Page 53 of Savage Lover

She wrings out the cloth angrily, refusing to look at me.

“I’m not,” she says.

Even while she’s saying the words, two tears run down the sides of her face, in perfect parallel.

“Tell me what happened.”

It’s not an order. It’s just a request. Still, she shakes her head, making the tears fall down onto her lap.

“No,” she says. “It’s none of your business. And I don’t trust you.”

“Well,” I say. “That’s probably smart. I’m not that trustworthy.”

Camille gives me a suspicious look, like she thinks I’m messing with her.

“I’m not some fragile flower,” she says. “I grew up right here in Old Town, the same as you.”

“Not exactly the same. You’re a good girl.”

“No, I’m not.” She shakes her head. “You have no idea what I’m capable of doing.”

I sit up again, wincing at the pain in my ribs. She doesn’t try to stop me this time. I lean closer to her, hair falling over my eyes.

“I’ve got some idea,” I growl.

I take her face between my hands and I kiss her. This time I do it slowly, so she could pull away if she wanted to. She stays completely still. She lets me run my tongue over her lips, and then thrust it into her mouth, tasting her. She tastes a little bit like beer, a little bit like Coca Cola, and a little bit just herself.

Her lips are soft and flexible under mine. The top and bottom lips are almost equally full.

This time it’s me who sneaks a look at her face up close. Her thick, dark lashes fan out against her cheeks. Her skin is smooth and clean. Her face is rounder than usual—not a supermodel oval. But that makes her look youthful, especially when her hair is loose. Especially when she isn’t frowning for once.

She smells like fresh rain and clean laundry. Her tongue massages mine—gently, softly.

She brings her hands up to my face, too, and I smell the last remnants of diesel on her skin. One of my favorite scents in the world—intoxicating and raw. It makes my heartbeat pound against my throbbing ribs.

I pull her down on top of me, trying not to groan at the pain in my ribs. We lay side by side on the narrow, lumpy mattress, still just kissing.

I’ve never kissed a girl like this, without trying to go further. I’m so wrapped up in how good it feels that I’m not pushing on to the next thing. I just want to taste and smell and touch her, just like this.

Maybe I’m still floating from that hit to the head, because I barely feel the floor beneath us. I feel wrapped up in the rain and her warm skin. I feel a rush of contentment that I haven’t known for years.

I don’t know how long it goes on. Maybe an hour or two. The time has no meaning, because it’s the only time that matters. If you could see my whole life laid out on a string, this would be the one bright bead. The one moment of happiness.

Then my hand brushes over her breast, accidentally, and she stiffens.

I don’t know if she’s pulling away, or if she liked it. But the moment is broken.

We’re both drawing back, staring at each other. Both confused.

The rain stopped. I didn’t notice it, when it happened. The room is utterly silent.

“I should go home,” I say.

I don’t know if I’m saying what I want, or what I think she wants.

She nods.

“Thanks. For . . . you know.” I gesture awkwardly at the bowl of rusty water.

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