Page 105 of Head Over Heels

Mew.

He chuckled, leaning down to pick up the cat.

Something churned uncomfortably behind my breastbone while he cuddled it to his big chest.

“Go easy on her tonight,” he whispered. “She might be walking a little slow.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered.

Cameron scratched the cat under his chin, then set him back on the floor. “Want any help cleaning up the kitchen?” he asked.

I cleared my throat. “No, thank you. I think it’s best if you just … go.”

He took one last look toward the bed, then at me, and then his lips hooked up in a crooked grin that made my stomach flip weightlessly.

“Good night,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. You should come check out the house.”

I didn’t answer because I felt inconvenient words clawing their way up my throat.

Well, one word, really.

Stay.

Just … stay.

Instead, I said nothing. And watched him leave.

I refused to think about him again while I cleaned up the disaster in the kitchen.

I didn’t think about what he said while I dried the bowls. When my mind replayed the part where he held my hands down, my drying got a bit too vigorous, and the bowl slipped from my hands, falling with a loud clatter.

Never did I ever realize I liked to be held down, but I couldn’t help but think it was a Cameron thing, not an any man thing.

If certain men in my life had ever tried to restrain me, they would’ve ended up with a broken nose and a stiletto up their ass. I put the last of the dishes away and let that little bomb of knowledge settle.

Trust made you do strange things, didn’t it?

If pressed, I couldn’t give a concrete list of why I seemed to trust Cameron so implicitly. But I did. I never would’ve let him touch me if I didn’t.

Even my first blah experience in school—I knew the guy wasn’t a raging douchebag. No, he wasn’t particularly skilled in the bedroom, but he was nice. And he was respectful.

It was easy enough to justify that one.

But Cameron—that wasn’t easy at all.

The most effective way to let my thoughts get too fanciful, my fantasies too strong, was to steer them in the direction of home. I was still here with a job to do and a hurdle to overcome with my father.

Once the house reached a certain level of done, I could hand everything over to a capable Marcy Jenkins and let her take her pretty pictures and make me a pretty sum of money.

And then what?

I sat on the floor, dragging a small piece of string along the carpet, and laughed as Neville tumbled over himself, trying to grab it.

My dad would lose his mind if I brought a cat home with me, and the thought made me grin, just a little bigger than it should have.

“At least you match the house,” I told Neville. “Maybe that’ll gain you some brownie points.”

The cat flipped onto his back, paws tangling in the string.

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