Buried Beneath

by Debbie Baldwin

Like he wanted to fuse their souls.

  The very thought of it ripped the orgasm from within her, the blast as much mental as physical—the bond they formed, all-encompassing. The dam burst again like a movie reel backing up and replaying, her cries drowned out by Cam's as ecstasy consumed them.

  After an eternal minute, he lifted his head and brushed the sweat and tears from her face. Then, still buried within her, he gently kissed her lips and asked, “You okay?”

  “No. I was okay when I got my muffin at the bakery.” She wrapped the auburn curl that had flopped onto his forehead around her finger. “I am incredible.”

  “Yes, you are.” He ran his nose down the length of hers.

  Evan took a deep breath as he withdrew. Cam rolled to the side, bringing her with him. Words of love were on her tongue, but they didn’t leave her mouth. She was still learning this man, but she knew with every fiber of her being that she loved him, loved Cam. Despite promising herself she would be bold, her shyness kept her silent.

  “What are your plans for the holidays?” he asked.

  “Um, well, I planned to catch up on some reading, and I’m submitting a new proposal for my dissertation.”

  “You’re spending Christmas alone?” He traced a line down her arm.

  “My dad's traveling, and my mom and stepdad are visiting his son in Texas. I don’t mind.”

  “Baby, pack a bag.”

  Baby. Her whole body tingled at the endearment. The man holding her was everything.

  “Okay.”

  Cam laughed. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I trust you. Wherever you take me, I’m sure it will be an adventure.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Coconut Grove, Florida

  December 24

  C

  am thanked the Uber driver and climbed out of the SUV, holding Evan's hand. He paused, standing before the pink stucco home nestled among lush greenery and coconut palms. The house was decorated for the holidays. Pine roping wrapped with white lights outlined the front door, a wreath with a red bow hanging in the center. On the front lawn, a garish inflatable Santa in his sleigh disrupted the tasteful landscaping. Cam knew instantly his parents had put it out for his little nieces and nephews. Evan stood next to him, scanning the tableau with delighted eyes, almost the same way she examined a discovery in the caves.

  He retrieved their luggage from the back and returned to her side. She stood close, wrapped both hands around his big arm, and smiled. “You grew up here?”

  “Yeah. Fell out of that tree when I was eight and broke my arm.” He pointed to a huge magnolia in the side yard. “And that trellis to the second-floor window? That's how we would sneak out.”

  “We?”

  “Oh yes, my sisters taught me more about espionage than the CIA.” He winked.

  “Cam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m so happy right now.” She looked up at him, her cinnamon eyes glowing. Cam felt it to his toes. He wanted to put that expression on Evan's face every day for the rest of his life.

  “Are you nervous to meet my family?” he asked.

  “Nah.” She waved him off. “Parents love me. I’m the nerd, remember? They assume I’m the one who's going to keep their kids from getting into trouble.”

  “Little did they know.” He bumped her gently.

  “Right?” She laughed, that husky, sexy sound that drove him wild.

  “That's why you’re perfect for me. You look all sweet and innocent, but I see that troublemaker inside you.”

  The front door opened.

  Cam's mother leaned down to pick up a package. When she stood back up, she looked to where they stood, and Cam lifted his hand with a broad smile. Kate Canto dropped the box and covered her mouth with both hands. Cam could see the tears running over her cheeks and the backs of her fingers. She turned back to the house and shouted for her husband.

  “Aarón! Aarón! Come here right now!” Then she hurried down the stone steps and rushed to where he stood at the end of the driveway. His mother was a tiny woman, but she crashed into him with full force, sending him back a half-step and knocking a laugh out of his mouth. She didn’t say a word, just squeezed him as if reassuring herself he was actually there. Cam gave her a minute—she was always open and emotional, but he sensed she needed this—then said, “Hi, mom.”

  Cam returned Evan to the circle of his arm.

  With a sniff and a swipe at her eyes, his mother pulled back and assessed her son and the woman by his side.

