Page 9 of Craving

Camilla’s eyes dropped to his hands. Hands she’d imagined doing all manner of dirty things to her body. Needing to regain some semblance of control, Camilla spread her arms and gave him a bright smile she hoped would hide her blush. “It’s what I do! Coffee?”

He blinked at her. “You got up this morning and made coffee and muffins before I even woke up.”

Camilla tilted her head. “Um. Yes?” Doubt slithered in. “Is this because I used your ingredients? I’ll replace them, I promise.”

A wave of a hand, and Marlon was cutting toward the oven. He picked up a muffin, then put it back down and glanced over his shoulder. “Can I have one?”

She laughed. “Of course! I made them for you. I’m sorry if I woke you by banging around in the kitchen. Did you say yes to coffee?”

Marlon had half the muffin stuffed in his face. His eyes rolled back for a moment, a gruff sound of enjoyment rumbling through his throat. That noise sent an equally strong shiver arrowing down between Camilla’s legs, which was inconvenient. Sex famine, she reminded herself. No more imagining Marlon naked and thrusting into her. No imagining him spanking her while she writhed on his lap. No talk of mystery thongs and overnight guests.

For all intents and purposes, Camilla was now a nun. She’d change her email signature to Sister Camilla of the Order of the Sexless Roommates next time she logged onto her laptop for good measure.

She busied herself by pouring him coffee. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Black,” Marlon responded between bites. He grabbed a second muffin and promptly demolished it.

Pleasure spread through Camilla’s chest. She loved baking for people. She loved hearing the noises they made while they enjoyed her food, loved knowing their bellies were full because of her. Smiling, she grabbed a muffin of her own and bit into it. They ate in silence for a moment, then sat across from each other at the kitchen table.

With her heart settled by having fed him, Camilla let her lips curl into a smile. “So,” she started, not quite sure what was going to come out of her mouth next, “our new house rule is in full effect. Did you survive the night without someone to warm your bed?”

Her brain blared a red alert. Danger! Why were these words coming out of her mouth? Why was she engaging in flirtation when she should be backing off?

She had just resolved to avoid that topic of conversation entirely! What was wrong with her?

But she already knew the answer: Marlon sat in the warmth of the kitchen with her, enjoying her food, looking delectable, and Camilla couldn’t help herself. Apparently, gorgeous men devouring her food was her biggest pleasure-button.

Marlon sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim. His dark brows arched as he held her gaze, setting his mug down on the table. “I did. Did you?”

Nonchalance was difficult to affect when she’d spent the night twisting in her bedsheets, remembering the feel of his calloused hands against the skin of her feet and calves, and especially when she’d spent the minutes after dawn gasping at the thought of him inside her. But she managed a flick of her hand and a casual shrug. “Easy.”

His laugh was a warm rumble that felt like velvet over her skin. Camilla’s cheeks flushed. Her silly thighs trembled where she sat at the table, a dart of lust piercing her below the navel.

This was ridiculous. All of it. Why had she brought it up? Sex famine, she reminded herself. Sister Camilla. Her body was a nunnery.

“I think last night was torture for you,” Marlon answered.

“Projection, much?” She stood and put her cup in the dishwasher, then threw him a pointed stare. “See? Dishes in the dishwasher. I’m a rule follower, Marlon. Through and through.”

The chair creaked as he leaned back, a dark smirk on his lips. “Oh?”

Danger! Danger! Danger!

Her brain flicked the air raid siren on, but Camilla’s body paid it no heed. She met Marlon’s gaze and wondered how his palms would feel sliding down her back, over her curves, between her legs.

But before Camilla could embarrass herself any more, her phone rang. She turned her gaze away from his so fast she got a crick in her neck, then crossed to the counter where she’d left the device. Staring at the screen, Camilla frowned at the caller’s number: her bakery’s landline.

“Hello?”

“Camilla,” Ben said, a bit breathless. He’d been her regular barista for a few years now. “You’ve got to come to the bakery. Someone tried to smash the front window last night. I just called the cops, but I think you should be here too.”

All the blood drained from Camilla’s face. “On my way,” she clipped, then hung up the phone. Her heart thumped and her hands felt clammy. The playful, sexy interaction with Marlon was already a distant memory. She took a moment to compose herself, sucking in a deep breath to try to calm her rioting pulse.

When she turned around, Marlon was frowning. “What happened?”

“Someone vandalized the shop,” she said. She tried to ignore the relief of Marlon’s presence, his concern for her. It didn’t matter if Marlon was beside her when she got bad news. He couldn’t do anything about it. Camilla had been standing on her own since she was seventeen years old; one night enjoying this man’s hospitality wasn’t going to change that. “I’ve got to go to work.”

FOUR

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