Collecting Secrets (Friends & Lovers Book 1)

by PE Kavanagh

  “I'm not going to pine, Daddy. I'm going to love it here.” Jenna turned to Camille. “My mother went here and met my Dad. So there might be big things ahead for us, Cammy!”

  A giggle slipped out. Boys would be such a refreshing topic in Camille’s life. “I hope so.”

  “Enough talk about boys, please. I'm already traumatized enough that my baby girl is so far away from home.” Jonathan tucked his daughter under his arm and kissed the top of her head.

  “Don’t worry, Daddy. Grades before boys.”

  “You got it, sunshine.”

  A small crack in the middle of her chest forced Camille to brace herself. This was not the time to drown in sadness. This was a new start, a chance to move forward. She compelled herself to smile and appreciate the lovely family in front of her.

  * * *

  It took several trips to the car to retrieve the rest of her bags. She’d shipped most of her belongings, but they hadn’t yet arrived. Good thing, because between Jenna’s family and all of Jenna’s stuff, there was hardly room for Camille. She sat on the center of her bed, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible while stealing glances at Jackson. If college guys looked like that, Camille was going to have the time of her life. She had lots of catching up to do after her dreadfully chaste high school years.

  Jenna hopped up onto the bed with her, breaking Camille’s focus on Jackson’s outstanding rear end. “Come to dinner with us, Cammy.” Her new best friend beamed at her. “We’re going out to celebrate and you can bring your family, and…”

  “Actually, they won’t be here today.” Another white lie wasn’t going to hurt.

  “An even better reason for you to join us,” Jackson chimed in.

  Camille swallowed. “Sure. Okay. Thanks.”

  “Awesome!” Jenna gave her a hug.

  Camille tried not to bristle. It was strange being enveloped by this large, affectionate family. So unfamiliar that it bordered on surreal. Even when her parents were still alive, it had just been the three of them, and they were never like this. She hugged Jenna back and decided that this was how her new life was going to look: beautiful and surrounded by love.

  * * *

  The two young women sat on Camille’s bed for hours, talking about boys and shoes, then ended up having to scramble to get ready for dinner. Camille emptied the largest of her suitcases onto the bed, trying to remember what she’d packed that would work for that night’s outing. Everything on the East Coast was so much more formal than her laid back California home. Not to mention that she wanted to strike the right balance of pretty and elegant without looking too sexy.

  She chose a simple navy shift. Camille’s abundance of curves made most dresses that looked nice on other bodies take a turn for the pornographic on hers. Even though Jackson would be there, she decided it wasn’t going to be the best night to put the full throttle of boobs and butt on display.

  “Oh my God, is that the new Dolce?” Jenna was already dressed, hands on hips.

  Camille smoothed down the front of the dress. “It’s only last season.”

  “Well, it’s gorgeous. I could never pull off a dress like that. I’d look like a little boy.”

  Camille scrunched her nose at the woman in front of her, who happened to be stunning. “No way, Jenna. I’m sure there’s nothing you couldn’t wear.”

  The knock on the door prevented the conversation from going any further.

  Justin stepped into the room and gave his sister an exasperated look. “We’re all waiting in the car. Come on!”

  They arrived at the restaurant and followed single file as the hostess led them through the packed dining room. They were clearly not the only ones with the idea of a family dinner on move-in day. As they approached the large rectangular table, Camille willed herself to relax and enjoy what was happening around her: smiles, laughter, tenderness. She could get used to this.

  She took the seat between Jenna and Elena, and watched as Jackson sat directly across from her. His tee shirt and scruffy jeans from that afternoon had been replaced by a shirt nearly the same color as her dress, and dark slacks. He’d shaved. She didn’t know how she was going to stop herself from staring at him, as he was even more gorgeous than earlier that day. She glanced up to find him looking at her with such sweetness that she imagined falling in love with him, right there on the spot. Too bad it would have to stay a fantasy, as he was miles outside of her reach.

  Elena gazed at her with a smile. “I’ve been having fantasies about Paris all day, Camille, inspired by your beautiful name. Tell me you have a French last name too, and I will dissolve.”

  “Yes, actually. It’s Moreau.”

  “Oh, that’s so familiar. I’ve definitely heard that name before.” She turned to her husband. “Honey, don’t we know somebody named Moreau?”

  Her husband shook his head very slowly, perhaps already knowing where this was going.

  “Yes, yes, I'm sure.” Elena tapped her upper lip with an elegant fingertip. “Wait! There was a San Francisco couple who died not long ago. Plane crash, I think. He was a prominent judge. Are you related to them?”

  Even before Camille answered, a look of horror washed over the other people at the table. Perhaps it was because of the pain that filled her expression. Perhaps it was the boom of her heart. “Yes, ma’am. Those were my parents.”

  Elena gasped. “Oh my God, Camille!” Her voice trembled with panic. “I am so sorry. I had no idea. How thoughtless of me. If I had known, I would have never-”

  “It’s okay, Mrs. King.” Camille kept her eyes focused on the items directly below her gaze. A plate, a fork, two glasses…

  Jenna touched the top of her shoulder. “I'm so sorry, Cammy.” Her voice shook.