  “And this must be Evan.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Canto. It's so nice—” His mother's embrace cut off her words.

  “Welcome, Evan. Cam has told me so little about you.” She shot Cam a mock glare. “Come on inside, and I’ll get you fed.”

  “That's the best thing I’ve heard in months,” Cam agreed.

  As they started up the walk, his father appeared in the doorway.

  “Camilo!” his father shouted as he came barreling up to them. Cam was a younger version of his father. At sixty-seven, his dad still had a thick head of chestnut hair with just a touch of distinguished gray at the temples. He had the same golden irises that were now misted. If anything, Aarón Canto was even more emotional than his wife. He lifted his son a foot off the ground, then set him down, clapped him on the back, and grabbed the duffle that had landed on the lawn. He greeted Evan like she was already a member of the family.

  “Merry Christmas, Evan. Aarón Canto.” He held out a hand, and she took it. “Cam picked a hell of a week to bring his first girl home. It's going to be a madhouse for the next several days.”

  Cam felt her pleasure at his father's words, and she leaned closer. She looked up at him as she replied. “In my experience, Cam doesn’t do anything halfway.”

  “Ah-ha, she has your number.” Aarón led them into the house, and Kate guided Evan toward the kitchen.

  His father held Cam back. “Cutting it pretty close, my son.”

  “Sorry it took an extra day, but it was necessary.”

  Aarón Canto's gaze went to his wife as she disappeared down the hall. “I understand.”

  “Interrogation later, dad. I’m here for the food.”

  Through his laughter, his father said, “there's my son.”

  “It's good to be home.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Beaufort, South Carolina

  December 25

  N

  athan Bishop was a light sleeper. Years in the military bookended by years of disquiet had made for restless nights. At the moment, inner contentment and the beautiful body molded next to him had quite the soporific effect. As a result, he had twice swatted at the hand that shook his shoulder before registering the urgent whisper.

  “Nathan? Nathan?”

  “I’m up. I’m up. What's going on?”

  “It's time.”

  Nathan yawned. “Nah. Can’t be. It's still dark out. Go back to sleep, Emily.”

  Emily sat up in the bed and waited. Five, four, three…

  “I’m up. It's time? Time time? I’m up.”

  Emily's face contorted in pain as she gripped her belly.

  “Boy, they got bad fast. That was seven minutes in between.”

  “Seven minutes!” Nathan hollered before jumping out of the bed.

  “Well, they’ve been twelve minutes apart for a while. Now seven. So I think it's time.”

  “Twelve then seven?” Nathan hopped around with one foot stuck in the leg of his jeans as he grabbed a T-shirt from the dresser. “Jesus bloody hell, how long have you been faffing about with the timing?”

  “Excuse me? Did you just refer to labor as faffing?”

  Nathan righted his clothes, took a deep breath, and sat next to his wife on the bed.

  “Emily, darling. How long have you been experiencing contractions?”

  “Since noon.”

  “Noon!!!—” Deep breath. “I see.” He pulled her h
and off her belly and held it between his own. “And why haven’t you mentioned it?”

  “I wanted to be one of those cool, together moms. You know, third baby, she's-got-it-all-figured-out. Plus, I didn’t want to bother you with all this Cam stuff going on, but I may have waited a bit too long. I think my water just broke. I didn’t account for the fact that this is my first actual labor.”

  Their twins had been delivered via a scheduled C-section.

  “Right.” Nathan sent a quick text to his Aunt Maggie; the godsend had offered to watch the twins should this very circumstance occur. He cleared his throat. “In the future, when you are forty weeks pregnant, I would like to be apprised of everything from a gas bubble to a pebble in your shoe. Understood?”

  “Copy that.” She saluted.

  Nathan held the back of her head and took his wife in a fierce kiss. Emily whimpered in response. Then moaned as another contraction seized her. Nathan shifted seamlessly, placed a hand on her middle, and checked his watch.

