“Even after my sordid history?”
“Yep.”
“But…” Her eyebrows scrunched together. “Why?”
“Don’t really know exactly. But I do. Not just your talent, your sass. Bottom line: I like you, Jenna.”
She set her bottle down. “I like you, too. A lot.” She leaned forward so I could see the swirls of gray in those blue eyes. “Liking you as much as I do freaks me out.”
“Me, too, darlin’. Me, too.”
9
Jenna
“But fear won’t stop me from wanting to see you again.”
His voice remained strong and sure. His career gave him confidence—not just in his talents but in women wanting him.
I picked up my napkin and twisted it over and over, unsure how else to get rid of the nervous energy building, building, building inside me. Cam laid his hand over mine, his mouth turning down when he felt them shaking. After another long pause, I met his gaze.
“Do you think that’s smart?”
“Us?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “No. After seeing Ben in action last night, I didn’t plan to see you again.”
I went completely still, unable even to take a full breath. “So you did think about cutting all ties?”
He scratched the side of his head. “You’re your kind of messed up. I’m both messed up and famous, which causes more psychological distress.”
I winced but didn’t dispute his comments. “There really isn’t time. I’m going to be working a lot. On your guitar.”
“But since I plan to purchase the one you started, it’ll get done faster, right?”
I stood, picking up my plate and walking it to the kitchen. The distance did me good. “Look, Cam, my head’s been scrambled for years by name-calling and…other drama. Then it was scrambled again by drugs. I might seem wholly functional, but I’m not.”
“Not much different from popping a bag full of candies, but you want to make some point.”
I smiled at his levity before I glanced down, shuffling my feet against the pretty hardwood. “I’m focused on keeping Pop-pop’s reputation strong and making sure I don’t mess myself up further. Dating a celebrity…”
“Because of the crowds and fans, or because of the traveling?”
I threw my hands up in the air. “All of it. I don’t do crowds. I can’t travel with you. I’m not built that way. Not since...” I swallowed. “Look, as you pointed out, you planned to walk away.”
I didn’t like to be reminded of how I’d felt—caged, unable to fight or flee. I needed space. Now.
From Cam. From…all of it. I’d already given him so much of me tonight. Broken off chunks—the parts of me that remained raw. Cam wielded the power to hurt me, something I hadn’t ceded to anyone in years.
I searched his eyes. Cam seemed like a caring man. Pop-pop liked him.
“My lifestyle, the performing, doesn’t allow you to have control of your environment.”
“True.”
Cam scooted closer. He wore those motorcycle boots that drove my ovaries into overdrive.
“But you like me,” Cam said, his voice softer, almost crooning. “You’re attracted to me. Physically.”
Oh, now he was going to use his voice to seduce. I opened the dishwasher and began loading it, keeping one eye on Cam. “I am.” And because my mouth refused to listen to my brain, I added, “Very.”
He shifted, his face pulling into a grimace. But he ignored the irritation—probably in his calf—and walked up behind me, laying his hands on my waist. Slowly, he turned me around. Once my eyes met his, he dipped his head. My gaze dropped to his lips and I tilted my chin up, surprising myself by meeting him halfway, my fingers tangling in the hair at his nape.
The first brush of our lips shot tingles through my cheeks, across my neck and breasts and down my spine. He pulled me in tighter, placing his lips firmly over mine. A small, soft whimper slipped from my throat as his tongue licked across my lower lip, seeking entrance.
I opened for him, and we both moaned at the taste of desire overlaying the tangy-sweetness from the barbecue sauce. I cupped the back of his head while he tilted my chin to the left so his tongue delved deeper into my mouth, slicking across my cheek before sliding against my tongue in a sinuous dance.
Moments later, once I was drugged with desire and need, he eased back. Cam’s chest rose and fell in synchronicity with the rapid pulse in his neck. My eyes fluttered closed as he leaned forward to press soft kisses to my eyelids.
