Page 117 of Enthrall
Richard looked unshaken. As did Cameron, who seemed to have seen this kind of behavior before from his restrained reaction. He raised the scuba mask over Richard’s face and rested it on his forehead.
Water dripped off Richard and formed a puddle around his feet. “What?” he said, giving a mischievous smirk. “Am I the only one who thinks better submerged?”
“I’m going to answeryeson that one,” said Cameron, and he stepped on Richard’s left fin to help him ease his foot out then did the same with the right. “What were you thinking about down there?”
“Mia,” murmured Richard.
Cameron gave a triumphant smile.
Richard broke into that boyishness of his. “Can I have my jeep back?”
I looked over at Cameron.
“Something tells me Mia’s about to fall in love with my pancakes,” said Cameron. “How about,” he brushed sopping locks of hair out of Richard’s eyes, “you go take a shower and we’ll go prepare breakfast?”
Richard looked so young standing there next to Cameron. He blinked his answer and ambled barefoot around the pool.
“Hey,” Cameron called after him.
Richard turned to face us.
“Aren’t we forgetting something?” said Cameron.
Richard’s stare settled on me. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m also sorry about this morning.”
My gaze returned to the deep corner of the pool. Richard lowered his snorkel over his face again and beamed at us both. He ambled off.
Cameron patted his leg. “Winston.”
Winston trotted past us and into the house.
“The first time I found him underwater I screamed too,” said Cameron. “Like a girl.”
“Does he do it a lot?”
“Only when he’s close to a breakthrough.”
“With what?”
Cameron wrapped his arm around me and guided me into the house. “With you of course.”
My heart missed a beat right there.
There was a chasm a mile wide between Richard and I, and only Cameron had crossed it. He guided me into the guest bedroom and beyond that into the bathroom.
“I’ll start breakfast.” He stepped into the shower and turned on the water faucet. “I’ll get you a shirt and whatever else I can find that’ll work.”
It didn’t take me long to shower and dress in the shirt and shorts Cameron had retrieved from Richard’s bedroom. I liked the idea they’d have time to talk.
Inside the kitchen it was fun to watch Cameron open the cupboard doors with the ease of someone who knew his way around. He set about making the batter and preparing a hot pan for the pancakes. With Cameron’s guidance I found the plates and cutlery and laid the table.
All of this seemed so ordinary, a far cry from last night when these men had been entertaining Hollywood’s elite clientele in the epicenter of L.A.’s fetish community. I couldn’t make out what was more surreal, Cameron, the director of Chrysalis, frying batter on a stove or Richard, now wearing jeans and a blue t-shirt, wandering around his house followed by a British bulldog.
“Taste.” Cameron held out a bite of golden fluffy pancake on a fork.
I smacked my lips together; the deliciousness was a welcome surprise. “That’s good.”
This man knew how to cook. He went about dishing up his masterpiece for us onto three plates. Richard joined us.
