile. I know I should go home, and I know I should tell him everything because my sanity and my job depend on it. But I just can’t bring myself to do it. With a heavy heart, I turn toward the house. “I’m going to get sick of you,” I reply dryly.
He smacks me on the behind and I laugh as I jump. “I’m already sick of you. This is a sympathy sleepover.” He fires back.
I smirk as he opens the door. “Good, I thought you were getting needy on me.”
He flicks the light on. “I don’t do needy.” He turns to face me. “Ashley Tucker, my all night fucker.”
What the hell? My eyebrows rise by themselves and I burst out laughing. “Ashley Tucker, your all night fucker?” I gasp.
He smiles a proud-of-himself smile and raises a brow. “Has a ring to it, doesn’t it? You should think yourself lucky to be spending time with someone as romantic as me.”
I widen my eyes in jest. “Should I, now?” I mouth, I smile as I watch him put our bags down. His cheeky personality is addictive and really, he shouldn’t worry—I’m needy enough for both of us.
“Why don’t you go and take a shower while I fix us a snack?”
“Do you want me to do anything?” I ask.
“Just get naked and clean.”
“I’m just telling you now…” I point at him. “There is zero chance of you getting laid tonight.”
He laughs as he walks into the kitchen. “I’ll bet you fifty bucks I do,” he calls after me.
“You need to get a referral to gamblers anonymous,” I call back as I walk up the stairs. “You have a serious addiction.”
I walk up the stairs and down the corridor towards Cameron’s bedroom. I call it a corridor because it is way too long to be a hallway and it seems to go on forever. I turn the light on and stand at the doorway. It doesn’t seem real that I should sleep in a bedroom like this. It’s huge, exotic and luxurious. From the thirty-foot ceiling to the carpet that is so plush that you sink into it, not a detail has been missed. The furnishings are straight out of a magazine. Black drapes hang over the huge windows in that little bit too long trend. I walk around the room with my arms folded in front of me as I stare at my surroundings. This has to have been decorated by a stylist. In fact, the whole house must have been. I frown as a thought crosses my mind, and I walk back down the hallway until I get to the next bedroom, walk in and turn the light on. Another room filled with cream, caramel, and coffee furnishings. There’s a large bay window with a window seat overlooking the exotic pool, too. I smile as I walk around. What a beautiful tranquil space. I open the first doo
r that leads off it and find a full bathroom, all white marble. I open the next door and find a walk in robe. I stalk back into the room and smooth out the velvet coffee-colored quilt as I look around. If everything did work out—and I know its not going to, but if it did—Owen would love this room.
My heart constricts. I miss my little man desperately. Even having spoken to him morning and night hasn’t lessened the ache I feel for not having him around and I’m counting the days until I see him again. Just over seven to go now.
I need him here. I need him here with Cameron and me.
Will Cameron ever accept him?
I close my eyes as the sharp sting of reality bites.
I walk back into Cameron’s room and turn on the shower in disgust at myself. How did I get myself here, in this position?
Why didn’t I just tell him on that first day?
I’ve fallen in love with a man who doesn’t even know about the biggest part of me.
I blow out a deep breath as I realize I’ve left my bag downstairs. I walk back into the bedroom and into the closet and I stop dead in my tracks, my eyes widening.
Holy fuck! Are you kidding me? His closet isn’t a closet. It looks like an upscale
store lined with hanging space and shelves. Suits and business shirts all hang in color code. Expensive shoes are all neatly in rows, too. Dear God. For a while, I’d forgotten he was rich. I feel my apprehension rise and I go to the large set of drawers. I slide the top drawer out and frown. There’s at least thirty expensive brand name watches all laid out on display. Why would you need that many watches? I pull out the next drawer in a rush and find at least a hundred ties all neatly rolled up in perfect rows. I shake my head and go to the third drawer. I take out two pairs of boxer shorts and two T-shirts. I walk out of the closet, close the door and I notice another door next to it. What’s in here? I open it to find a closet, a mirror of his, but empty. This is the wardrobe of Cameron’s future wife. I frown and walk in and look around. It has the same beautiful shelving, wall-to-wall mirrors and drawers, a plush carpet… but no wife.
Sadness overwhelms me and I think back to the ad in the classifieds—how different things could have been… if only...
I walk back into the bathroom feeling very rejected, and hop under the hot water, lost in my thoughts. I don’t know if it’s because I’m so exhausted or because I have realized just how much I stand to lose when the truth comes out, but I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
A strip club, me working for him, and risking my job just by being here, falling in love…
I’m acting happy and carefree when all I want to do is beg on my hands and knees for him to accept Owen and for the three of us to make a go of it. What seems like a long time later, I feel Cam get in the shower behind me. He takes me in his large arms and holds me close, his large muscular body cradling mine. “You tired, Bloss?” he asks as he starts to soap up my body.
Unable to think through my fragile mind, I nod as I put my head on his chest and he washes my back.
“It’s okay. We’re home now, baby,” he whispers above me with a gentle kiss.
With his arms around me and the hot water running over the two of us, I feel myself fall further into the abyss of Heaven. Unfortunately, with it comes a sense of dread.
There is a lot at stake here.
I fear it’s more than my poor heart can survive.
* * *
“Good morning, Dr. Stanton.” The surgery nurse smiles.
“Good morning,” he replies chirpily to everyone as he approaches the group. Wearing navy scrubs and a hat, this is still most definitely my favorite outfit that Cameron wears.
