Page 18 of Be Mine Forever

“Don’t start.” Cam poured eggs for his own omelet into a bowl, glancing away from the bowl just long enough to narrow his eyes at her. “I told you I needed some space.”

“From me?”

“From everything. From Walsh, from Kerris, Amalie, Rivermont.” He stopped whisking and met her eyes, his still hiding something but more frank than they had been. “Yeah, you, too, a little. I needed to make my own way and live without all the drama for a little while.”

“So are you coming back to Rivermont now?” Jo stuffed her mouth with French toast so her rebel tongue wouldn’t beg him to consider coming home.

“Actually, I had an idea.” He settled his elbows on the counter and leaned forward to stab a square of French toast from her plate and placed it in his mouth. “Hmmm. Thatisgood.”

Jo tried to focus on what he was saying instead of the maple syrup and caramel glistening sticky sweet on his full lips.

“What idea?”

“What would you think of me holding my first exhibit at Walsh House?”

Hosting his exhibit at the community center Aunt Kris had built for foster kids? The strain of resisting licking those lips and of keeping a safe distance disintegrated. Jo scurried around the counter and threw her arms around Cam’s neck, heedless of the tension that had been snapping between them.

“Cam, that is so perfect.” Jo blinked back tears against his neck before pulling away to look up at him. “Aunt Kris would have loved that.”

Her aunt had always considered Cam a second son and almost from the first day he’d shown up at the foundation’s camp for foster kids had treated him like family.

Cam grinned down at her, wearing the expression she’d seen him only give her aunt. A fusion of tenderness, reverence, and respect. She recognized that look because even growing up with Aunt Kris and seeing her just about every day of her life, she had felt the same.

Jo rested her hands against Cam’s chest, the thud of his heart pounding into her palms. Second by second, Jo became aware of Cam’s hand molding her back. Of the other hand gripping her hip. Of her softness melting into the hard lines of his body. He dipped his head, nose brushing behind her ear.

“I’m sweaty.” Her words floated out on a husky breath.

“You smell good.” His breath misted her neck and he ran one hand up and down her back in long, slow strokes. Coming closer and closer to her butt every time. She wanted to grab his hand and slide it inside the tiny running shorts that barely contained the generous curves of her backside. She wanted to hop onto the counter, drag him between her legs, jerk his zipper open, hold him in her hands, stroke him, and then…

“Am I interrupting?”

Etinette’s voice splashed and squelched the heated moment like a bucket of icy water. Cam stepped back quickly, cursing at the unattended omelet that had started sticking to the pan.

“No, not at all.” He pulled the pan off the flame, his voice as flat as a two-by-four. “We were just celebrating a great idea.”

Etinette walked into the kitchen, coming up behind Cam and looping her slim arms around his waist.

“What is the idea?” She laid her pink hair against his back. “Smells good. Enough for me?”

“Of course.” Cam plated two slices of French toast and turned in Etinette’s arms. “You love my French toast. Here.”

“Ironic thatyoucan cook French toast and I cannot.” Etinette tipped up to her toes and laid a lingering kiss on Cam’s lips. He pressed back, brushing a hand across her vibrant hair.

Jo’s body, so hot moments before, froze over like a pond in deep winter. All her emotions—hurt and hope, fear and disappointment—lay trapped beneath a thick layer of ice. Drowning.

She stood up and scraped most of her uneaten food into the garbage disposal. She loaded her plate and coffee mug into the small dishwasher without looking at the couple whispering to each other in French.

Cam’s hand lay at the base of Etinette’s spine, in almost the exact position he’d held Jo moments before. Jo swallowed around the emotion burning a hole in her throat. He had just transported her back to another time. She was fifteen years old. It had taken all of her courage, but she had asked Cam to the Sadie Hawkins dance. He’d turned her down, saying he was busy that night, but she had known it was a lie.

He has told you in every way imaginable this isn’t going to happen. Where’s your pride?

“I’m gonna go, guys.”

Cam glanced over Etinette’s shoulder, his handsome face an indifferent plane showing no emotion except polite interest.

“Should I call you a cab?”

“Cam, my driver could take her.” Etinette turned bright blue eyes Jo’s way. “I have a driver.”

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