Page 9 of Trouble for Hire
No, he held her closer, his arms tightening. Even as he brushed his lips over the thick, coarse silk of her hair, he instructed his body to stand down. Willed the need pumping through his veins to back off. Ordered his cock to behave.
Because this—her in his arms, pressed against his body from chest to thighs—wasn’t about the greed he’d become an expert at hiding. And he wasn’t so much of a bastard that he’d take advantage of the situation. Not many people believed he knew anything about loyalty, but he did. His knowledge of and expectation for loyalty had led him to a heartache he could never forget. A heartache so deep the residue still resonated in his bones.
And for a woman who, he suspected, had experienced precious little of it over the past few years, he’d never betray that.
“Go on and finish it. Why did his sister call you?”
He half expected her to draw away from him, return to not looking him in the eye.
She did pull away from him, and returned to her perch on the desk. But she did meet his gaze, and his hands, which still tingled with the phantom impression of her skin, fisted.
“She wants me—ordered me—to return to Providence and clean up his mess. Not her words. Mine. Because that’s basically what they want from me. To return and play the dutiful fiancée, spin some wild story of true love conquering all with me being cast in the role of ‘the other woman’ and how he couldn’t stay away from me. So instead of a manwhore who can’t keep his dick in his pants, he’s just a misguided man who didn’t realize he had love all along until he lost it. Apparently, it’s the true American fairy tale.” Her snort wreaked of sarcasm and the pain reflected in her gaze. “And me. First, I’m cast as the naive and jilted fiancée, then put into the role of desperate cheater and finally, the triumphant but pliant girlfriend again.”
“That’s crazy as fuck.” His mouth curled in disbelief. “And I can’t believe they think it will work.”
“Spin a story well enough, and I have no doubt people will buy it. No one has seen through his lies, his charade yet,” she said with only a fair trace of bitterness lacing her voice. “Oh no, they’ll sell this so-called romance to the masses and they’ll eat it up.”
“And they just expect you to give up a life you’re building here and return? Why the hell would you? What do you get out of this?” he snapped.
“Yes, they expect it. Because, according to his sister, I owe them. After all, for five years, they paid for everything from my lifestyle to the food I put in my mouth. And why would I do it? It’s the same explanation for what I get out of it,” she said, that bitterness now thick in the air. “Because I love him, of course.”
He stiffened, a sonorous, hollow pounding in his head. It echoed in his chest, his gut, a deepening gong that threatened to block out every sense. And yet he’d still heard her words in his head.
Because I love him, of course.
“You’re still in love with him?”
It seemed everything stood still as he waited for her answer. The world. The goddamn air. Why did he care? He shouldn’t. It was her life, her decision. Yet... He waited. Because it didn’t matter if he couldn’t explain why.
The answer was important.
A spasm of emotion passed over her face.
“No. I left Rose Bend for love, and it kept me at his side. But distance and pain have a way of making things vividly clear. What I felt by the time we ended wasn’t love. A combination of fear, doubt, uncertainty. Desperation. Maybe that was my problem, too,” she whispered, her gaze sliding over his shoulder, and Erik sensed she might be admitting some epiphany to herself. “Instead of being in love, I was just too desperate for it. So desperate I settled.” She drew in a long breath, and her gaze refocused on him. “But that was then, and I won’t demean myself again to take crumbs. Or let a dream of family, of love that I concoct in my head blind me to reality again.” She shook her head, and the shadows in her gaze darkened. “I won’t do that to myself again.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the dream, just the people you build it around. When you find that your foundation is shaky, you tear it down and start over with a stronger, more solid base. One you have zero doubts about even when the world goes to shit.”
Stop talking, he silently ordered himself. Because now, he didn’t know if he referred to her situation or his past. Or both of them. He’d come in here for answers, and somehow he’d found himself stripping away his own layers.
He and Camille... They had more in common than he’d assumed.
“I’m not going back,” she murmured. Then louder, “I’m not going back.”
“Did you consider it?”
She studied him. “Yes,” she finally said. “For a moment, I felt relieved. That maybe I wouldn’t have to carry out The Plan after all. That I could become blissfully ignorant again and convince myself that I’m happy enough. That path would be less difficult.” She cocked her head. “Do you think I’m weak?”
“Weak?” He huffed out a breath and slowly shook his head.
Pressure shoved against his chest, and, once more, he battled the urge to go to her. And like before he lost against it. He approached her, cupped her chin and tilted her head up. He pressed his thumb into the soft, vulnerable corner of her mouth, lightly smearing her dark red lipstick. He liked it. Liked the idea of messing her up more.
“You could never be weak, Camille. Not the woman who came into my shop and took charge, storming it like a general in battle. Not the woman who goes toe-to-toe with me and more often than I like to admit, wins. She isn’t weak.” He leaned forward, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “She never was.”
Her breath shuddered against his skin, and he felt it over his chest, his stomach. His cock.
Her hand slowly lifted, circled his wrist. And as his thumb caressed a corner of her lips, hers swept over the pulse at the base of his palm.
They stood there.
