Page 84 of Craving

Marlon stroked her hair and gave her a sad smile. “She was an addict. Growing up, Leo and I were either left to our own devices or carted off to our grandparents’ house. I had dreams of her coming back and being like the other kids’ moms, but it never happened. When she died, half of me was relieved and the other half felt like I’d never recover. A couple of years later, when my grandparents died, and then Leo left for college…it was like there was nothing left for me anymore.”

“Oh, Marlon.”

“I had myself convinced it was better to be on my own, to keep people at a distance. I was sick of being left behind, sick of feeling like all the care and love I had for people just fell into a black hole and disappeared. It was easier. But when I saw the footage of that guy shoving you in his car, I realized I was wrong. Taking care of you is everything I want to do. I want you to rely on me. I want to feel the weight of your worries on my shoulders. I want everything with you, Camilla.”

She swallowed thickly, her fingers running along the shoulder seams of his shirt. “I’ve prided myself on being independent for a long time,” she admitted, “but I keep making mistakes. The loan on the bakery was supposed to be my last bad mistake. I’m terrified that I’m jumping right into another one.”

“It feels too good to be together,” Marlon said, understanding, “and you’re afraid that if you have that happiness—and lose it—you won’t be able to go on.”

She glanced up, blue eyes wide. “Yeah. How did you know?”

He smiled softly. “Because I feel the exact same way, sweetheart.”

Gaze flicking between his eyes, Camilla read the expression on his face for a few long moments. Then her breath left her in a gust and she said, “I love you, Marlon.”

Happiness was dawn breaking after a long night. He let his hands coast along her body, every beautiful curve. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

Smiling at him, Camilla traced the shape of his beard with the tips of her fingers. “That feels good to hear,” she whispered. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Camilla.”

Her smile widened, then faded slightly. “But you know, you don’t have to be the one to take care of me. We can take care of each other.”

“Wouldn’t mind waking up to your baking every morning,” Marlon answered with a grin.

“I can do that,” she whispered.

“And banishing tufting wherever we find it.”

“You can just Google what it means, you know.”

Marlon laughed, stroking her body with his hands. “What room should we redecorate next?”

“Your choice,” she whispered and pressed her lips to his. They kissed softly, just barely brushing their lips against each other.

The kiss felt better than Camilla could have imagined, but she didn’t have time to deepen it. Just when Marlon had curled his fingers into Camilla’s hair, there came a knock on the door. Camilla lifted her head, frowning, then dragged herself off of Marlon’s body and went to answer the door.

Her mother and father stood on the stoop, frowning.

“What’s this about you owing Frankie Smith money?” Georgina screech-hissed, glancing around as if one of the neighbors might hear.

“It’s done now,” Camilla said. “I’ve dealt with it.”

“I knew this business of yours was a bad idea,” her father rumbled. “Come home, Camilla. Henry Blackstone Jr. is still in town, I can call him, and we can forget all about this.”

“I’m thirty-three years old, Dad. I’m not moving home.”

“Clearly you need to,” he returned, “if you’re making deals with a scumbag like Frankie Smith.”

“What, like you did?” Camilla shot back, suddenly furious.

How dare he accuse her of the same things he’d done? How dare he try to take the high road when it was his legacy she’d followed?

“I beg your pardon—” Georgina blinked, her hand at her breast.

“I know what you did, Dad,” Camilla said, her voice calm. “I know where your start-up money came from.”

“What are you talking about?” Georgina screeched. “Dean, what is she talking about?”

---