Page 56 of Red Hot Harmony

I didn’t know what that source was. And I wanted to find out, of course, but I didn’t push. Instead, I made a mental note to run his idea past Camille next time I saw her—to let me take Ally to Frank’s for a jam session.

“Hey, thanks for checking on me,” I said.

“I’m just a phone call away,” he offered before the line went dead.

I couldn’t wait for Tuesday.

Ally was better and I showed up at Camille’s doorstep at six. We had a very fulfilling lesson that included learning some gnarly Slash solos and then I stayed for dinner.

The food was served inside since outside looked like a literal highway to Hell. A bit ashy and quite unhealthy, and there was a lot more smoke coming in from up north now.

It was all very tense with me sitting next to the woman I wanted to kiss to death and not being able to get intimate because her kid was right there, staring at us with those huge eyes, half judging and half admiring, as if she could read our minds.

“Okay, what the hell is wrong with you two?” she snapped when our plates were empty and our bellies full. “Are you not holding hands because of me? I’m not ten. I have well-developed ovaries and I know what sexual attraction is.”

Camille cringed a little at the female anatomy comment.

Yep, it was a weird evening.

And when I got home, I jerked off for a good hour, pretending my hand was actually Camille’s.

It did help, but it was kind of like drinking green tea when what your brain really wanted was Red Bull.

On Wednesday afternoon, I got a text from her indicating she’d been extremely busy today and that I should pick her up from the boutique because she wouldn’t have time to go home and change. She didn’t need to change, in my humble opinion. She always looked marvelous and sexy, whether she had on a pair of slacks, a dress, a pencil skirt, or nothing.

I drove my Camaro and parked in front of the building. At first, I thought about waiting in the car but ultimately decided to walk in because the scenery that unfolded in front of me in the sky was miserable, the very opposite of exciting.

And excited I was.

Ever since Saturday night.

Hot wind slapped my face and whipped at my shirt and hair as I crossed the lot and entered the boutique.

Harper was with a client and I caught a sliver of the conversation about the fire that had been raging in the canyon near Thousand Oaks. The air had become increasingly heavy and dangerous. The sun had been just a small red speck in the sky these past two days and I’d had to make adjustments to my dinner plans. Initially, I wanted to take Camille to another place in Malibu, on the beach, but word was, some of the roads had been closed, so I picked a different restaurant. Local, here in Calabasas.

“She’s in the office,” Renn supplied from behind one of the racks, and I also noticed a new girl, who smiled shyly at me.

I strode to the back of the store, down a corridor and into her office. I knocked first, of course, not wanting to be a total douchebag. Although my sense of entitlement when it came to her was off the charts and difficult to control.

Camille was behind her desk, typing something on her laptop. A yellow notepad lay next to it. Actually three. All filled with scribbles. Also nearby was a stack of papers. A collection of pens. Some fabric samples.

“Hey.” I closed the door and pressed my back to it, taking everything in.

“Sorry.” She stopped what she was doing and got to her feet. Her dress, white with a bright red and green flowery design that reminded me of 60s fashion, slipped down her thighs, framing her figure. “I thought I was going to be done sooner.” Her tone was apologetic.

Shit.

“I understand,” I said because what else could I say? I was rich. I had royalties coming in every month. I didn’t have to work like she did. I’d worked in the past, but I didn’t remember most of it. I was mainly high, and now reality was a very vast and very scary thing and I wasn’t sure how to operate within its boundaries.

Slowly, Camille moved out from behind the desk and took a step toward me.

“Do you want me to call the restaurant and cancel the reservation?” I asked.

“No.” She shook her head once and smoothed her skirt. “No. I don’t. I’m so tired, I probably wouldn’t be able to get anything done anyway.”

“Okay.”

For a moment, it was awkward between us again. I blamed it on a combination of distance and abstinence. As if I hadn’t kissed her before I left yesterday once Ally had gone to her room. As if I hadn’t dreamed all night about her screaming my name in ecstasy. As if the longer we were apart—without touching, without real, raw, dirty intimacy—we’d forgotten how to just be ourselves.

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