by Robin Kaye
Cam chose The Tudors; he’d heard House of Cards was great but it was about Washington politics and he’d always avoided politics. Besides, he thought a historical show would indicate intelligence on his part, and he had always enjoyed history.
He chose the first episode of season one and it took him all of fifteen minutes to realize his mistake. Who knew Henry VIII wasn’t always the fat bearded guy in the pictures he remembered in the history books, or that he was such a horndog?
By the time he realized how graphic the show was, it was too late to turn it off. God, this was as bad as taking a girl to a porn flick on a first date—not that this was a date, which somehow made it even worse.
They had no problem showing Henry having sex with his mistress—including bare asses, bare breasts, and sound effects.
Suddenly the couch seemed a lot smaller than it had a few moments before.
The clicking of Erin’s knitting needles stopped. It was as if she couldn’t drag her attention away from the big screen. There was silence in the room, except for the sound of their breathing and the characters on screen.
Cam figured this was one of those situations that was impossible to get out of without embarrassment. Neither of them could pretend it wasn’t going on. “I’m sorry. I never thought—” He spared her a glance—her pulse throbbed in her throat; her eyes were wide and bright and had darkened.
“Neither did I.” Then she laughed—not a nervous giggle, but a full, infectious belly laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
It took her a minute to get her laughter under control. “Well, look at that.” She pointed to Henry banging away on Cam’s big screen TV. “Can you imagine how many takes they must have had to go through to put this scene in the can? I mean really, if I were that actress, I’d spend the entire time howling with laughter. Between being ticklish and faking all those orgasms . . . He might be the king of England, but no guy is that good. It’s obvious she had to feed his king-sized ego. If it were me, I’d be rolling around in hysterics—actress or not.” She tossed her knitting on her lap and swiped tears of laughter from her cheeks.
Cam scooted closer. He didn’t ask if she’d ever had a lover who made her scream. She’d made it pretty clear she hadn’t, which was unfathomable.
It sounded as if she considered anyone having a toe-curling, screaming orgasm an impossibility.
The inherent challenge brought a smile to his face and a few other anatomical changes.
Challenge accepted.
“Erin Crosby.” He lowered his voice and slid closer. “Did you just admit to being ticklish?”
“No.” She tossed her knitting at him and her leg shot out, trying to push him away just before he came down on top of her.
Damn, knitting needles were sharp. He held her down with one hand and tossed the blasted torture devices off the couch.
His free hand went to her ribs and she screamed, “Don’t you dare!” If he hadn’t already had her legs held down, he’d be singing soprano. She writhed and squirmed and screamed again, trying to push him away.
He grabbed her wrists, brought them over her head, and pinned them against the arm of the couch. She bucked to dislodge him, her breath coming out in pants and gasps between giggles.
They were nose to nose. Her eyes were huge and her scent . . . Erin’s natural scent plus the fragrance of lavender that perfumed her skin seemed stronger, more intoxicating. It made him want to nuzzle her neck and drink it in. “Say uncle.”
“Never.” She freed her legs only to wrap them around his waist and try to buck him off. If he hadn’t already been hard enough to earn him a zipper tattoo, he would have been the second he heard her groan.
They froze, staring into each other’s eyes. Hers were wide and dark, and when her lips parted, he was lost. He kissed her.
***
Erin had been kissed before—plenty of times—but she’d never been kissed like this. She was beneath two hundred pounds of big, hard man, but his kiss—well, it was soft and slow and deep. It started off tentative but determined. There was no teeth gnashing, no nose sparring, no tonsil exploring, no forcing. It was gentle and smooth and so natural, as if he’d been kissing her for years, but as exciting as . . . Her mind drew a blank. She’d never experienced anything as exciting as Cam’s kiss.
He tasted like the root beer float he’d brought her earlier mixed with banked heat, patience, and a teasing thoroughness that tempted her like nothing she’d ever known.
He broke the kiss way before she was ready, and held himself above her to stare into her eyes. “Say uncle.” His voice sounded as rough as his fingers sliding down her side.
“No.”
He released her hands, and in his next kiss, there was no tentativeness. His hand raked through her hair to cup her head; his other hand traveled from her rib cage to her backside, pulling her tighter against him. Everywhere his body touched hers felt electrified. He stroked her back and explored her mouth with a single-minded diligence unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It felt as if she were the center of his universe, his to be tried, tested, tasted, and explored slowly, deliberately, and with such attention to detail, it was excruciatingly arousing.
She’d never been driven past the point of lukewarm lust before, and yet she left that comfortable spot in the dust the second his lips met hers the first time. With this kiss she found herself in unfamiliar territory—somewhere between praying he’d hurry up because the suspense was killing her and wanting this to never end. She hurtled toward desperate need at lightning speed. Her heart raced, her breath came in gasps, and what little control she had disappeared the second his mouth made contact with her breast.
She was overwhelmed—his mouth, his hands, his body—and there were so many different sensations, too many to catalogue, and every single one of them drew her further and further outside herself. Her center filled with liquid fire, and she felt as if she were burning from the inside out.
