Page 22 of Freeing Camila

When the music changed to something soft and lyrical, Wade smoothly swept her into his arms and she went willingly. She melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against hers. The music filled the air as he held her, one hand resting on her hip, his other hand firmly grasping hers. They swayed rhythmically as one, their movements perfectly timed to the music.

Cammie tilted her head up, a shy smile playing on her lips as she met his gaze. “Thanks for this,” she said, then laughed. “Seems like I’m always indebted to you.”

His smile, a flash of white teeth against tanned skin, made her heart skip a beat. “Nah. No thanks needed. It’s what friends do.”

Friends.The word caused her to pause unexpectedly. The simple act of him calling her “friend” left her feeling surprisingly deflated, and she couldn’t quite understand why his choice of words had such a negative impact on her. They’d met only recently. Sure, she was wildly attracted to him, but she couldn’t expect him to feel the same. That wouldn’t be fair to him.

But as she moved in rhythm with his strong body, a longing filled her, a yearning for something more profound and lasting than this shared dance. Growing into adulthood in her father’s cold world, she often wondered what it would be like to know that someone found her captivating and desirable. To be so attractive to someone that their attention was focused solely on her. What would it mean to have her company eagerly sought, her words hung on with rapt attention? That her presence brightened someone’s day, and her laughter was music to their ears? During her loneliest days, the idea of it had haunted her dreams, a bittersweet comfort against the gnawing emptiness. She’d harbored a secret, persistent wish for it to happen to her. Longed for a love where she would be cherished and seen as irreplaceable, the center of someone’s universe.

But that had been a whimsical fantasy, a flight of fancy, as was this current, disheartening reality. She needed to rein in her expectations and not allow herself to get carried away by wishful thinking. She could always use another friend.

With a forced lightness in her tone, she uttered the words, “Friends, huh?”, attempting to mask the underlying disappointment she felt. “Is that what we are?”

He shrugged. “Sure. I guess.”

Her response, a sardonic “Well, that was reassuring,” followed by a dramatic roll of her eyes, perfectly captured her feelings of disappointment.

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, oblivious to her mounting frustration. “Hey. I taught you to dance. If that doesn’t make me a friend, then I don’t know what does.”

Her smile was tight as she glanced up at him. “Fair enough.” What else could she say? A dull weight settled in her stomach; she’d been friend-zoned, the unspoken truth hanging heavy between them. A hollow, empty feeling replaced the hope she’d felt at the thought.

Oh well. It was a nice dream while it lasted.

Deciding to just go with it, she let herself fall into the sway of the dance. She wound her arms around his neck and nestled her head against his chest. The music swelled and shifted from one slow song to another. A sigh of wishful thinking escaped her lips as his hand moved from her waist, caressing her back, pulling her closer; his touch sent shivers down her spine.

She moved her hands across his shoulders?his incredibly strong and broad shoulders. Shoulders that seemed like they could withstand a great amount of weight. The thought of transferring the enormous weight of her burdens to another person crossed Cammie’s mind, making her wonder what it would feel like to have such a load lifted. She imagined a man like Wade could shoulder it with no effort.

But again. That was just wishful thinking. He’d probably be horrified if he learned the truth about her. Her history was marked by trauma and pain, casting a long shadow over her present. Who in their right mind would want to help shoulder that nightmare?

Perhaps he made the right call by putting her in the friend zone. No one could handle her level of damage. At least no one in their right mind.

With a renewed sense of her place in the world, she settled into the rhythmic sway of the dance, a smile spread across her face as she let go and simply enjoyed herself. Fully immersing herself in the dance, the music became a soothing balm to her soul.

She was trying to concentrate on the lyrics, but the feelings that flooded her as their bodies moved in such close proximity, were difficult to ignore. The physical sensations of their bodies moving as one were overwhelming, and she wished with all her might that she could push them from her mind and ignore them completely.

But she could feel everything.

Each movement of his hand across her back, the muscles flexing beneath her cheek. The warmth of his other hand surrounding hers, which he had pulled close to his chest. Each brush of his chest against hers, causing a tingle to rush through her body, and her nipples to respond inadvertently. Of all the days not to wear a bra. Since she was not well-endowed in the chest area, a bra was unnecessary and her sweater was not designed to accommodate one. Consequently, she was acutely aware of the friction of his muscles against her sensitive nipples, a sensation that sent shivers down her spine.

His long legs, a stark contrast to her own shorter ones, grazed against hers rhythmically as he expertly led her through the intricate steps of the dance. His thighs flexed and tightened with each movement he made. With the music gaining momentum, he spun them around using his muscular thigh, positioning her in a way that almost led to her straddling it. She felt that in deep, dark places.

Places she wished she didn’t feel it. She wished she could control her body’s reaction whenever their forms touched. Wished her nipples wouldn’t react so strongly every time their chests met. She wished her panties weren’t drenched. Every time his hand brushed against her spine, she wished with all her might that the frantic, insistent hammering of her heart against her ribs would cease. She wished the dull, heavy ache in her chest would ease.

She wished for a lot of useless things.

The perfectly timed change to a more upbeat tempo in the music rescued her from the depths of her melancholy before she could fully surrender to it. The change in the music to something more upbeat was precisely what was needed. As was the way Wade twirled her, rotating her outward before gracefully bringing her back into his embrace. She let out a peal of laughter, the sound bubbling up from deep within.

With a driving beat and soaring vocals, the band’s honky tonk rendition of “Wild Thing” was an infectious melody that lifted her spirits. The fun was amplified as Wade playfully twirled her around the dance floor, adding a touch of whimsy to the dance. She let it consume her and banish the melancholy she’d felt earlier.

As the final notes of the song faded and the band members took a well-deserved break, she realized that she was parched. Wade led her back to the bar, where he ordered water for the both of them. Having finally quenched her thirst with a long drink of water, he took her hand and, with an encouraging smile, said, “Come on. I want to introduce you to some people.”

He led her to the table where Eggs and the rest of the group of men he’d come into the bar with sat. She felt the weight of their appraising stares as she drew closer, each face a mask of silent assessment. The nervousness returned, causing her to feel incredibly awkward and self-conscious. She plastered on a smile, hoping to hide the tremor in her hands and the frantic beat of her heart. She’d been around men like this for most of her life. Men who’d worked for her father. The alpha type who thought they were better than everyone else. None of them had been nice. A wave of icy fear washed over her, leaving her breathless at that thought.

With the same ease and brutality that her father’s men had previously demonstrated, Cammie knew instinctively that these men possessed the capability to inflict upon her an equally devastating level of harm. Panic seized her; she wanted to flee in the opposite direction, but Wade’s firm grip on her hand stopped her.

Pausing next to the rough-hewn wooden table, Wade gestured toward the group of men with a sweeping wave of his hand. “Cammie, meet the guys. My coworkers. Guys, meet Cammie.”

“Well, it’s about time you brought this little lady over to meet us,” the one Wade introduced as Hoot said.

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