Page 15 of Craving

“Bed,” Marlon commanded, taking her plate.

Camilla nodded, eyes drooping, then disappeared out of the kitchen and up the steps. He heard the water run for a moment, and then silence settled over the house.

Marlon spent the rest of the evening ruminating. He didn’t like the vandalism at Camilla’s bakery. Not one bit. He’d already decided he’d set up a new security system to cover her business. He’d already put the job into their company systems, and Cormac had called him to ask about it.

And now that Cormac knew, Archer and Leo would find out soon. When Leo heard that he was hooking up Camilla’s bakery with the latest tech, he’d get curious. Marlon would have to explain this itching under his skin that increased anytime he thought of a rock smashing through Camilla’s window. What if she’d been there when it happened? What if she’d been hurt?

Frustrated, Marlon scrubbed the pot he’d used to make dinner and tried to take his aggression out with the scouring pad.

This was the problem. This was exactly what Marlon didn’t want. Camilla had lived with him for twenty-four hours, and he was already worried about her. Already wanting to take care of her. Already following those protective urges wherever they’d lead him.

He already knew where they’d lead. Burnout. Destruction. Isolation. He’d give and give and give until there was nothing left. Then he’d be alone again.

Just like he had when he was a child, with his mother, then with Leo, then with his grandparents. Maybe he was broken, because what normal person felt like they had to take care of other people like this? He should be able to let Camilla deal with her problems on her own.

But how could he resist? He couldn’t just do nothing.

Someone had broken Camilla’s window, and she’d looked utterly devastated. Marlon couldn’t stand by and watch without helping. Not when her features were tight with tension. Not when her face turned bloodless and her eyes widened with worry. Not when she’d come home as a shell of herself.

Why his urge to care for her was so strong, Marlon didn’t know, nor did he want to pursue that line of thinking too deeply. He just knew that he had the ability to help her, so he would.

He also fixed the latch on the powder room window before heading up to bed, scowling at the lock the whole time.

The next morning, Marlon woke to the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee. He found Camilla standing at the stove, wearing that ruffly apron. She looked like a fantasy housewife that had been dropped into his kitchen in order to drive him out of his mind. He hadn’t realized how much he liked the thought of waking up to a beautiful woman in a floral apron. But his body heated, and he couldn’t deny it.

Camilla glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled brightly. “I’m making breakfast. How do you like your eggs?”

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, even though he felt like he’d died and gone to heaven.

She shrugged. “I know. But it’s nice to be able to share meals with someone else.”

While he filled his favorite striped mug with coffee—which Camilla had set next to the coffee maker for him again—Marlon mulled over her words. “Is that why you started the bakery?”

“My love language is food,” she joked, then blushed. “I mean—not… You know. I just like feeding people. You like your bacon crispy or chewy?”

“Crispy edges, chewy middle.”

“A man of refined tastes,” she said with a grin. “Eggs?”

“Over easy, if you don’t mind.” Marlon took a seat at the table and watched her cook. She’d lived here for a little over a day, and she moved like this kitchen belonged to her. Within minutes, breakfast was set in front of him, perfectly browned toast, beautiful eggs, and bacon exactly how he liked it.

Camilla set her own plate down across from him. “Dig in!” She followed her own instructions without waiting for him, and they ate breakfast in comfortable silence.

There’d been quite a bit of that type of silence since she’d moved in, and it surprised Marlon. He’d expected to be on edge, to feel uncomfortable in his own home. But…was it possible Camilla’s presence made it feel more like home? How could that be?

Insisting on doing the dishes, Marlon watched her exit the kitchen and listened for her footsteps all the way up the stairs and down the hallway to her room. He was nearly done cleaning up when the shower turned on, and he filled up his mug, trying to ignore the trembling in his fingers. In less than two days, Camilla had torn through his life and shown him everything he’d denied himself.

He’d never imagined what it would be to live with a woman. He’d always assumed it was better to be on his own.

He’d been a fool.

Now she was up there, stripping her clothes off her naked body, rubbing suds over every soft curve. He pressed a palm against his hard cock and forced his thoughts in another direction.

Work—he’d think about work. And he’d do it outside, where he couldn’t hear the sound of the shower. It wasn’t that cold, and he hadn’t brought in the cushions from the patio furniture yet. He sat on a rickety chair and ignored the fact that a beautiful naked woman was in his shower. Ignored the fact that she’d cooked for him. Set his coffee mug out for him. Hummed in his kitchen like she belonged there.

It felt so good, Marlon was afraid to think about it too hard, because it was temporary. It had to be temporary. He didn’t have space in his life for someone else, couldn’t bear to have another person to take care of after everything he’d survived.

Life was better when he was on his own. That hadn’t changed because of a ruffly apron and a few muffins.

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