  When she finally gathered the strength to look up, Camille took in the full view in front of her - a furrow in his brow, sadness in the molten chocolate eyes, and a slight part of his perfect lips. Compared to all the expressions of sympathy and pity she had received in her short life, this one, from a near stranger, penetrated the deepest.

  It wasn’t even the end of freshman year and this was the third of Jackson’s epic parties Camille and Jenna had been invited to. As they sat on the train into Manhattan, the girls tittered about all of Jackson’s hunky friends. There was only one man Camille really cared about. She had it bad for her best friend’s older brother. Maybe this would be the night she’d end up in his bed. Not that she would know what to do once she got there.

  It didn’t matter that he was way out of her league. He didn’t treat her like the oddity she feared she was, but he didn’t treat her like a woman, either. More like a little sister. She was willing to wait patiently for him to notice her in a different way. Jackson King was the catch of a lifetime.

  Bodies flowed in and out of his massive Soho loft through the night. Even past the hour that Camille thought anyone would still be up and about. By three A.M. it had finally quieted down enough to consider trying to sleep. She was exhausted and every spare surface had been taken over by bodies in various states of drunkenness and sexual exploration. Jenna’s romp with the DJ in the spare bedroom prevented Camille from taking her normal sleeping spot, so she ended up at Jackson’s door.

  She tapped on the doorframe.

  Jackson rolled over on the bed to face her. The sheets fell to his abdomen. “What’s up, fry?”

  She forced herself to focus on the glass of water on the bedside table instead of that unbelievable male body barely covered by crisp white sheets. “Need somewhere to crash.”

  He patted the large space next to him. “Come on in.”

  She crossed her arms and stood in the doorway. “You’ll have to put on a shirt first.”

  “Are you serious? It’s fine. There’s plenty of room in this bed.”

  Yes, there was room for at least three people in Jackson’s enormous bed. That didn’t matter. “Please put on a shirt.”

  He swung his legs around and pushed himself out of bed. Despite he
r best efforts, she could not turn away as he stomped over to the chest of drawers and pulled out a tee shirt. Camille would never tire of looking at the perfection of his body.

  He pulled the shirt over his head, turned to face her, and lifted his arms out to the sides. “Better?”

  She padded over to the opposite side of the bed, got in, pulled the covers up under her chin and answered. “Yes. Thanks.”

  She could hardly feel the dip as he lay down, but his presence so close to her wreaked havoc in her body. What was she thinking?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his back was turned to her.

  “I can feel the tension in your body all the way over here, Cammy. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice cracked. “Just fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.” He rolled over to face her, lingering on her eyes. “Cam, are you a virgin?”

  It was inevitable that she and Jackson went deep and personal, fast. This had been the tenor of their relationship from day one. “Yeah. So what?”

  “Don’t get defensive there, fry. I’m not judging you. I’m just trying to figure out why you’re so… uncomfortable.”

  Because I’m in bed with the hottest guy I know. Who I happen to be in love with. “What does one thing have to do with the other?”

  “You know you’re 100% safe here, with me, right? You have nothing to feel concerned about.”

  She crossed and uncrossed her ankles. “I’ve gotten pretty close a few times. I’m not a total newb.”

  “There nothing wrong with waiting. You’re just a kid, still.”

  “First of all, I’m almost nineteen, just a few years younger than you. Second of all, having your parents crash into the side of a mountain halfway through high school tends to put a damper on the whole dating thing.”

  He swallowed and softened the molten chocolate of his eyes. “I’m so sorry, darlin’. I seriously can’t imagine how you even made it through high school, much less kicking ass and getting into Princeton. You have absolutely nothing to feel bad or ashamed about.”

  Camille fought back the wave of emotion that pressed into the back of her throat. “When did you lose your virginity?”

  He lifted the corner of his mouth. The one near the dimple. “Nice redirect there, fry.”

  She matched his grin. “I learned from the best. Now spill it.”

  “I was a junior, sixteen I guess. A senior girl basically seduced me. I was her plaything until she graduated.”

  She squeezed her brows together. “I can’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.”

  “It was awesome. There’s a reason why the cultural trope of boys being initiated by older, more experienced women exists. It’s a system that works. Boys need instruction.”

  “Did you get instruction?”

  “It was a start. I’m still learning.”

  “What are you learning?” The words came out well before her good sense stopped her.

  He lifted up onto his elbow and looked down at her. “For someone who wouldn’t even get in this bed without me putting on a shirt, you’re getting into some pretty risqué stuff, fry.”

  “I never claim to be consistent. I am curious, though. I want to know.” This part - talking about it - was easy. All the other stuff - not so much.

  He lay back down so they were both staring at the ceiling, on opposite sides of the bed. “Okay, then. I’m learning that each woman is different. That I can master some trick or maneuver, but it might fall totally flat on the next woman. Being a good sexual partner seems to be more about paying meticulous attention to the one you’re with, rather than having skills.”

  She considered his response. “That makes sense.”

  “And I’m not making any claims about having figured it out.”

  “But that’s the whole point of your studies, right? The psychology of love and sex and stuff. So I’m sure you will.” I’m pretty sure you already have.

