Page 94 of Cold Feet
He shifted, rolling us so we were face to face on the pillow, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. "You should. You're extraordinary."
The sincerity in his eyes made my throat tight. "Cam..." I kissed him, pouring everything I felt but couldn't yet say into it. He responded immediately, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me flush against him once more.
This time was different – slower, deeper, more deliberate. Where our first encounter had been about finally giving in to years of pent-up desire, this was about connection, about seeing and being seen. His hands mapped my body with reverent attention, his eyes never leaving mine as we moved together.
When we finallylay spent in each other's arms again, the night had deepened around us. Cam pulled the covers over us, tucking me against his side, his arm a comforting weight around my shoulders.
"Stay," he murmured against my hair, his voice thick with approaching sleep. "Stay with me tonight."
I nodded, already drifting off, feeling safer and more content than I had in years. "I'm not going anywhere," I whispered back, meaning it more than he knew.
As sleep claimed me, my last conscious thought was that this, being held in Cam's arms, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek, felt like coming home. And once again, I allowed myself to hope that maybe, just maybe, I could have this. Have him. For real.
And so we lay there, in the quiet of the night, our bodies tangled together, our hearts beating in sync. The world outside could wait. For now, we were enough. We were everything.
Chapter 17
Iblinked slowly, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings – the artful black and white hockey photographs on the wall, the stack of well-worn novels on the nightstand, the surprisingly soft throw blanket tangled around my legs.
Cam's arm draped possessively over my waist, his chest pressed against my back, his steady breathing tickling my neck – and everything from last night came rushing back in tender, delicious waves of memories.
The game. The car. His mouth on mine. His whispered confessions in the darkness.
I smiled into the pillow, a giddy happiness bubbling through me like expensive champagne. We'd finally given in to what had been building between us for weeks – years, really. My body still hummed with the lingering aftermath of his touch, his kisses, the way he'd whispered my name when he'd moved inside me. And the best fucking orgasms,plural, of my life.
Like,call a press conferenceamazing…
A brief flash of memory – Cam's face above mine, his eyes locked on mine as we moved together, the reverence in his expression making my heart clench – sent a renewed shiver of pleasure through me.
I shifted slightly to look at him. In sleep, his handsome features appeared younger, more vulnerable, relaxed in a way they rarely were in public. His golden-brown hair was adorably mussed against the white pillowcase, his stubble glinting in the morning light, those unfairly long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. One arm was tucked under his head, the other still wrapped around me, as if he was afraid I might disappear.
And he was mine. At least, I thought he was. We hadn't exactly defined what came next, but after last night – the raw honesty, the intense connection, the way he'd held me afterward – it felt like we'd finally crossed some invisible threshold. We'd moved beyond pretending, beyondold hurts, beyond the carefully constructed boundaries of our fake engagement.
For the first time in longer than I cared to admit, I felt hopeful. Open. Maybe we really could make this work for real. The thought made my heart flutter against my ribs.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, disrupting the peaceful moment. I gently extricated myself from Cam's arm, careful not to wake him, and reached for it.
It was a text from Marcus, the team's GM:
MARCUS: Emergency meeting. 9:30 AM. My office. Critical to have all senior management present.
I frowned at the screen, the glow of contentment dimming slightly. It was already 7:45, and I needed to get home to shower and change before heading to the office. Whatever the emergency was, I was not showing up to work in last night's clothes.
For a moment, I contemplated waking Cam. But he'd played his heart out last night: the hat trick, the fight defending Zayne, the intense hours we'd spent tangled together afterward. Pro hockey players needed their recovery time. Besides, he looked so peaceful sleeping.
Instead, I slipped quietly from the bed, gathering my scattered clothes from where they'd been hastily discarded across his bedroom floor. In his bathroom, all gleaming marble and glass, I splashed water on my face and attempted to tame my wild hair, which pretty much screamed "thoroughly ravished." I couldn't help but grin at my reflection. The woman staring back at me looked different somehow; eyes brighter, cheeks flushed, lips slightly swollen from Cam's kisses. And satisfied. Holy shit, that woman looked satisfied.
I looked happy. I looked like a woman who had finally stopped running from what she wanted.
Back in the bedroom, Cam had shifted to his stomach but was still sleeping soundly, the sheet draped low across his hips, revealing the muscled expanse of his back. The sight of him, vulnerable, peaceful,mine, made my chest tighten with something that felt… like…love.
I scribbled a quick note on the back of a receipt I found in my purse:
Morning, Hitman. Emergency meeting at the office called me away. Last night was... spectacular. Text me when you wake up. –CQ
I hesitated, then added a small heart before placing it on my pillow where he'd see it when he woke.
Leaning down, I pressed a feather-light kiss to his temple, breathing in the warm scent of him one more time before heading downstairs. His house was tastefully masculine, and surprisingly tidy, with floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the stunning waterfront view.
