by Tracy Wolff
About halfway through putting the groceries away she ran across the receipt. Reaching into her wallet, she pulled out sixty dollars and laid it on the counter. “Here’s my half of the grocery money.”
She hadn’t thought it possible, but Matt’s spine stiffened even more. For a minute, she thought he was finally going to let loose with whatever was inside him, but he just clenched his jaw and continued to load the pantry.
She was about to give up—it was impossible to have a conversation with a man who wouldn’t speak to you—when he asked, “Do you regret it?”
Her eyes shot to his. “Regret what? Leaving you in the grocery store?”
“The baby. And coming back here, telling me about it.”
She started to give him some silly little nonanswer, the kind she used whenever a question hit too close to home. But he was finally reaching out, and he looked so intense, so vulnerable, that she couldn’t force herself to brush him off.
Clasping her hands in front of herself, she looked at them instead of him as she answered, “Regret isn’t the right word.”
“So what is the right word?” When she paused, he added, “Don’t worry about hurting my feelings or making me angry, Camille. I really want to know what’s going on inside of you.”
“I don’t know what’s going on inside of me right now.”
His mouth tightened. “That’s a cop-out answer.”
“No, it’s an honest one. A cop-out answer would be me telling you that everything is fine when it clearly isn’t.
“I’m confused and worried and nervous and happy and…ugh. There are so many emotions inside of me right now that it’s nearly impossible for me to sort them all out, let alone explain them to you.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one.”
The idea of Matt being nervous was so patently absurd that she started to laugh. But the sound died in her throat as she realized he wasn’t joining her. He was being honest with her, letting her see behind the cool, competent facade he wore so well. It was the first real glimpse behind the mask he’d worn since she’d walked out on him for Carnaval.
“What are you nervous about?”
“A better question would be what am I not nervous about. I’m worried about your pregnancy and the chemicals in the paint you use affecting the baby. About what will happen after he or she is born. About how we’ll work things out between us. About how much I’ll miss the baby when you take off on your next jaunt around the world. About how many hours I work and how that will affect my relationship with…” His voice trailed off abruptly and she didn’t fill the silence. She couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Why’d you take off in the supermarket?” The question came out of left field, considering what they’d been talking about, but she answered it as honestly as she could.
“You made me angry, the way you just walked away from me in the middle of a conversation.” As if what she’d had to say wasn’t even worth hanging around and listening to.
“I wasn’t walking away from you. I was just trying to get my own thoughts in order. Being around you isn’t exactly conducive to my thinking straight.”
It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, and despite every word of caution she’d given herself since her return, Camille didn’t even try to check the impulse to touch him. With a soft smile that she hadn’t even known she had in her, she ran a hand through his silky hair. Let her thumb linger on the sharp stubble of his cheek. Gave her fingers permission to toy with the nape of his neck.
It was strange to think of Matt as being confused. He was always the one in control, always the one with the answer, and to find out that he was as anxious and worried and messed up inside as she was, warmed her in a way she didn’t understand. She didn’t like that he was suffering, but it was nice to know she wasn’t in this alone. That she wasn’t a screwup for not knowing what to do.
Leaning forward, she brushed her lips over his right cheek, then his left. She started to pull away, but Matt’s hands came up and cupped her face, his thumbs stroking softly over her own cheekbones. He moved slowly, giving her a chance to pull away if she wanted to.
She didn’t want to. Her heart was beating like a metronome on high speed and her breathing was shallow, but she didn’t so much as move—afraid he would take it as a rejection.
When she didn’t protest, he inched closer, his mouth hovering so close to hers that she could feel his every exhalation. She could smell the spicy cinnamon of the gum he usually chewed, could sense his reluctance and his need.
And when his lips finally closed over hers, she could taste the sweet and sexy heat of him.
He kissed her slowly, carefully, as if afraid to startle her. His lips were soft as they nibbled on hers, his tongue warm and honeyed as it stroked over her lips, asking for entrance.
She let him in with a sigh, then shivered as he swept inside. His tongue explored her thoroughly, leisurely, tracing her lips, the roof of her mouth, her teeth, before tangling with her own.
She whimpered deep in her throat, and he started to pull away. But she reached up, tangled her hands in his hair, held him close to her. And the world exploded—fire and need and tenderness arcing between them.
His mouth grew harder, more aggressive, and his hands tightened on her shoulders, pulled her closer until her body was flush with his. And still he kissed her, with a single-minded determination that made her feel like the sexiest woman in the world.
But when she was fully aroused, was moaning and clawing at him, her hips bumping his in her determination to get closer, Matt pulled away.
They stared at each other in the rapidly darkening kitchen, mouths swollen and chests heaving with the effort to pull air into oxygen-deprived lungs. Turned on, frustrated, more needy than she could ever remember being, she reached for him.
He shook his head, backed away. Left her standing in the kitchen staring after him, her body aroused and her spirit crushed.