  “I hope so. It’s a pretty kick ass field, I have to admit.”

  She released her hold on the blankets just a tiny bit.

  “How about you, Cam? Do you think about… sex? Is there someone you’re thinking about sharing that with?”

  At least four circuits blew in her brain. The situation she found herself in was beyond ridiculous.

  “Well, yes. Maybe.”

  “Not that you asked, but here’s some big brother advice for you. Don’t be afraid to make him wait. Let him earn that immense gift. And please, please, please be safe.”

  “Jenna’s got a lifetime supply of condoms in our room. I’m sure I can steal a few. And maybe she’ll be the experienced woman to initiate me.”

  Jackson spun around so fast that the whole bed shook. She burst out laughing at the expression on his face. “No, dummy, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant she seems to have the whole sex thing figured out. I’m sure I can ask her anything.”

  It took him a minute to regain his bearings. “Cam?”

  “Yes, Jackson.”

  Everything around his eyes softened. “I want you to know that you can always come to me. Okay?”

  It was then that Camille realized that the large space between them in the bed was filled with nothing less than the most twisted irony.

  Chapter 3

  Now

  Camille let herself exhale fully only after the covers were pulled over her head. Thank goodness the rehearsal dinner was over. If she’d had to hold herself together for even one more second, her hair might have caught on fire. She took her first full breath in her bed, snuggled in tight, far away from Jackson King.

  Burrowed underneath a tent of sheets had been a safe space since childhood. Whenever the fighting began at home, she encased herself in the protective shield of her bedding. Even as an adult, without the impetus of her parents’ angry voices, it was where she went for emotional comfort.

  Camille’s eyes adjusted to the dark enough to see some of the city lights filtering through the covers. She liked Chicago. If not for the winter weather, she could see herself living there. If there was enough time tomorrow, before the festivities began, she’d go for a run around the lake. It was still a bit chilly out, but she could work up enough of a sweat to keep her warm.

  The first set of knocks on the door was muffled by the layers of blankets. The second set was indisputable.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Cam. Let me in.”

  Camille squeezed her eyes shut, willing Jackson to go away.

  “Camille, I will go downstairs, get a key, and let myself in. You know I can do that. Now, please, let me in.”

  She threw the covers aside and stomped to the door. Jackson had the ability to convince anyone of anything. She could resist his manipulations and was just as certain the front desk attendant could not. It wasn’t only his doctorate in psychology, it was the essence of his power.

  He was still wearing his suit from dinner, but his tie was gone, and the top buttons of his shirt were open. She forced her eyes to move from the enticing slice of his chest visible underneath the crisp white shirt.

  “What do you want, Jack? It’s late.”

  He gripped the edge of the door and gently pushed it open far enough to step through. She moved out of the way, but he did not enter the room any farther. His gaze lingered on the cartoon characters on her faded t-shirt. She crossed her arms, self-conscious that he could probably see the outline of her breasts, and then shook her head that this had become an issue.

  He stepped around her, walked toward the window and turned around. The room was dark enough that his features were shadowed. “We need to talk about what happened today. I can’t stand you avoiding me. It’s killing me.”

  She shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s okay. It was a momentary lapse of reason. We can just forget about it, alright?”

  “I can’t forget about it.” He leaned back against the window ledge.

  This was not the answer she expected. “I’m too emoti
onally raw to deal with this, Jack.” She sat down on the end of the bed, her attention drawn to the expanse of thigh visible below her shirt.

  “I love you, Camille.”

  “I love you too, Jackson. You’re my-”

  “You misunderstand.” He walked the few steps toward her and sat next to her on the bed. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

  Every other sense drowned underneath the pounding and rushing in her ears. This couldn’t be happening.

  “I know my timing sucks. I’m sorry for that. But I’m glad it’s finally out. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.” He lifted his hand, then lowered it back to his lap. The look in his eyes reminded her of the first night they had met, when he looked at her across the large dinner table. After she’d told the truth about her family.

  “I don’t understand why you’re doing this. And why now.”

  “There’s nothing in my life that scares me more than losing you. I’m taking a big risk, Cam. You could tell me to fuck off, or slap me, or worse. So, I’m not doing this because it’s easy. I’m doing this because… it’s time.”

  “Time for what?”

  “Time for us.” His hand slipped under her hair and wrapped around the back of her neck. It took the slightest pull to bring her face to his, followed by a warm breath, and the sensation of soft lips moving hers apart. There was no point avoiding the obvious - her body responded to him - and she did nothing to separate them.

  When her hand slipped under his open collar to touch the chiseled chest she had seen so many times, and his palm pressed into the top of her thigh, she knew that there was only one direction this night could go.

  Camille had very successfully rationalized that physical intimacy would never be a part of their relationship. And yet, there they were, hands and mouths roaming and scouring each other.

  “Stop.” Her single word pulled his mouth from the top of her breast.

  “Cammy…”

  “This is too much for me.” She could not find a word that adequately captured the love, desire, and respect she felt for the man who had been a lifesaver. She also knew that she’d successfully avoided this exact event for many years. “I won’t lie and say I’m not…”