  “Maggie should be here straight away. I’ll get your bag.” He found her violet gaze as the contraction ebbed. “Let's go meet our daughter.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Coconut Grove, Florida

  December 25

  C

  am kissed Evan's hair as she snuggled close. At three in the morning, his dark childhood bedroom looked normal enough, but he knew once the sun rose, she would see the bedroom of a teenage boy. The walls were decorated with posters of Dan Marino and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Shelves were filled with high school soccer and baseball trophies. His dresser held framed photos of Cam with his sisters and school friends. There was a picture of him with a former Vice President at a reception after Cam had been awarded the Silver Star. Of course, there was also a picture of a six-year-old Cam in traditional Chilean garb performing a native folk dance.

  He placed his hand over Evan's, where it rested on his broad, smooth chest. He was planning to slip out of bed when a thought hit him. He had extracted himself from a woman's bed so many times—easing her body away and tiptoeing around the room to grab his clothes from the floor, leaving a note on a counter or a table. This was different in every conceivable way.

  It pained him to separate himself from the woman melded to his side. The moment he slipped to the edge of the bed, he felt her absence. Nevertheless, he had a tradition when he was home. He didn’t know if it was superstition or hunger, probably both, but he always crept down to the kitchen in the middle of the night, snagged a plate of leftovers, and ate alone at the granite island in the quiet.

  Years of training had enabled Cam to move with the silence of a shark. He descended the front hall stairs and crept into the kitchen. The bright space was yellow and white with gleaming countertops and professional appliances. He pulled the container of stew from the stainless steel fridge, poured a generous bowl, and grabbed a spoon while it warmed in the microwave. Meal in hand, he turned and came face to face with his father wearing pajamas and a smirk and holding a coffee mug.

  “You never could sneak around worth a damn.” Aarón jerked his head toward the living room.

  Cam whispered, “I don’t know why I’m sneaking around anyway. Shit, I’m thirty-five.”

  “Language,” his mother scolded, walking through the room and heading to the walk-in pantry.

  “It's three in the morning.” Cam scratched his stubbled beard and accompanied his dad.

  Aarón spoke as he strolled to the couch. “It's Christmas. Your mom's been cooking, and I’ve been wrapping. Ever tried to wrap a bicycle?”

  Cam entered the vaulted living room; the ten-foot Frasier Fir was heavy with ornaments, tinsel, and white lights. Cam covered his mouth to silence the laugh; it looked like his father had simply unrolled the wrapping paper in circles around the small bike and then done the same with the tape. Strategically placed bows hid the worst of it.

  His father shrugged, “Jamie won’t care. The paper will be in shreds in thirty seconds.”

  Cam followed his dad and took a seat. The room was decorated in pale gray and white with blue and sage green accents in the art and the throw pillows. Pine roping and candles decorated the mantle, a nativity scene in the center.

  Aarón crossed an ankle over the opposite knee and spread his arm across the back of the pewter linen couch. “Now. Tell me about your girl.”

  “My girl,” Cam repeated, loving the words.

  “The look on your face? I think it was the exact expression I must have had when I first laid eyes on your mother.”

  Kate Canto appeared at the arched entrance to the room.

  Cam stood and hugged his mother. “Merry Christmas, mom.”

  “I love you, Camilo.” Kate sat next to her husband. “Now, tell us about Evan.”

  Aarón squeezed her shoulder. “I think he felt the zing.” He kissed his wife's temple.

  She shook her head. “You and that stupid zing.”

  “What? It was a zing. I felt a zing when I first saw you.”

  “I felt no such thing,” she huffed.

  “Impossible.” Aarón pulled her close. “What did you feel, my love? A spark? An explosion?”

  They were talking to each other now. “Guys?”

  Aarón and Kate turned to their son. Kate spoke. “Sorry, love. Tell us how you two met.”

  “I will, but I also need your help with something. Evan's never had a big family holiday meal, so I’d like to pull out all the stops.”

  “So business as usual then?” his father joked.

  “Basically. I just want your help making it perfect.”