MATT WALKED AWAY FROM Camille without a backward glance, afraid to trust himself to even look at her. One word from her and he’d be back in the kitchen, bending her over a chair and taking her the way he’d been fantasizing about for weeks—for months—now.
Slamming into his bedroom, his control shot to hell and back, he braced his hands on his dresser and asked himself what he was doing.She’d walked out on him at the grocery store without so much as a word and here he was, less than an hour later, contemplating making love to her on his kitchen table. Where was his control? Where was his pride?
The same place it had always been when it came to Camille—gone as if it had never been.
What had he been thinking moving her in here? Letting her back into his life? Had he really been so naive, so stupid, as to think he could keep his hands off her? Sure, he’d succeeded, but every day was torture. He’d taken more cold showers in the past month than he had during his entire teenage years, and that was saying something. And now, this. Kissing her when he should be doing anything but. Nearly taking her when he should be distancing himself from her in a big way.
So what the hell was he doing?
It was a question he still didn’t have an answer for the next day, when he met his oldest sister for lunch.
“I want to meet her.”
“Who?” Matt asked, starting guiltily as Rhiannon raised one perfect eyebrow at him. Though Camille had been back in his life for more than a month, he hadn’t told Rhiannon about her yet. He’d told himself it was because his sister had enough to deal with—her husband of twelve years had walked out after the man who had attacked her the year before had failed to be convicted—and he hadn’t wanted to add more to her load. But as he stared into her knowing eyes, he realized the truth was more complicated—and more simple.
He hadn’t wanted her to look at him in just that way, to ask for answers he didn’t have.
“The woman who’s put the sparkle in your eyes and the snarl on your lips.” She leaned closer, smiled in an effort t
o lessen the harshness of her words. “After the way you fell apart when Camille left, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you interested in another woman.”
“I didn’t fall apart.” He shifted uncomfortably, tried to look anywhere but into his sister’s warm, green eyes. “I didn’t even miss a day of work.”
“Oh, I know. You didn’t do it on the outside. But inside you were shattered—I helped raised you, Matt. Do you think I didn’t realize how hurt you were? You shut down inside, stopped coming around, stopped calling. You even dodged my calls, staying on the phone only long enough to make sure I was all right.”
“I was busy.”
“You were heartbroken. Maybe you didn’t recognize it, since it’s never happened to you before, but that’s what you were. Believe me, I recognize the signs.”
Right away, he felt like a total heel. Here he was brooding about his own life while his sister was recovering from a brutal rape and the subsequent end of her marriage. The fact that he hadn’t been there for her—that he hadn’t even known Richard had left until weeks after the fact—was just one more failure on his part. It was his job to take care of her, to take care of all his sisters, and he’d been so wrapped up in his own misery that he’d completely fallen down on the job.
It was just one more reason for him to keep as much distance between himself and Camille as he possibly could.
“Well, I’m better now. So you can stop worrying about me.”
Rhiannon laughed. “Yes, because we Jenkinses are so good at that, right? I’ll stop worrying about you the same time you stop worrying about me.”
Since he didn’t have a comeback for that, Matt did the prudent thing and buried his head in the menu. But he couldn’t stay hidden forever and when he finally set it aside, it was to find Rhiannon still watching him with an equal mixture of love and exasperation.
“What?” he asked, slumping defensively in his seat.
“You never answered my question.”
Knowing he was quickly running out of options—Camille’s pregnancy was beginning to show—he bit the bullet and told her, “Camille’s back.”
Rhiannon didn’t say anything for a minute, but then, what could she say? Despite his protests, she’d been dead-on with her earlier assessment. He had fallen apart when Camille had left, had shattered inside when she’d walked out his door, and it had only gotten worse with every phone call she refused to answer.
“Is she planning on sticking around for a while this time?”
The anger in her voice would have made him smile, if her concerns weren’t so close to his own. “She’s a little over four months pregnant.”
“I see. So she came running back to you so that you could fix everything.”
He straightened up abruptly. “That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not. But she hurt you, badly. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m skeptical about her sudden change of heart—especially since it comes with a baby attached.”
“She hasn’t had a change of heart. We’re having a baby together, but we’re not together.”
He did his best to ignore the images of the kiss they’d shared the night before—and the need that was still tying him up in knots.
“And how’s that working out for you?” Rhiannon didn’t bother to hide her skepticism.
“Okay—for the most part. Considering the fact that she’s living with me.”
“Are you telling me that your former girlfriend—who ripped your heart out and stomped on it—is back in town, pregnant with your child and living with you?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t think any of us would want to know about that? Me, the twins, Mom?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been hiding.”
“Look, Rhiannon, it’s complicated.”
“I’m sure it is. So why don’t you explain it to me?”
“She’s back in town until the baby is born, but after that, it’s anyone’s guess. She’ll probably take off to parts unknown and there isn’t much I can do to stop her.”
“With the baby, or is she planning on leaving the kid with you?”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll take the baby with her.” He nearly choked on the words.
