Page 10 of Red Hot Harmony

“I am.” Camille nodded.

The restaurant was small and poorly lit with orbs of shimmering light hung above each table, which left the waitstaff to navigate in nearly complete darkness.

Sucks to work here, I thought as we were escorted to our own table in the corner, one side facing the dining room and the other facing a window overlooking the Pacific.

Camille sat across from me, her hair loose and a little messy from the ride. When we’d hit PCH, she rolled down her window and inhaled long and deep as if the ocean was a luxury.

And perhaps, for her, it was. Perhaps between taking care of business and Ally, she didn’t have much time to enjoy the little things that many people took for granted.

“Have you ever been here before?” Camille asked, discreetly looking around.

The atmosphere was intimate and the patrons were few, despite it being a Friday night, and kept to themselves.

“A couple of times,” I told her, trying not to strain my brain too much, because the memories were hazy. Frank had brought me here once and then I’d come with some other woman. She was a model. Talk, willowy, small breasted, with stark platinum hair.

Now I regretted wasting that opportunity to experience good dining in a nice place on someone whose name I couldn’t remember.

“Past dates?” Camille smirked.

“Not exactly.”

“So past playmates?”

“Do you really care about all my flings?” My voice pitched low. I wasn’t upset by her questions. On the contrary, I was taken by surprise that she didn’t feel self-conscious about herself when most regular women who ended up on a date with a somewhat famous person in fact did.

It was one of the many things I liked about Camille.

“Not necessarily,” she said.

I diverted again. “Are you jealous?”

“No.”

There was a shift between us. The air heated, vibrated, stretched. In this light, she looked young, not like a mother.

“Is it making you uncomfortable that I’ve been with so many women?” I rasped out.

She swallowed. A single shake of her head followed.

Something wild woke up inside me and I pushed myself off the chair and, propping my forearms on the table, brought my head closer to hers. The table itself was very small, typical for restaurants located in prime real estate areas, and our faces were mere inches apart. I felt the warmth of her gasp meeting my nose, lips, and cheeks.

“Think of it this way, mama,” I whispered. “I’ve had a lot of practice, which means that when I fuck you, you’ll enjoy every second of it. That’s my promise to you.”

She was silent and still and maybe a little flushed. A vein in her neck throbbed just beneath her smooth, silken exposed skin.

I slid back into the chair, my gaze never leaving hers.

Nothing happened. No witty remarks. No further questions.

“Does the word ‘fuck’ bother you?”

Her head tilted slightly to the side. “No.”

The waiter emerged from the darkness. He was young and dressed impeccably—white shirt, black slacks. An apron destroyed the outfit a little, though.

The menus were handed to us.

“Would you like to get started with some drinks?”

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