by MJ Fredrick
Of course, there was no answer from her mother when she called her again. This time, she left a message.
When Cam returned, Willow discovered that this motel actually had key cards. Good sign. She hefted her bag over her shoulder and followed Cam into the room. It seemed much nicer than the past two rooms—actual paintings of mountains over the beds, pleasing sunset-colored bedspreads, clean scent. And it was warm. She couldn’t help smiling as she set her bag down beside the dresser.
“Which bed do you want?” she asked.
He moved to the radiator, frowning. “Whichever. You pick.”
She picked the one by the bathroom and ducked into that room as he fiddled with the heat. When she walked out, he asked, “Does it feel too warm in here to you?”
“Warm enough.” She shrugged out of her jacket and draped it at the foot of the bed.
He straightened with a grunt, his gaze on the offending appliance. “I’m going to shower and go to bed. You want to put on the news, check out the weather?”
She flipped on the TV and booted up her laptop. Hmm. He was right, it was warm in here. Toasty. Cozy. She folded her legs under her and flipped through the channels as she waited for the computer to boot. She found a news program, fuzzy as it was, and saw the blue on the map that indicated snow stretching from Wyoming to Idaho. Oh, goody. That would be fun driving.
Cam’s phone buzzed on the table, and she scrambled across the room to check it. Brian’s name appeared on the display, but she didn’t answer. Not her phone.
She signed on to the Internet and checked out a more detailed weather forecast before finding the locations where her mother could wire her money. She made a note of a few and considered calling her mother again, but it was after midnight in Vermont. She’d call in the morning.
Wow, it was getting a little warm in here. She set the laptop on the bed to remove the added heat, unbuttoned the top of her blouse and fanned the fabric.
She signed in to check her email and found a couple from Jerry. Her stomach tightened. Her first instinct was to delete them unread, but she knew they would haunt her. She’d just clicked on the first one when Cam opened the door from the bathroom, toweling off his hair. She clicked the email program closed and shut the lid.
“What’s the weather?” he asked.
“Bad through Idaho.”
“Oh, good.” His wry tone matched her thoughts. “That’s going to slow us down.”
“Brian called.”
“Yeah.” He sat on the other bed. “He’s called about half a dozen times. Probably wondering if I’ve driven his car off the road yet.”
“Maybe you can ease his mind?”
He flashed a quick dimpled grin, one she’d not seen much on this trip. “Maybe.”
She stretched out on the bed, propping her head on her bent arm, facing him. “You used to smile more. You used to play more.”
The dimple disappeared and he turned away. “I’m just tired. I’ll call Brian in the morning. Are you sure you aren’t too warm?”
“I am, a little. You can turn the heat down.”
He rolled over to check on the thermostat, cranked it as low as he could and frowned when the device didn’t shut off. He turned the control to off, and the radiator still hummed. He swore.
“Call the front office and see if there’s another room available.”
She picked up the phone and let it ring eight times before the manager picked up.
“Hey, it’s Willow Hawkins in Room 28. Our heat is, well, overheating. Is it possible for us to move to another room?”
The manager choked out a protest. “No, ma’am, we’re full up. Thanksgiving weekend, you know.”
“Then can you come fix the radiator? It’s really warm in here.”
“Ma’am, I don’t know nothing about fixing radiators. Maybe you could crack a window?”
“Are you kidding? It’s eighteen degrees outside.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Don’t you have, I don’t know, repairmen on call?”
“Usually, but like I said, it’s Thanksgiving weekend.”
And clearly the worst weekend in the world to make a road trip. She rubbed her forehead and hung up, too tired to fight, too tired to seek out another motel.
“See if you can crack a window,” she suggested to Cam.
He looked at her as if she was crazy. “The temperature is falling outside.”
“Okay.” She pushed off the bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”
When she returned, refreshed for now, Cam was stretched out on top of his bed, still in sweatpants and a T-shirt, but he’d ditched his socks. Still, he looked hot.
“You can sleep in your underwear,” she offered, having decided to do the same. “I won’t care.”
Cam opened his eyes in time to see her step out of her own sweatpants. The flowered cotton low-cut underwear hugged her curvy hips, her rounded butt, revealed the slight, smooth curve of her belly below the spaghetti-strapped top. Her breasts moved slightly, her nipples peaked against the soft fabric. He’d forced himself to forget what a gorgeous body she had, which wasn’t too easy to do even when she wore layers of clothes. And God, he hadn’t seen her in her underwear since she was ten. He’d spent a good portion of his life trying to forget she had nipples.
And she wanted him to sleep in his underwear? To do that would reveal everything he was feeling right now. Not that the sweatpants were hiding it.
He jerked his gaze away and willed his body to behave. It didn’t want to listen; Willow’s image burned into his brain. He fisted his hands against the urge to touch her, to drag her into bed with him and start sweating for real.
