Page 38 of Best Part of Me

She snorts, shoving me away. “I’m serious. I need food, or I’m going to shrivel up and die.”

I’d be lying if I said I’m not disappointed we’re not going to take advantage of being awake this early by having morning sex. It’s an anomaly but something I wouldn’t mind experiencing for the first time with her. But Cammie has always been one of those people that if you don’t feed her, she’ll get hangry. “Okay, let’s find you some food.”

“And coffee. Please tell me you have a way to make coffee.”

I chuckle. “Don’t worry, I got it covered.”

I search the tent for Camille’s clothes and hand the pile over to her. She hurries to tug the sweater over her head. The weather grew colder than I expected, and I’m shivering. I get dressed quickly.

Unzipping the tent, I shove my boots on before climbing down the ladder. Camille comes down after me, jumping to the ground. The sun isn’t up yet, and there’s a chill in the air. Enough where I need a jacket.

“I’m gonna go find a bathroom while you hopefully figure out the coffee situation.” Cammie crosses her arms, turning around, and as she struts away, my attention is drawn to that perfect backside of hers. So deliciously round. Memories assault my brain from the night before when that plump ass was bucking on top of me.

I groan past the uncomfortable bulge in my pants. Later. There will be time for more of that later. After we get food and get to our next destination. But first, getting the coffee going. I’ve camped enough times to have a routine down. But having Camille here has thrown it off immensely.

For the last four years, I’ve been working as a PR and social media marketer for a travel company, Three Creeks Travel, along with being their lead blogger. I make enough money to keep my apartment and my Harley and Jeep, and have a little left over. It’s a simple life, and I’ve grown used to the quiet.

Since I travel so much, it also means having a serious relationship doesn’t work for me. I’m always upfront with women, and most don’t have a problem with it. There’s never a commitment. Nothing beyond one night. Which is perfect for me because I don’t want more than one night. Usually.

This road trip is ten days. That’s ten days longer than I’ve spent with any woman. Ten nights of going to sleep with Camille. Ten mornings of waking up with her.

Typically, even the mention of spending the night with a woman causes my chest to tighten. If there’s a possibility of waking up with a woman beside me, anxiety snakes through my gut. But having an expiration date for Cammie and me makes it easier. I don’t have that panicky flutter in my chest.

After the ten days is up, we go home. We go our separate ways. We pretend this never happened. Thatwenever happened.

I try to ignore the uncomfortable rock that’s sitting in my gut over this thought.

The fire comes to life just as Cammie shuffles into my peripheral, her arms crossed and her hair disheveled. The sun is slow to rise. There’s a creamy glow just above the horizon, and the warmth is already touching my skin as I crouch in front of the fire.

“How’d you sleep?” She sits on the single camping chair I set up and crosses her leg.

It’s the only one I brought because I’ve never needed two. We’ll have to stop at a store on our way to the next campsite and pick up another.

“Good. How about you?” I set another piece of wood in the fire.

“Not as well as the night before, but still pretty good. Your bed might be the most comfortable one I’ve ever slept in.”

“You’ve slept in a lot of beds, Sunshine?” I tease and catch her eye. Her cheeks highlight in pink.

“Is that your way of asking how many men I’ve slept with, Mav?” She dishes it right back, and it sends a jolt of anticipation south.

“Maybe.” My lips curl into a devious smile.

“Should I ask how many women you’ve fucked?”

Her word choice causes me to choke. Maybe because it’s early in the morning, or maybe because other campers are beginning to emerge from their tents, and there’s the sound of children’s voices. Or maybe it’s because this is Camille—my Sunshine—and she’s not always so straightforward with me.

At least, not until two days ago.

I rub the back of my head. “Maybe we don’t need to talk about our pasts.”

She snorts and pushes off her legs, standing. “Except that our pasts have a lot to do with who we are. And I’d say we know a lot more about one another’s pasts than we may want to.”

My eyes track her movement as she shuffles to the back of the Jeep. She’s probably right. I’ve learned more than enough about Camille’s sex escapades through conversations with Rosie. What I do know is, she’s no saint. She’s had her fair share. But for the last three years, she’s been sleeping with the same boring guy, doing the same boring moves between the sheets.

I walk up behind her as she rummages around in the back of the Jeep. I’m not positive if she’s actually looking for something or if she’s simply upset. Maybe a bit of both. I snatch her wrist in my grasp and halt her searching.

She regards me with what looks like defiance. But as her eyes search mine, she shrinks and eases into my tender touch.

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