Page 78 of Second Quarter Comeback
I nod, leaning into his touch. “I will be.”
His eyes search mine. It feels like time stretches out between us, everything else falling away.
“Good,” he murmurs, his voice like a promise. “Because what I said is true. I’m not going anywhere, Camille.”
Then he dips his head, slow enough that I see it coming but fast enough that I don’t have time to prepare. His lips brush against mine, soft and deliberate, like he’s asking a question instead of making a statement.
The kiss deepens gradually, his hand sliding to cup my cheek, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles. It’s not hurried or rushed—it’s intentional, like he’s pouringevery word he can’t say directly into the kiss. And damn it, it’s working.
I grip his shirt instinctively, grounding myself because my legs suddenly feel unreliable. There’s this slow-burning heat to the way his lips move against mine, igniting something in me I hadn’t realized I’d kept so carefully under wraps. My toes curl against the hardwood floor, and a soft sigh escapes me before I can stop it.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the quiet space between us.
“Better?” he asks, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, though his voice carries a softness that twists something deep inside me.
I don’t trust my voice, so I nod, my fingers still clutching his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
“Good,” he says again, his thumb brushing over my cheek one last time before he lets his hand drop. “Because I meant every word, Camille. I’m here for the long haul. Even if your parents hire hitmen, even if it takes me forever to make you fall back in love with me.”
I laugh, the sound shaky but genuine, and let my head fall against his chest for just a moment. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You like me that way,” he murmurs, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the top of my head.
And damn it, I do.
Chapter Forty-Six
Killion
Camille Meets the Crawfords
Thanksgiving traffic on the way to my parents’ estate isn’t as bad as I expected. New Yorkers tend to fly rather than drive during the holidays, leaving the roads strangely cooperative for once. Still, the long, winding driveway leading to the house feels alot longer with the silence in the car. Lucky for me this is my bye week and I can spend this day with her and my family.
I glance at Camille in the passenger seat of my black Range Rover. Her fingers are wrapped tightly around the strap of her bag. She’s staring out the window, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“You nervous because you’re meeting my family or anxious because you skipped Thanksgiving with your parents?” I ask, breaking the quiet as I ease the SUV up the drive.
“Neither,” she says quickly, a little too quickly. “I’m fine.”
I raise an eyebrow, giving her a look that says,really?
She sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine. Maybe a little of both. Your family is . . . a lot. And my parents?” She pauses, her voice dropping a little. “They’ve decided that until I ‘realize I’m making a mistake by dating you,’ they won’t talk to me. So, yeah, we’re probably not going to speak for years.”
That hits harder than I want to admit, but I keep my tone light. “At least you’re sticking around to work things out with me. That’s worth something, right?”
Her lips twitch into a faint smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“My family is tame,” I say, steering us toward safer ground. “Well . . . mostly tame.”
“Mostly?” she asks, her eyebrow arching in mock horror.
I shrug, playing it cool. “Scottie already grilled you about everything, so you’ve survived the worst. Lucian might try to drag you into some ridiculous competition, though. Leif will probably just be Leif—unless his friend Hailey’s here. Then they’ll be somewhere in the house pretending they’re just friends while openly pining for each other. Greyson . . . no clue what his mood will be today. And Kade and Val might not even be here—they were thinking of spending this holiday with her family. Or maybe that was Christmas. Either way, you’ll be fine.”
“What does ‘fine’ mean in Crawford family terms?” she asks, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“You’ll see,” I say, pulling up to the sprawling house.
“Is there a specific play in the book about Thanksgiving?” she asks.