He had to stop thinking like that. Had to resist acting on his desire. He’d finally made the choice to move on, leave her behind, start fresh, and here she’d come along with him. Everything she did made him long for her more. Yet how could he leave her if he made love to her? How could he make love to her knowing he was going to leave her?
Chapter Five
Willow walked out of the bathroom the next morning. She’d needed another shower after sleeping in a ninety-degree room. Cam sat shirtless on the bed, his back to her, muscles bunching as he lifted his T-shirt over his head. He tugged it down, but not before she froze in place, riveted by the sight of his sculpted body. Her mouth dried up as she stared until the last bit of skin was covered. Wow, when had he grown those muscles? Not an ounce of fat marred his body, and she had the insane desire to run her tongue over the definition she’d seen.
Clearly her brain was cooked. She’d gotten up at one point and tried to crack the window, but it didn’t open, so she’d just leaned against the glass until she cooled off, then went back to bed. She’d listened to Cam’s uneven breathing and known he wasn’t asleep. He hadn’t said anything, though he had to know she was awake.
“You didn’t sleep well last night. Want me to drive this morning?”
“No, I’m good.” He stood and faced her but didn’t meet her gaze.”You ready to go?”
Evidently lack of sleep made him cranky. She grabbed the handles of her bag, tossed the last bit of her clothes in it and scanned the bathroom for anything they might have missed before she followed him out of the room. She didn’t even put on her coat.
Walking into the cold after being so hot all night felt oddly refreshing. She shivered and hopped into the car. They sat in silence while the car warmed up.
“We’ll get breakfast on the road this morning, okay?” he asked.
“When are you going to relax?”
He blew out a breath. “When we get to Seattle.”
“No. We are not going to continue this trip with you being all Mr. Tense. We are going to find a way to have fun, even if we can’t stop at the world’s biggest ball of twine or whatever this highway has to offer.”
The dimple dented his cheek as he glanced at her. “How are you going to manage that?”
“I’ll find a way. When you lea
st expect it.” Coming up with a strategy would get her mind off the way she wanted to lick every inch of his chest.
He snorted a laugh and put the car in reverse.
The trip was smooth for the first hundred and fifty miles. Snowy, yes, and slower than they would have liked, but they still managed to make good time.
Until they hit the detour sending them north. The signs indicated road construction ahead, though that seemed unlikely in this weather. Cam tensed again. He pulled off the road and reached for the map.
“How far out of the way is this going to take us?” he muttered.
Willow edged close to look over his shoulder. “Looks like the new route runs parallel to this highway, and they meet up again after Helena.”
He grunted. “But how many more miles?”
She took the atlas and flipped to the back of the book. “Here you go, math boy.” She gave him a couple of numbers to add, then folded the atlas closed and tucked it behind the seat.
“About three hundred more miles, then.” He let his head fall back against the seat. “We may be making a big mistake here.”
“We’re going to do our best to get there on time, and if we can’t, you’re going to call your interviewer and tell them how close you are and you’re going to reschedule. We’re going to have fun, damn it.”
He turned to her and blinked. “Are you telling me what to do?”
“I’m pushing. You said that’s what I’m good at.”
He nodded and put the car into drive again. “Let’s see where this road takes us.”
Some of the tension left Cam’s shoulders as they drove along. The roads were steeper, but at least the snow had stopped.
“You should check in with Brian,” she suggested.
He nodded toward his phone. “Do it for me, would you?”
She picked up the phone and saw there were four more missed calls from Brian. She dialed the number but got his voice mail. He was probably at work—or he had fainted from shock at having his call returned.
“No answer,” she said, and placed the phone back in the cup holder. “Maybe he knew it wasn’t really you calling.”
Her phone rang just then, making her jump. She looked at the display and then put the phone back beside his without answering it.
Cam glanced over, curious at her reaction. “Who was it? You haven’t heard from Gwyn in a couple of hours.” Though there had been a half dozen calls before that, all of which had prompted Willow’s placating tone. He was growing to hate that tone. It wasn’t the Willow he knew.
“Not her this time. Jerry. He sent me two emails too.”
Cam tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “What did they say?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t read them.”
That surprised him. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to get upset over something I can’t do anything about right now.”
He guessed that made sense, but Willow never hid. That she was doing so now unsettled him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” Her tone wavered, as if suspicious.
“You liked him enough to go home with him for Thanksgiving but not enough to sleep with him?” They usually avoided the subject of sex. He could only blame his curiosity—and his blasted one-track mind—for bringing it up now.
She shifted, uncomfortable with the direct question. “I don’t sleep with every man who I go out with. Not anymore.”
Yeah, he remembered her high school days, when she would go out with every boy but him. He remembered defending her honor and getting more than one black eye and busted lip because of it. And he remembered the gnawing jealousy at the way she stuck to the jocks and the popular boys and never looked twice at his scrawny ass, when he’d been the only one who loved her.