She tore at his T-shirt, her nails skimming the ridges of muscle over his back, his arms.
His teeth raked her nipple and she clung to his head, searching for something that was just out of reach. Her back arched, her legs tightened around his waist, and, God help her, she let out a groan fraught with frustration, only to receive a chuckle in response. “Demanding, impatient little thing, aren’t you?”
He disengaged her legs from around his waist and kissed his way down her belly, divesting her of her pants and panties in one tug.
If she could utter a coherent sentence, she’d give him a piece of her mind, but words seemed beyond her.
“There’s no rush.” He pushed down his jeans and what looked like boxer briefs, kicking them to the far corner of the couch. “Haven’t you heard, anticipation only increases the pleasure? It makes me want to slow things down, hold the moment in suspense, and bask in you. This could take hours.”
Was he nuts? God, was she the only one feeling as if she were about to jump out of her skin? He could do this for hours? She’d never survive, not with her sanity intact. She planted her left leg firmly on the seat cushion and used a move she’d learned in her self-defense class, flipping them both over.
If not for some skillful sliding on his part, he would have landed flat on his back on the hardwood floor. He blinked up at her, stunned, but maybe that was because his skull had bounced against the arm of the couch. Not hard enough to do any real damage, just enough to give her the time she needed to get the upper hand.
She removed his T-shirt with his help—not sure if the smug smile she uncovered was placating. It hardly mattered, not when she had his big, hard chest to explore.
“I guess you didn’t fully grasp the slow-down plan.”
“I had no problem understanding the concept, I just didn’t embrace it.”
“Turnabout is fair play.” He pulled off her shirt along with the bra that
he’d somehow unhooked without her realizing it. Wrapping his big hands around her waist, he held her in place. “I’m not sure how successful it would have been anyway.” He stared at her, taking in deep breaths as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen. His stare never wavered. It went on and on, well past the point of discomfort, which seemed to morph into something erotic. “You’re so beautiful.”
She would have laughed if the look on his face didn’t match his words. She’d never been called beautiful before, and under his gaze, for the first time, she felt it.
Cam sat, pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her. So close, her bare breasts pillowed against his chest. Their faces were almost even since she was straddling him. The pressure of his erection throbbed against her center. The beating of their hearts synced, their lips almost touched, and their eyes were locked in mutual need.
“Hold on.” That was all the warning she got before he grabbed her backside with both hands and hightailed it up the steps to her room, kicking the door closed behind him. He shushed her squeal, tore the comforter off the bed, and laid her gently on it, before sliding between her open legs.
“Yes.” Erin lifted them to wrap around his waist.
“No.” He eased her knees apart. “Not yet. Trust me on this.”
Erin didn’t trust easily, but the way he looked at her, the command in his voice, and the kiss that completely derailed her brain function gained her acquiescence.
His mouth slid from hers, down her neck—leaving her panting. He nibbled a path to her breasts and his hands slid lower, grazing the insides of her thighs, fingers delving between her folds, seeking entrance as his mouth, lips, and teeth tortured her breasts. One long, thick finger filled her, pressing in deep, his thumb circling the bundle of nerves and her vision tunneled. Her knees came up and his lips trailed kisses down her torso.
Her body was alight with sensation. A strange ball of energy gathered in her core, growing tighter, and when his mouth joined his fingers, she felt stretched and full and the energy threatened to explode within her. She grabbed his head, not sure if she wanted to keep his mouth there or move it away.
“Erin.” She heard the command in Cam’s voice. “Don’t fight it, just let go.” Then he pressed something within her, and every muscle in her body seized. She closed her eyes tight and saw starbursts of color explode beneath her lids. She heard a scream as his mouth joined hers, muffling her cries. Then there was his kiss, his stroking fingers feeding the fire within her, making the sensation last and roll through her, over her, drawing it out for what seemed like forever, leaving her limp and sated and sleepy.
She fought to open her eyes and found him smiling down at her. “Welcome back.” He looked very pleased with himself. Not that she could really blame him.
He nuzzled her neck, sucking her earlobe into his mouth and nibbling on it. She groaned and considered her lack of acting prowess. She’d only had sex a handful of times, and although it was sometimes enjoyable, it was never, ever like that. She now knew her ability to fake something she’d never experienced had definitely been lacking.
Erin tried to wrap her mind around it and realized they hadn’t even had sex yet. She closed her eyes and slid a hand down his chest and over the ridges of his stomach.
Cam’s muscles jumped beneath her fingers and his hand stopped hers. “Erin, don’t, I’m dancing on the edge of a knife here.” His voice sounded strained, and when she looked at him, his jaw was clenched. He drew both hands to the sides of her head and pressed her into the mattress. Her legs wrapped around him and he let out a breath, sucked in another, and then kissed her.
In one long, slow thrust he entered her, knocking the wind out of her, filling her, stretching her beyond her limits, and pleasure tinged with pain filled her as tears blurred her vision.
“Relax, it’s okay. Breathe, just give it a minute.” He squeezed his eyes shut and the muscles in his jaw ticked, while his neck muscles corded and throbbed.
