Page 144 of Cold Feet
I reached up to trace the curve of his cheek, feeling the slight roughness of evening stubble beneath my fingertips. "I've always been yours," I admitted quietly. It felt good to say it out loud.
We kissed again, slowly sinking onto his bed, our bodies finding each other with the certainty of puzzle pieces clicking into place. His weight above me felt like an anchor, grounding me to this perfect moment. We took our time undressing each other, each newly revealed patch of skin explored with gentle touches and softer kisses.
When I straddled him, looking down into those impossibly blue eyes, I saw everything I'd ever wanted reflected back at me – desire, yes, but also tenderness, admiration, and a love so clear it brought tears to my eyes. Cam reached up to brush away a tear with his thumb, his touch feather-light against my cheek.
"I love you," he said, the words floating between us.
"I love you too," I whispered back, leaning down to kiss him as we began to move together.
Our bodies rocked in a gentle rhythm, finding a tempo as natural as breathing. This wasn't just sex – it was communion, the physical manifestation of the connection we'd been fighting for years. My hands splayed across his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my palm. His hands gripped my hips, guiding me, supporting me, worshipping me.
When we both reached our peak, it wasn't with the explosive urgency of our earlier encounters, but with a deep, soul-shaking intensity that left us both breathless and clinging to one another, unwilling to let even an inch of space come between us.
We lay together in his bed afterward, spent and happy – my head on his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart, his finger absentmindedly twirling a lock of my hair. Nothing outside his bedroom door existed in that moment – there was only us, wrapped in each other's warmth, finally home.
"Lana, I need to tell you something," he said quietly, his chest rumbling beneath my ear. "We're talking to Montreal in the morning..."
My heart stuttered. "And?"
"And I'm telling them I'm staying in St. Pete."
I sat up in bed and stared at him. "Cam, that deal is – "
"Life-changing, yeah." He shrugged. "But you know what else is life-changing? Feeling like I have a real family for the first time in my life. The Slashers made a strong offer for me to renew my contract. It's not Montreal money, but it's more than fair."
"But – "
"No buts," he said firmly. "This is where I want to be. With you. With my team. With your entire extended family at the beach house. Thirteen years of friendship with Zayne and half as many with Logan. A Cup-winning team. The smartest PR director in the league. And bonus, sunny Florida versus frigid Quebec means a lot more opportunities to see you in that little white bikini.
I kissed his forehead tenderly and snuggled deeper under his arm, looking up at him – at this beautiful man who'd crashed a press conference to declare his love for me, who'd chosen me over money and opportunity, who'd finally allowed himself to be seen for who he really was. The real Cam Murphy. My Cam.
The hockey heartthrob who broke my heart and somehow put it all back together again.
Chapter 26
Iawoke to a blast of sunlight streaming through Cam's bedroom windows. No blinds, right on the water. Yeesh. I stretched, instinctively reaching for Cam's warmth, but found his side of the bed empty. The aroma of coffee and something sweet – cinnamon? – drifted up from the kitchen.
Two days. It had been exactly one week since our lives had been turned upside down, inside out, and somehow landed exactly where they were supposed to be. The fake engagement scandal, the press conference, Cam's public declaration – it all felt like a lifetime ago and just yesterday at the same time.
I smiled, running my fingers over the sapphire ring that hadn't left my finger. It sparkled in the morning light, sending blue reflections dancing across the ceiling. Real. It had been real all along.
Wrapping myself in Cam's discarded T-shirt from yesterday – a BU hockey shirt that had become my unofficial pajamas – I padded downstairs to find him.
The sight that greeted me made my heart do a little somersault. Cam stood at the kitchen island, concentration etched on his face as he meticulously arranged blueberries on top of a golden pancake. His game-day ritual was in full effect: left sock first (today featuring little sharks with sunglasses), specific playlist humming softly from the speakers, and precisely timed breakfast three hours before light practice.
"Morning," I said softly, not wanting to break his concentration.
He looked up, and his face transformed with that smile that still, after everything, made my knees weak. "Morning, beautiful." He gestured to his creation. "Blueberry pancakes. The berries are arranged in a '22.'"
I walked closer and saw that indeed, the blueberries formed a perfect jersey number atop the pancake.
"That's..." I tilted my head, "actually really impressive. Do you always make number pancakes on game day?"
"Uh...no?" He looked at me sheepishly, flipped the pancake onto a plate, and slid it toward me. "Because that would be...embarrassing. And today's a big day."
Today. The first home game since our press conference. The first time we'd appear publicly at our home arena as a real couple. The official announcement of Cam's decision to stay with the Slashers despite Montreal's monstrous offer. The game against Pittsburgh, our biggest conference rival. And just minutes from now, the official signing of the Redline deal.
The doorbell rang, ending our domestic breakfast moment. Cam's agent Ryan arrived with his usual hurricane energy, designer suit impeccable, tablet already open to the Redline contract, a Fedex box under his arm.