Even then, though, he’d known she was only following in her mother’s footsteps, trying to find the man to give her the most security. She’d realized sooner than her mother that method wasn’t the way.
“I’m just saying going home to meet a guy’s family is a big step,” he told her. “One usually taken later in the relationship than, say, having sex. So why didn’t you sleep with him?”
She studied her fingernails. “It just wasn’t like that. He didn’t make a move, I didn’t make a move. It was all very civilized. And there was no spark.”
“Is the spark that important?”
“I think there has to be a balance. Somewhere there’s a guy with just the right balance of respect and spark and confidence.”
Here. Right here, he wanted to say. But no. Too late. He’d wasted too many years and chance after chance. Now he was moving on, moving away. He’d made his choice.
“You should read the emails,” he said instead, and turned on the radio.
Willow picked up her phone while Cam filled up the tank. She noted three more missed calls from Jerry and braced herself before listening. After all, what if he had something important to tell her, like she’d left something behind?
But no, the first message was an apology. She didn’t even hear his words, just the pleading edge of his voice like nails on a chalkboard. The next call was much the same, albeit delivered in a screechier tone, but the following gave her chills.
“I’ve been sitting outside your house waiting for you to come home so we could talk. Where are you?”
Cam got back in the car, shivering. Willow shut off the phone and tucked it away, but not quick enough to fool him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sounds like Jerry was waiting for me to come home. At my home.” As soon as she said the words aloud, she knew she’d made a mistake.
Cam stilled. “That’s not creepy at all.”
“Nope.” She stared at the phone in the cup holder, her skin crawling. What if she’d gone home with Brian? Was Jerry the type to get scary?
Cam popped open the door. “I’m going to get the laptop and we’re going to go over there and read the emails.” He pointed to a coffee shop.
“Cam. Maybe not a good idea.”
He met her gaze steadily. “I want to know what he has to say.”
She shivered a bit at the command in his tone, but lifted her chin in challenge. “Why?”
“What you said about those phone calls makes me wary.”
“Haven’t you ever broken up with someone and been a touch desperate?”
“No. By the time it gets to that point we’re both pretty sure it’s going to end.” He considered her a moment. “If you think there’s something in the emails you don’t want me to see, you don’t have to show me. I just—the idea that he’s waiting for you bothers me.” He picked up his phone and clicked a few keys. “Hey, Brian, when you get a chance, go by Willow’s and make sure nothing weird is going on, like someone hanging around who shouldn’t be.”
“By the time I get home, he’ll have given up,” she said.
“Maybe, but if you’d gone back home, he’d be there, and that doesn’t feel safe. He needs to know that’s unacceptable. Come on. We’ll get some coffee and open those emails.”
They parked in front of the coffee shop, and Cam ordered the coffee while Willow found a table and booted up the computer. Her stomach clenched when she saw Jerry’s email address. Was Cam right? Was Jerry overreacting to the breakup? Or was Cam the one who was overreacting?
She clicked the earliest message and scanned the words. The knot didn’t ease.
“What?” Cam asked.
“Just…embarrassing.” Jerry’s words tumbled over one another in effusive apology, expressing how sorry he was that she’d felt uncomfortable with his family. He ended his email by saying he hoped that they could talk once he got home. Guilt twisted her stomach. Had she freaked out over nothing?
No, his parents wanted to buy her a house and take over her life. He had taken the phone from her hand and ended an important phone call. Maybe she could have stuck out the weekend instead of panicking and calling Cam. But then what? She’d lost control of the situat
ion.
Jerry’s second email was sent yesterday morning, early. Willow tried to remember, was he an early riser? Did she even know? Again her finger hesitated before clicking to open the message.
This one’s tone was more accusatory, as if he’d thought about her actions all night and wanted to share his theories with her, his theories of why she’d bolted—that she was afraid to embrace her womanly side, was afraid of giving up control. But he was willing to help her overcome that. He was very patient and she was very important to him.
“Condescending much?” Cam muttered.
She’d been so engrossed in the email and the way it made her hackles rise that she hadn’t noticed him pulling his chair up beside her. That snapped her spine straight. She hated that she’d made a mistake, but she hated even more that Cam was here to see the aftermath.
To see her faults.
So odd, because he knew all her faults. He’d known her nearly twenty years. They had no secrets.
She closed the laptop and pushed it aside.
“There was another one. Don’t you want to see what it says?”
She couldn’t deal with any more humiliation. “Maybe later.”
He sat back and sipped his coffee. “You mean in private.”
“I don’t like you seeing how foolish I was.”
He grinned and folded his arms on the table. “You forget I knew you when you had a crush on Rick Sheridan in the eighth grade and made a complete idiot of yourself at the school dance. And when you got so drunk at the senior party that you puked in the front seat of my car.”