“What’s between us is more than I’ve felt for anyone in years. Maybe ever. Hard to say because this here is fresh and lovely.”
My lashes fluttered, and I met his warm brown eyes.
“I want to give us a whirl. Please think about it.”
“My last relationship was just sex,” I said.
He ran his thumb down my cheek. “Done that a time or two myself.”
Probably more. Sex was easy when you were famous, easier still when you were as good-looking as Cam was.
“My friends had all paired off and I was lonely.” I shook my head—to negate my reasons or to forget the relationship, I wasn’t sure. I’d been confused about why I started sleeping with Charles in the first place, and now, after that kiss, after feeling Cam’s reaction to me, hearing his story, my confusion mounted. I stiffened my spine, ready to do the impossible—to push him away. “I don’t have good taste in men, Cam.”
I turned back to the sink, my hands gripped tight at the counter’s edge. “Please go.”
“All right,” he said, all easy grace and sexy, deep voice. “We’ll talk it through tomorrow.”
“I don’t think—”
“Your grandfather promised me a guitar—actually, he promised me a good half-dozen—and I plan to follow up to make you follow through.” After a moment’s hesitation, he leaned forward, his chest snuggled to my back. My knees wobbled and my breath caught. I turned my head enough to see his eyes darken, a sure sign he’d noticed my reaction. He pressed a soft, sinful kiss to my cheek.
“We both have lots of reasons this is a bad idea. But you know what I thought last night when I was lying there in my bed? That when I look at you, I know it’s all going to be okay. I need that in my life, Jenna.”
“Cam.” My voice shattered. Maybe I did a little, too. Oh, I wanted this man.
He arched more tightly to my back, making sure his hips met with my bottom. I bit my tongue at the heat of him there.
He pressed another kiss to the edge of my jaw. I released a sound more like a sob than a moan.
Go! Just go before I beg you to stay and damn the consequences.
“See you ‘round, Jenna.”
With that, he walked out of my kitchen. I waited until the door shut before I opened my eyes again.
My breath stuttered, but I managed to keep the frustration and exhaustion at bay. After scraping and scrubbing the other plate, I turned back to my counters, soapy sponge in hand. All the food Cam bought lay there, open and taunting me.
I kicked him out after he listened to my sad story, told me his own. After he bought me dinner and kissed me. For a few moments, I’d been normal, happy even. Until I busted up that illusion because I hadn’t told him my transgressions—the reason Ben showed up at my place of business. And I didn’t want to, ever. I didn’t want to see the desire and interest fade from his eyes and turn to scorn.
10
Cam
In combat, there were times—not many—when the best strategy was retreat. Tonight’s decision was about regrouping and planning a new strategy. I’d pushed Jenna into admitting she liked me and she wanted me.
And damn, I wanted her. Wanted that blond hair falling across my hands as I cupped her softer-than-satin cheeks. Wanted her ruby-red lips pressed to mine. Wanted her sassiness and her wariness.
I wanted, and I detested this feeling.
I leaned back against the wall in her building, letting the creamy caram
el I’d popped into my mouth ease the tight ache in my chest. Took two more pieces of candy, but I peeled myself off the wall and sauntered toward the elevator.
Once Jenna discovered my next counterattack, she might be angry. Hell, I hoped she’d yell at me. That was better than the defeated, scared and scarred woman standing before me tonight. I didn’t like her as she was when I left. Almost couldn’t leave because of it.
I moved to my truck, nodding to Chuck. “Any news?” I asked.
“The guy lawyered up and got himself released on bond.”
I firmed my jaw. Not good news. I needed Jenna protected, whether she wanted that or not—whether she thought it was good for her mentally or not.
I got it. Those first few months after Kim’s death proved near impossible. My head was so screwed up, not understanding it—and the rest of me—was safe. I hated Kim for dying, hated her for cheating and using me the way she had. Embarrassment warred with anger, a toxic stew that boiled over at inopportune times. Like when my father pointed out I’d been too young to marry, too young to know my mind or expect Kim to know hers.
