Page 35 of Freeing Camila

Holy cow. What was that?

When the marshmallow was perfectly toasted, he slid it off the stick onto a waiting graham cracker layered with chocolate. He pressed the second cracker on top, the marshmallow oozing gently at the edges.

“Voilà,” he said, holding it out to her. “The perfect s’more.”

She took it from his hand, their fingers brushing for a moment too long. As she took a bite, her eyes widened.

“Okay,” she mumbled around the mouthful, “that’s stupid good.”

He grinned. “Told you.”

After she finished her first s’more, she craved another. This time they both held a marshmallow skewered stick over the fire, the heat licking at their fingers, the sweet scent of melting sugar curling into the air. Once he assembled his own, he took a dramatic bite, chocolate smearing the corner of his mouth, and her laughter bubbled up again. She squealed and laughed after taking her own bite as the sticky sugar mess squeezed out from between the graham crackers and smeared her fingers. He leaned closer to wipe a smudge off her cheek with the pad of his thumb and her breath caught in her lungs.

Their eyes met in the firelight—her smile lingering, his expression softening. For a moment, the world hushed. The woods, the stars, the night breeze all faded, and there was only the crackle of the fire, the warmth of each other’s nearness. The firelight danced across his face, softening the sharp edges, and for a moment she forgot the world beyond this clearing, beyond the warmth of his presence.

It was quiet now, but not awkward. Just the kind of quiet that made her heart feel full.

CHAPTER14

He watchedthe flames lick at the darkness, the fire casting flickers of gold across her face. She sat cross-legged on the blanket he’d retrieved from the truck across from him, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, marshmallow stick in one fist like it was a torch. Her laughter had quieted now, replaced by a thoughtful silence that wrapped around them as gently as the night air.

He should’ve looked away, given her a break from the weight of his gaze. But damn—it was hard. There was something about her in the firelight, the way her expression softened, like she was letting herself justbefor once. No sharp comebacks. No armor. Just her. And he liked her like that. Hell, he liked hertoo much.

She caught him staring and tilted her head, curious, not coy. “What?” she asked, her voice low and husky from the building chill.

He shook his head slowly, a smirk playing at his lips. “Nothing. Just . . . you’ve got this look. Like you belong out here.”

She raised a brow. “You mean like a raccoon?”

He chuckled. God, she was good at dodging compliments. But the way her lips curved afterward, the faintest hint of a real smile, told him she’d heard it, anyway.

“Have you always worked for the security company?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly. He noted she ignored his compliment as if she didn’t know how to respond to one. Jeeves knew her father was to blame for that, positive that the man had never once complimented his daughter. Learning about her difficult upbringing, a burning resentment toward her father welled up inside him, a mixture of fury and sorrow. It was bad enough knowing he’d sold her so callously. From the few details he knew about Cammie’s childhood, it was readily apparent that her upbringing was far from idyllic.

She brought her knees up and hugged them, watching the flames, but every now and then she glanced his way. Curious. Patient.

Jeeves shifted on the blanket, arms resting on his knees. “I was in the Army before. A Ranger.”

A look of shock washed over her face as her eyes widened dramatically. “Really? That’s . . . amazing. Thank you for your service.”

He’d been thanked many times throughout his service, but for some reason, Cammie’s thanks bothered him. He didn’t do what he did for recognition. He didn’t want anybody to be beholden to him, especially not her.

Jeeves let the silence stretch. It wasn’t uncomfortable—she never made silence feel like pressure. That was one of the reasons he found himself lowering his guard around her without even realizing it.

“It wasn’t all action movie stuff,” he said finally, voice low. “Being a Ranger.”

She looked over at him, eyes soft. She didn’t push, just waited.

He drew in a breath, leaned back on his hands, and stared up at the stars. “People hear that title and think adrenaline, guns, hero crap. And yeah, some of it’s like that. But most of it . . .” He shook his head. “Most of it’s just grit. Bone-deep exhaustion. Doing the job because someone had to. And trying not to lose pieces of yourself in the process.”

He didn’t mean to say that last part. It just slipped out. And for some insane reason, he wasn’t done. “Most of it’s waiting. Quiet. Stress that eats your bones. And then it’s chaos. Fast, loud, ugly. And sometimes we don’t all make it back.” Like his teammate Liam.

She didn’t flinch. She just listened, like he was saying something sacred.

“I got out five years ago. Still feels like I’m halfway there sometimes.” He let out a soft laugh. “Hell, I still sleep with my boots by the bed.”

The fire popped. She leaned forward, elbow on one knee, while her other hand found his. He linked their fingers and sat still as she studied him—not like he was broken. Not like she pitied him. Just . . . curious. Open.

“And you went straight from that to working for a security company?”

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