She took a breath, and then another, and the pain subsided and was replaced by the need to move. She squirmed beneath him and he groaned as he slid out with tortuous slowness.
She locked her ankles around him and a voice in her head screamed, “No.”
Maybe it wasn’t just in her head, because his laser-blue gaze locked with hers and he said, “I’m not going anywhere.” His hands grabbed her hips and he slid back in, deeper, harder.
She raised her hips and met him thrust for thrust, and, God help her, it was happening again. With every thrust of his hips, the energy gathered and filled her until she felt herself flying, shattering, crying out into his shoulder.
He buried his face in her hair and let out a growl, then collapsed on her and rolled them both over onto their sides, still joined. The movement sent a wave of sparks cascading through her. She slid her leg over his hip to draw him closer and kissed him.
Cam pulled Erin tighter against him, all her soft parts melting into his hard ones, the intense heat still surrounding him. Bliss, heaven, so wet. Skin to skin. “Oh God, no.” His eyes shot open and he felt the blood drain from every part of him.
“Cam? What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t think. This was a mistake.”
She shifted away.
“I’ve never done this before.”
Erin reached down and pulled the sheet up over her. “Done what, exactly? I find it hard to believe you’ve never had sex before. After all, you have a seven-year-old daughter.”
“I’ve never had unprotected sex. With my daughter’s nanny, no less.”
“Nurse.”
“Whatever. God, what was I thinking?”
“You’ve never had unprotected sex?”
He shook his head. “Janie is the result of a broken condom. God, I can’t believe how stupid—”
Erin raised a hand to stop him. “It’s okay. I’m on the pill and I’m clean. I’m tested every six months, not that I’ve—anyway. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, thank God. Firefighters are all regularly tested too, so no worries on that front at least.” He fell back onto the bed—he’d just had sex with his daughter’s nanny. He’d just turned into the world’s biggest cliché. But the worst part about it was he couldn’t wait to do it again. “Erin?” He looked at her then.
She recoiled. “Look, it’s fine. It was a mistake—one that won’t happen again. So let’s just move on, shall we?”
“Move on?”
“Yes. I think that would be best. So, if you wouldn’t mind—” She looked toward the door as if she were gathering courage to tell him to leave but she stopped. “Let’s just pretend it never happened.”
He reached to pull her closer, but when he saw the do-not-touch look on her pale face he dropped his hand. God, he’d royally screwed the pooch this time. “Erin, come on. We need to talk about this.”
Her eyes looked glassy, or maybe it was just the play of light. He hoped it was the light. He hoped she wasn’t holding back tears, and he hoped even more that if she were, she wouldn’t lose the battle. He’d rather fight a five-alarm blaze with a sprinkler hose than face a woman in tears.
“I think we’ve already talked it to death.” She let out a laugh that contained no humor and stood, pulling the sheet around her, leaving him lying there naked, and then skirted the bed on her way to the bathroom. “Good night, Cam.”
“Erin.”
She closed the bathroom door and locked it.
It wasn’t that easy to get rid of him. He stomped over and knocked on the door.
No response.
“Erin, open the door.”
Nothing.
He considered his options. Hell, one good shove and he’d be through the damn thing, but he couldn’t very well break into his nanny’s bathroom. “Erin, I’ll leave now, but this is not over.” He heard the shower turn on. “Fuck.”
&nb
sp; ***
Makeup could only do so much, and Erin was by no means an artist when it came to applying it. She did her best to cover the bags under her eyes, but the bloodshot lines that streaked like lighting through them were beyond masking. She needed Visine—the big bottle.
She took one last look at herself and went downstairs, determined to pretend nothing had happened the night before. As long as Cam played his part, she’d get through it.
Erin couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been.
What had she thought Cam would say? Yay, me. I slept with my employee?
But that was the whole thing—she hadn’t thought.
She’d done nothing but feel. And everything about being with Cam had felt so right. That was, until the words “Oh God, no” speared the bubble of elation and happiness that had surrounded her. Proving that she’d never been so wrong about anything in her careful, ordered life.
She had another three weeks of living under the same roof with Cameron O’Leary pretending nothing happened, that his words hadn’t echoed through her, making her feel hollow and used.
Another three weeks of living in a home with a family she wasn’t a part of.
Another three weeks of being nothing but the help and playing fifty-card pickup with the remaining shards of her self-respect.
Cam’s words had bulleted through the locked bathroom door and ricocheted around her mind all night long: “This is not over.”
She took one more look at herself in the vanity mirror. The makeup looked like a mask. She debated making a run for the front door. It was her day off—she could skulk out, go back to her apartment, look through her mail, and maybe take a nap. But no, she’d admit to being a coward, but not that big of a coward. Just big enough to wait until she’d heard Janie clop down the steps toward the kitchen before leaving the sanctuary of her room.
She wasn’t proud of it, but would grudgingly admit to using Janie as protection. She wasn’t up to facing Cam alone. She wasn’t up to hearing the excuses, or worse, the apologies. She wouldn’t be able to avoid it for long, but she’d avoid it for as long as humanly possible. Dog years would be better.