But I had married her then because I wanted to make her happy, wanted to save her from the emotional desert that was her life. And I’d loved her. Stupid though my emotions proved to be, I’d loved her like I’d bet Jenna loved Robbie—in that all-consuming, blind-to-flaws manner that first loves seemed to garner.
Which was why I slammed back at my father, telling him he shouldn’t have kicked Kim out of our house, that she was my wife, my responsibility that I’d left in his care while I fought in the war he believed in. And he killed her.
Not our first set of angry words and definitely not our last. But, that night, I also learned my brother Carter didn’t plan to come back to Austin. That’s when I knew—deep in my bones—something terrible happened. Something my brother and father refused to speak about. Something involving Kim.
Fragile, destructible Kim. Just like Jenna claimed to be.
But Jenna, unlike most other people, understood the difficulties of simply being in a room with people. With managing expectations and shoving down those fears.
Jenna was as real as any woman I’d ever met. Genuine in her curiosity and her compassion. Focused and skilled as a craftsperson. Dedicated and ambitious in her business and designs.
A chimera of feminism, professionalism, and delicacy.
A woman I wanted to touch, to learn and taste. To love for days…maybe weeks and years.
But more than all that, Jenna, thanks to her independent streak, wasn’t someone I was willing to let slide through my fingers simply because she was afraid of what she felt for me. She looked after herself. She’d proven it in college and now, living on her own and creating such beautiful instruments.
Nope. I had the money, the power and the fame to ensure she was safe, and I planned to do just that. Not just with me but against Ben and any other men like him. Which was why I dialed Mr. Olsen’s home number.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mr. Olsen. It’s Cam. I was at Jenna’s having dinner—”
“That’s my granddaughter, young man.”
“I’m aware. We had dinner. I told her I liked her. She booted me out.”
Mr. Olsen grunted.
“But that’s not the point of this call. That…Ben? He’s out on bail.”
“I heard.”
I smiled. “Figured you’d be in the know. Here’s the deal. I want to make sure Jenna’s safe. She’s making it hard.”
“She’s been hurt by her previous boyfriends. Of course she’s making your courting difficult. Makes sense to see if you’ll stick.”
I chuckled. Damn, I liked the old fella. “Don’t worry, I like her feistiness. But here’s the deal. Ben’s got a record.”
Mr. Olsen sucked in a breath. “How do you know that?”
“I have a team of people that I pay quite well to know all the details of a situation. They can find out all kinds of things. It’s sealed, by the way, meaning Ben was a minor.”
“What should I do?” Mr. Olsen asked.
“Right now? How about a bodyguard or two? We can help Jenna shape her public image. As a businesswoman and a survivor, not a victim of an ill-formed plot to kill Abbi Dorsey.”
Silence built between us, but I waited. I might be a manipulative ass, but I never pushed.
I popped the last of the caramels into my mouth, humming with pleasure at the taste but also at the memory of how Jenna felt in my arms, how soft her lips were, how good her body felt pressed to mine.
“Okay. Tell me what you need from me, son.”
I grinned broader than the Cheshire cat as I put my truck in gear.
I smiled, making sure both my dimples flashed, when Jenna walked into the back room of the shop two days later. She shook her head, a smile tugging at her pretty lips.
“You’re going to tell me something about tenacity, aren’t you?” she said.
“For the dogs,” I said, waving my hand.
“He brought you donuts, dove.”
Jenna dropped her purse into her drawer and placed both hands on top, leaning forward just a little. I liked the position. Made her mouth closer to mine.
“You don’t play fair.”
“Also for the dogs, sugar. Now, come on over here and eat this fresh, delicious donut. It’s one of those fancy ones from the shop down the street. I wasn’t sure which was your favorite so I picked up some choices.”
I lifted the box so she could read the name in shiny gold letters: “Gourdough’s Public House.”
