Page 63 of The Ever King
“Tell me who she is.” Now Sebastian was just enjoying himself. Cam had seen that glint in his eye once before. “Somebody I know?”
“Yeah, I guess you know her.”
Who didn’t?
“That hotel heiress?”
Cam had forgotten Bash and Etty met in Paris.
“No, Etty and I are just friends. Always. I’m not getting on that crazy train.”
“That art student you took home that night? She was American, right?” Sebastian wiggled his eyebrows. He was probably going for suggestive, but it just looked like a creepy Garfield.
“No. We just had that one night.”And apparently I was too rough for her.“That was more than enough.”
“What’s with all the guessing?” Sebastian’s impatience elbowed out the curiosity in his tone.
“It’s Jo.”
A moment of silence for the death of all Sebastian’s preconceived notions.
“Jo as in Jo Walsh?” Sebastian’s eyebrows almost disappeared into the small patch of hair he left hanging over his forehead to appear less uptight. “She’s not dating that guy Peter?”
“No, she’s not dating damn Peter.” The anger was irrational. Cam knew that, but he couldn’t stem the flow of it through his veins and out of his mouth. “Where’d you hear that?”
Sebastian raised his hands like Cam’s words were a stickup.
“I just saw them out a few times weeks ago. Must have been before the two of you were a thing. Easy.”
There was nothing “easy” about this. Waiting for this guy to show when he really just wanted to be back in Rivermont, sorting things out with Jo so they could move on.
Move on? Like to what was next? Like next level? Like take the relationship to the next level? Like intimacy? Like sharing and trusting and getting serious next level? Did he want that enough to risk hurting her? To keep himself in check so hedidn’tever hurt her?
A menagerie of images from the last few weeks flashed through his mind. As vivid and real as if he were painting them himself in the air. Jo at the hotel, looking more like a college student than the all-grown-up philanthropic titan she was becoming. Pushing him to trust her. Jo crying in the gazebo, saying she was ready to let him go but still fighting with her last breath to hold on. Jo at a run-down skating rink, slumming with him. Laughing and falling and dancing and making a trip back to his old neighborhood less hellish than usual. Jo by the river, laying out her hurts like diary entries she’d never shared with anyone.
What an honor. Jo, who guarded everything so closely and trusted so few, was always offering him everything. Consistently, systematically, she had peeled away all the armor she usually wrapped so closely around herself. For him. He realized it now. Saw it clearly.
Just as he turned toward the house, ready to leave and hop on the next plane back to Rivermont, a middle-aged man walked through the glass doors, paunch first.
“Sorry to keep you gentlemen waiting.” He gestured toward the infinity pool. “Hope you’ve been enjoying the view.”
Seriously? Keep us waiting for days and we’re supposed to be placated by a freaking you-seen-one-you-seen-them-all domesticated waterfall?Cam checked his impatience. Sebastian really wanted this deal to happen, so he settled into his seat and pushed his lips into a smile for the producer’s benefit. He’d cooperate. He’d play nice. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could get home to Jo.
That really did have a nice ring to it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jo settled into her bed, pulling the down comforter up over her legs. She shuffled her knitting kit on her knees and dug around in the bed for the remote control. Maybe TV would distract her from thoughts of Cam. He was still out in California meeting about doing graffiti art for a romantic comedy.
She pulled her hair into a sloppy bun on top of her head and thought of the pampering she had planned for tomorrow. A keratin treatment for this wild bush hair. Mani-pedi. And tending her lady garden. She planned to get lucky pretty soon, and hair down there was not to be tolerated. She’d have everything done by the time she picked Cam up from the airport tomorrow.
Jo plumped the pillows at her back and patted around in the bed to rediscover her knitting kit. She pulled up the pattern she had downloaded to her phone from knitpick.com. These tiny sweaters would be adorable for Brooklin and Harlim. Jo grabbed her glass of white wine from the nightstand, taking a sip before scrolling through the many neglected episodes ofVikingson her DVR.
“Come on, Lagertha. If you can hold battle formation in the morning and satisfy Ragnar at night, surely I can figure out a way to get Cam trusting me and into my bed.”
And past all those defenses. Yes, she was grooming herself like a prize mare tomorrow in ever-hoping preparation for some actual screwing, but it really wasn’t about that. She wanted to be as intimate with Cam as possible. On every level and in every way.
Sex was complicated for him? She was running ten miles a day and knitting in her nonexistent free time to manage this libido responsibly. It was complicated for her, too. She wanted, no needed, them to face all the complexities, all the secrets, all the fears together. Sex was basically her gateway drug to Cam’s trust. She crossed her legs in her yoga pants. She had dredged a shirt out of Cam’s hamper. So what if she was wearing his dirty T-shirt?