Page 95 of Be Mine Forever

“You know what happened.” Shame curdled in Cam’s belly every time he remembered holding that gun to Jo’s head. “Don’t pretend you want me anywhere near her.”

“I want you to get help, which it sounds like you’re doing. Dr. Stein helped Kerris a lot. How’s it been?”

“Cool so far.” Cam tucked away as much of the emotion he felt as possible. “We’ve been meeting by Skype. Next time I’m in Rivermont, we’ll have a session face-to-face.”

“And when will you grace the Rivermont city limits?”

“I don’t know. Christmas?”

“That’s over a month away. Will you at least call Jo? Talk to her?”

Cam already knew if he talked to Jo he’d cave. His need for her was desperate. Not just sexually, though if his balls got any bluer they might just fall off, but the need for her company. He loved being alone with her. Sitting in silence with her. Listening to his vinyl records while she knit. Yeah, no calls quite yet.

“I just need to see where I am at Thanksgiving, and I’ll determine then what I need to do.”

“I’m going to be honest with you. Peter hasn’t given up. I know Jo has loved you a long time, but everyone has their limit. You might want to at least call.”

“Walsh, I held a gun to Jo’s head.” The words burned his tongue like hydrochloric acid. “I just…I’m not ready to talk to her. She should hate me. If she comes to her senses, she might.”

The silence over the phone filled up with all the fear and shame Cam had hidden in some catacomb of his head. Walsh had always had a way of cracking him open, without really even trying. Cam both loved and hated that about him.

“Cam, you’re dealing with your past, and it’s about damn time. Do you want a future with Jo?”

Did he deserve one was a better question, but that was probably beside Walsh’s point.

“And speaking of the future,” Walsh plowed on, apparently prepared for and used to Cam’s reticence. “I see the way Jo looks at Harlim and Brooklin. She’s amazing with them. She’s almost thirty. I know she wants kids of her own. Are you going to give her that?”

Jo didn’t just want kids of her own. She wantedhiskids. Cam knew it. He wanted that, too.

“I need to go.” Cam pushed back the emotion working its way up his throat like chimney smoke.

“Should I tell Jo we spoke?”

“No, not yet. I’ll reach out to her soon.”

“Don’t wait too long, or she may not be waiting anymore.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Wanna grab lunch?”

Jo looked up from the adoptive parent application, rationing a percentage of her attention for Peter’s question.

“Um…we’ll see.”

“You’re losing weight, Jo. You’re working too hard and skipping meals again.”

It wasn’t work as much as misery that had her dropping pounds everywhere except her ass. Of course, that stubborn appendage wasn’t going anywhere no matter how thin the rest of her got. If ten miles a day didn’t budge her butt, a few skipped lunches certainly wouldn’t.

Jo was a self-acknowledged workaholic. Everyone knew it, but no one everdidanything about it. No one except Cam had ever canceled her appointments, taken her roller-skating and peach picking. Made her slow down. She’d lived her whole life in luxury, but it had taken a hot meal and a waiting bath every night to spoil her.

God, she missed him.

And to be clear, men did not have the market cornered on wet dreams. Jo woke up sweating, clenching her thighs and sopping wet between her legs every night. Now that she’d had the real thing, no amount of knitting or running appeased that sex-starved wildcat she collared to go out in public among decent people. Behind closed doors, she missed him pushing so deeply inside her it smudged the hard lines between ecstasy and pain. She craved his tongue in her mouth. His mouth between her legs. His hand slapping her bare ass.

Shit.

Jo dropped her head into shaky hands, pushing the application aside. Tears crept from the corners of her eyes. A tiny liquid path of pain leaked from her nose.

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