“Do you have The Freebird in there?” she asked, her voice quavering with unrelenting need.
Mr. Olsen chuckled. He’d told me Jenna came home from Seattle with an irrational fear of eating foods she hadn’t prepared. Mr. Olsen bribed Jenna with a donut comprised of cheesecake filling, slathered in cream cheese frosting and piled with strawberries and blackberries before being drizzled in graham cracker crumbs.
I held out the donut, set in the middle of a napkin. Jenna dove at it. She bit into the luscious cake with a moan of pleasure.
My breath caught in my throat when Jenna tipped her head back, a look of sheer bliss forming on her face as she chewed.
“I’ll be in the workshop,” Mr. Olsen said, still shaking his head. He moseyed through the door, shutting it behind him. George Jones’s voice wafted through the speakers, Mr. Olsen singing along.
Jenna licked her lips and sank her teeth into the confection again, this time keeping her eyes locked with mine. I shifted on the stool, unable to find relief from my growing arousal as Jenna continued to make sexy noises as she nibbled at the donut.
She wiped her hands, sighing in pleasure before patting her belly.
“I have to tell you, Jenna. That might have been the most sensual experience of my life.” I stood and moved toward her. “I’ve never been so turned on by eating before, but right now, I got fire raging straight to my—”
“Don’t say it! My grandfather is just through there.” She waved at the closed door.
I cupped the back of her neck, tugging her toward me. “Then don’t you tease me like that. I haven’t seen you in days, and I’ve dreamt of those lips. Seeing them wrapped around that donut nearly did me in.”
“Why haven’t you been around?” she asked.
“Writing songs, helping my mother work through the paperwork that comes with being a widow.” My accountant and lawyer handled all that paperwork, but I had spent time with my mother and sister and cursed my brother for his continued disappearance when my mother needed them most.
Jenna’s lips curved up in a smile as her eyes softened. “That’s sweet. To help her out.”
“She’s a great lady, and I have the resources to take some of the burden off her.” Not to mention I was the reason for the burden—that my father keeled over at sixty-five in the first place.
Jenna shoved her thumb into her mouth, no doubt to lick off the last of her treat. I groaned as I leaned in
, my lips a hair’s breadth from hers. Her thumb fell from her mouth as her lips parted, her soft exhale hitting my face and ratcheting up my desire.
Before I could react, she said, “Let me show you what I’ve got.”
She washed her hands and then brought out the guitar. She settled it carefully on a large glass table tucked next to the back door.
“I want to set the back in walnut. You were in Iraq, you talked about airplanes, so I wanted to use that in the design.”
She showed me a color image of what looked like a rolling sand dune—my personal hell of the sandbox—but not. Softer. Subtler, more like…well, more like clouds in the sky. What I’d see when I flew in a plane.
“I like this,” I said, touching the paper, surprised by how cold it felt. The design made me remember the hot sun, but not in a bad way—more like an encompassing warmth. “I’m surprised by how much.”
“I know you don’t have great memories of Iraq. I don’t want to change that. But it’s part of you. You carry it here.” She placed her hand over my heart, and for some reason that made my throat swell.
She got me. She got that I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that part of me go, but it had shaped me just as she was shaping the wood, molding it into something better.
Something beautiful.
I coughed, trying to cover the emotion building in my chest, causing my heart to pound. I leaned forward, intentionally knocking her hand from my chest.
She stepped back a little, frowning. Yeah, I got it—I’d run hot, now cold.
I hadn’t expected her to see me so clearly.
The ache built again.
She riffled through her papers and brought out a design. Again, it was fluid, nothing too rigid or even straightforward. But it reminded me…it was my ranch with the stream and tall grasses. Even the large rock cropping on the far side of the watering hole.
“This is amazing,” I murmured.
“I’ll etch it into the silver. Not too deep. Just enough for you to know it’s there.”
Deep in the Heart Page 8