It’s surgery day and the interns are watching from the station. I’m in the operating room as an assistant. We’ve all taken turns and today it just happens to be mine. We are in the changeover room where patients say goodbye to their loved ones. I left Cameron’s in darkness during the early hours of this morning when he got up to go to the gym. Now at work, I’m feeling very jumpy indeed. What if someone discovers we went away with each other?
What if someone saw us?
Would I get sacked from my job if they did? I glance around at the other people in the room. Can they tell that we are sleeping together from our body language? My heart is hammering in my chest.
God, what a fuckup my life is. Don’t talk to him at all. Just say nothing. It’s safer.
The patient—an overweight man in his early fifties—is wheeled in with his wife walking behind.
“The big day is finally here. This is John, everyone.” Cameron tells us through a smile.
“Hello, John,” we all reply. Cameron takes the man’s hand in his. John coughs, as though short of breath. He looks up at Cameron, his fear evident. “Just make sure I wake up, hey, doc?” he says roughly.
Cameron smiles warmly. “Everything’s going to be fine, John. I do this operation all the time. We’ll have you back on that golf course in no time.” Cameron’s eyes flicker to the man’s wife as she wipes her tears with a tissue. The poor woman is frantic with fear. “He’s going to be okay,” Cameron reassures her. “Say your goodbyes and he will be back with you in approximately eight hours.”
“Eight hours?” she gasps.
He smiles sympathetically. “It takes a long time to repair hearts, Elsie. We can’t rush these things.”
Elsie bends and holds her husband in what she fears will be their last embrace. Cameron moves back to give them space and finally, she gives him one last kiss and is shown from the room, unable to hide her tears. The anaesthetist moves in and explains the procedure and puts the cannula in, while Cameron goes back to holding the man’s hand and making small talk about football to take the terrified man’s mind off what is about to happen.
This is life or death surgery.
If I didn’t love him before.
I most definitively do now.
He was born to be a doctor—to save lives. His purpose is greater than the average human’s. That cheeky, playful personality is a mask for a man who is very in tune with the people around him, a man who has a gift to save lives. The empathy he has for his patient has torn a huge hole in my defences.
I will tell him tonight.
* * *
With tears in my eyes, I watch Cameron walk up the hospital corridor toward Elsie, his patient’s wife. The lump in my throat is making it hard to breathe as I try to remain professional. John didn’t survive the operation. On the seventh hour of surgery, after Cameron had done everything he could, John’s heart gave way. In what can only be described as the most traumatic experience of my life, I watched Cameron fight for forty minutes to save him. The entire operating surgery was in tears as we watched him fight and fight.
He wouldn’t give up.
In the end there was nothing he could do, and it was the nurses who urged him to stop.
With his gloves in his hand, he approaches Elsie and hangs his head. He says something and then her hands fly over her mouth in shock. She drops her head and burst into tears. Cameron takes her into his arms and holds her for an extended time. My tears break the dam and roll down my face. I glance around to see Amber and Zane in tears as they watch, also.
This isn’t how it is supposed to go.
This isn’t how things are supposed to go.
Two senior nurses, who had been waiting in the wings, approach them and pry her from Cameron’s arms to take over and usher her down to an office.
Cameron falls into a seat in the corridor, and with his elbows on his knees and still dressed in his scrubs, he hangs his head.
Oh God. He’s devastated.
His pain is palpable.
His partner, the other surgeon, walks around the corner after obviously hearing what has happened. He puts his hand on Cameron’s shoulder in sympathy and sits down next to him.
They both sit in silence and say nothing.
What is ther
e to say?
* * *
I didn’t see Cameron for the rest of the day today. He went home not long after John died. He didn’t answer his phone when I called him, either. It’s after eight when I pull into his driveway. At the security gates, the guard approaches the car. Oh shit, I forgot about this nonsense.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I’m here to see Cameron,” I say nervously. He probably won’t even let me in.
“Is he expecting you?” he asks.
“No. I came to see if he’s alright.”
The security guard frowns, puzzled. “What’s your name?”
“Ashley Tucker.”
He disappears into the watch house and I see him pick up the phone. A moment later the huge gates open and he waves me through. I park the car and walk nervously up to the front door. My heart is beating so hard in my chest. I open the door and walk in.
“Hello?” I call out.
I glance around and don’t see anyone, so I walk into the kitchen. Where is he? I see the lights on in the backyard, so I open the door and walk out into the resort-like pool area.
Cameron is sitting in the dark on a deckchair with a glass of scotch in his hand.
“Hey.” I smile sadly as I walk toward him.
“Hi,” he replies flatly.
I sit next to him. “You okay?”
He nods.
We sit for a while in the silence. I’m unsure what to say because everything is the wrong thing at this point.
Finally, I ask, “Do you want me to make you something to eat?”
“Not hungry,” he whispers, almost to himself.
I watch him struggle to contain his emotion. “How many patients have you lost in surgery?”
“Five,” he replies, emotionless.
I nod.
“Five too many,” he adds softly.
I stare out at the pool in front of us. I wish there was something I could do to take away his hurt. “Do you want me to go?”
He shakes his head.
I bite my bottom lip as I watch him. “How can I help you?” I whisper.
His eyes stay focused on the pool in front of us.
“Can you make me forget the day I’ve just had?” he whispers sadly.