  “We’ll help as soon as you admit you felt the zing,” his father insisted.

  “I felt it.” Cam sensed his face coloring.

  “I knew it!” Aaron Canto cheered.

  “But not at first. The first time I met her, she threw up on me, punched me in the face, and flipped me off.”

  His mother laughed and pulled her legs beneath her. “Sounds like the start of an epic love story.”

  After telling his parents the story, leaving out some of the details so Evan could share them at dinner, he returned to his childhood bedroom. He stood in the doorway, staring at her sleeping form. Just like in the caves, he knew her in the dark. She had scooted into the space he had occupied and was lying on her side, hugging his pillow with one hand; the other was stretched across the mattress, seemingly seeking him out. He obliged.

  Stripping off his T-shirt and sweatpants, Cam crawled into the bed in gray boxer briefs and pulled her close. She slipped her knee between his thighs and pressed against his side; her breasts, through the thin fabric of her camisole, rubbed against his bicep.

  Who needed sleep?

  Cam slid down, dragging her panties down as he went, and draped a long smooth leg over his shoulder. Evan arched her back and bent her other knee. With that subtle green light, he buried his face between her legs. God, this woman, every muffled moan, every curl of her toes against his shoulder, every clench of her fist in his hair drove him mad. She tasted like oranges dipped in honey, and he wanted to devour her. Her body was the map guiding him to her treasure. She tensed as he stroked her with his fingers and tongue pulling the orgasm from deep within her.

  When he lifted his head, she was watching him through drunken eyes. She opened her arms, and he grabbed a condom from the nightstand and settled between her hips.

  “Next time, I’d like to watch you do that,” she whispered.

  “Would you now?”

  “It's just so erotic.”

  He positioned himself at her entrance and stroked her face. “Maybe I should fuck you in front of a mirror, mi amor? Would you like that? Would you like to see what I do to you?”

  He thrust as she gasped, “yes.”

  Well, well, well, his little mouse was as adventurous in the bedroom as she was everywhere else. Interesting. Their sex was already off the charts. Cam had never been with a woman long enough to explore their sexuality together. The thought
of doing it with Evan had his erection throbbing as he thrust inside of her.

  “Cam,” she breathed against his neck.

  “Again,” he commanded.

  “Cam. Cam.” Every time she said his name, a painful wound inside him healed.

  Together they exploded.

  When they awoke again, it was to an overcast day and voices coming from downstairs. Cam reached for his phone on the nightstand to check the time.

  “It's eleven. I haven’t slept this late in ten years.” He yawned.

  Evan snuggled close. “I’m usually up at six. I guess all the traveling took its toll.”

  “Nah, I think I wore you out.”

  They had been awake until dawn, exploring each other with a hunger that never seemed to ebb. She nuzzled his neck. “You always smell so good, like ocean air.”

  “You smell like sex. Like I’ve been at you all night. Damn, I’m hard again, but from the sound of it, at least one of my sisters is downstairs with her kids.”

  “Oh my God, it's Christmas.” She shot up in the bed.

  Cam pulled her back to his side. “Relax, baby. My sisters do Christmas at their homes. They’re not due to come here until this afternoon.”

  “Then what are we listening to?”

  “That's probably Antonia and her kids. Her oldest, Ricky, is on the autism spectrum, and holidays can overwhelm him. She brings him over early to show him the tree and let him open his presents; it's too much commotion when the rest of the family is here. Her younger two, Kara and Theo, are hell on wheels.”

  “How many nieces and nephews do you have?” Evan asked.

  Cam listed them off. “Antonia has the three downstairs, Sylvie is Antonia's twin, and she has three girls. Maria is the oldest, she has two boys, and Lena is closest to me. She's divorced and has one daughter.”

  “Nine?”

  Cam nodded. “Four boys and five girls.”

  Evan blew a lock of hair from her face. “I may need to hang out with Ricky. I can see how that could be intimidating.”

  Cam traced his fingertips over her bare shoulder. “You’ll be fine. I’ve got you.”