“I can see how well that idea sits with you.”
“What do you want me to say? That I’m worried she’ll just up and disappear one day? That she won’t stick around until the baby’s born? That I’ll be forced to chase her—and my kid—around the world if I want to have anything to do with it?”
“Are you worried?”
“Of course I am. She runs away at the slightest provocation. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells all the time, trying not to say or do anything that will upset her so she won’t take off.”
“That’s got to be wearing on you.”
“You have no idea.” Last night he’d been tired and annoyed and had snapped at Camille in the grocery store. And how had she responded? By walking out on him without so much as a word. He’d spent fifteen minutes searching the damn store for her, only to find out that she was next door. And Rhiannon wanted to know if it was wearing on him? He was so strung out it was a miracle his hair wasn’t standing straight up.
“That’s not in your power, you know.”
“What?”
“Whether or not Camille stays or goes. You don’t control that, can’t control it. Only she can.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think you are. From the moment Marissa went missing when you were thirteen, you’ve tried to control everything. You became the perfect student, the perfect son, the perfect brother, the perfect man. You plan everything, control everything.”
“She nearly died—and it was my fault.”
“Yes. But she didn’t die. She spent two cold, uncomfortable nights lost in the woods and was spoiled rotten when she was found. Marissa barely remembers it, but you—you’ve let it rule your entire life.”
Matt couldn’t look his sister in the eye. “She was my responsibility and I let her get lost.”
“You’ve spent the past twenty-two years of your life making up for that fact, trying to protect everyone and everything around you. But some things aren’t in your control. Camille isn’t in your control—nothing you do is going to make her stay if she doesn’t want to stay. Believe me, if I’ve learned nothing else from the past eighteen months, I’ve learned that.”
Rhiannon’s words hit like punches, maybe even harder than she’d intended because he recognized the truth in them. However, knowing she was right didn’t make what she had to say any easier to swallow.
“You know, I came here to tell you I was going to be a father. Maybe get some congratulations—”
“Congratulations! Of course, I’m excited for you. You’ll be a terrific dad, Matt. Absolutely fabulous.”
He brushed her words away. “She’s carrying my baby, Rhiannon. Am I just supposed to back off and hope for the best? I want to be a part of this child’s life. I need to be a part of it.”
“Of course you do. I’m not suggesting otherwise.”
Maybe not, but she was shaking the whole foundation on which he’d built his life. Just sit back? Let things play out? Don’t try to plan for the future or take care of things? He didn’t have a clue how to do that, didn’t know if he’d want to do it even if he did know how.
When he didn’t respond, Rhiannon continued, “This is just my perspective—and keep in mind, I’m on the outside looking in. But it seems to me that the harder you try to hold on to Camille, the more likely you are to lose her.”
“I’m not trying to hold on to Camille.”
Rhiannon’s smile was sad. “Aren’t you?”
“Of course not. I know a losing proposition when I see one. But she comes with the baby, so what am I supposed to do?”
“Is that all she is to you? The mother of your child?”
He wanted to say yes, needed the answer to be yes. When C
amille had shown up on his doorstep five weeks before, he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t let her in. Wouldn’t give her the chance to hurt him again. Yet here he was, thinking about her, wanting her, and a big part of that desire had nothing to do with the baby.
So where did that leave him? he wondered in disgust. On the same course to make the same mistakes with her he’d already made? Expecting her to feel about him the way he felt about her? He’d done that once and had gotten his heart shredded. It was suicide, going down this road again, when he already knew how things were going to turn out. What was his mother’s definition of insanity—doing the same thing over and over again, hoping for a different result? Living with Camille, cooking for her, watching movies with her, just being with her, had definitely felt familiar. It had also felt right, and that’s what really, truly scared the hell out of him. It’s what had made him walk away from her in the kitchen last night and it was what had him sitting here, trying to convince his sister that he had everything under control.
How was he supposed to do this again—be sucked into the chaos and confusion and lack of promises that was her life? He was already a part of it—the baby guaranteed that much—but that didn’t mean he had to sink all the way back in. Didn’t mean he had to give himself up to the insanity.
And yet here he was, thinking about the little dimple at the left corner of Camille’s mouth, of her strawberry-and-brown-sugar scent. Of her soft, wild hair and what it felt like to bury his face in it after he’d made love to her.
Clearing his throat, he said with a definitiveness he was far from feeling, “That’s all I’ll let her be. The mother of my child.”
Rhiannon searched his face, then reached one delicate, fine-boned hand across the table to cover his. “You know I’m just worried about you, right? That I want what’s best for you because I love you.”
“I know.” He glanced down and saw the thin, white scars crisscrossing the back of her hand. Though she was wearing long sleeves, he knew the same scars formed a line up both her forearms—defensive wounds from the brutal attack she’d survived a year and a half ago—and her words came back to him. He couldn’t control everything, not even close. If he could, she would never have been hurt. Marissa would never have been lost. And Camille—Camille would never have left him.