stranger?” Still his hand stroked, stroked, as if he were gentling a kitten who was braced to flee. “I knew we’d be good. It had to be good, Cam. But I never thought it’d be like this.”
“Neither did I.” But his warmth, his words of praise and tenderness, aroused an uneasy thread in her pulse. “I haven’t felt alive in months. I didn’t know I could feel…anything. Much less anything like this.”
“There’s no way you could have healed fast. You had a terrible hurt.”
Another uneasy thread bucked in her pulse. She touched his jaw, pushed back an unruly shock of hair from his brow. Whatever this had been about, she didn’t regret it. Couldn’t. He’d made her feel alive the way she never had, never thought she could.
But everything wasn’t about her. Pete had two sons-two vulnerable boys whose mom had left them, who didn’t trust women. He couldn’t just take any woman in his life. And Camille couldn’t imagine a woman less suited to be a healthy, trustworthy role model for his kids-or even be good for him. She barely knew what she was doing one day to the next.
“What are we going to call this, MacDougal?” she asked softly.
“How about if we don’t call it anything? I don’t need labels.”
She swallowed. “I don’t like labels either. But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m a big boy.”
“I noticed that.”
He tapped the tip of her nose. “
“Oh. Well. What I meant was…I don’t know where we go from here.”
“We go wherever you want. Whatever feels natural.”
A pile of horse hockey if ever she’d heard one. Camille knew about vulnerability. Sometimes she felt so fragile she knew she could shatter if the wind blew from the wrong direction. And Pete looked tough and strong and mighty, because he was. But he hadn’t been a few minutes ago, in her arms. He’d needed her, no different than she’d needed him.
“I’m okay with doing what feels natural,” she said softly, “as long as neither of us build up unreasonable expectations.”
He stilled. His eyes met hers, unbending even in the darkness. “What are you worried about, Cam? Spill it out.”
She was worried about needing him too much. About hurting someone who’d been impossibly good to her. About failing a man who deserved someone who would never fail him. So she said, “I won’t lie to you, MacDougal. I loved Robert. I still love Robert. I don’t have the power to make those feelings go away.”
“No one’s asking you to,” he said sharply, but then he pulled her in his arms for a second time. The first kiss insured she was cut off from saying anything more. And then he made love to her, insuring she didn’t have the energy for anything but him-and them.
She woke once in the night, on the tip of a nightmare, but she found herself soothed and smoothed in Pete’s arms, and the bad dream just seemed to disappear.
The next time she opened her eyes, it was daybreak. And he was gone.
Seven
For three days in a row, the family had complained that Pete was as much fun to be around as a crabby porcupine. So this morning, the instant he heard sounds of life stirring upstairs, he sucked down a mug of coffee and pasted on a stupid, happy smile. By the time vigorous fighting had broken out between the twins, he had the eggs whipped to a frenzy. By the time he heard the sound of his father’s cane on the stairs, he popped down the toast.
His dad showed up in the doorway first, shooting him a wary glance. “Gonna be a hot one, they say,” Ian claimed as he ambled into the kitchen. “Pretty rare to have eighty degrees in May.”
“Uh-huh.” When Pete heard the grumpiness in his tone, he deliberately repeated, “Uh-huh,” with more boisterous enthusiasm.
His father squinted at him in surprise, then poured a mug and settled across the counter. When Pete offered no further conversation, Ian ventured, “You get some sleep last night? Seems like I heard you pacing around for three nights in a row, figured you weren’t feeling well.”
“Couldn’t be better,” Pete said heartily. “How’re doing this morning, Dad?”
That shocked Ian into complete silence. Pete never asked about Ian’s state of health-not because he didn’t love his father-but because Ian generally answered in minute detail about every ache and pain. Ian liked being coddled, where Pete didn’t believe it was good for him. This morning, though, his father didn’t answer his health question, only watched Pete serve him eggs and toast and juice.
“You’re waiting on me,” Ian said, in the same disbelieving tone he’d use to announce Elvis hunkering down at their kitchen table.
“Just thought we should all start the day with a good breakfast.”
“I’m not complaining,” Ian said hastily, and taking advantage of his son being pleasant, tried a new line of conversation. “I couldn’t help but notice the special deliveries you got yesterday. Looked like some thick envelopes. New work?”
“Yeah.” And normally, the arrival of new work would have revved his personal jets. He did all kinds of translating projects, but the scientific translating work he did for Langley was his favorite, always fascinating and different, always something new to spin his mind around. Right now, though, there was only one thing he wanted the skill to translate-and that wasn’t scientific developments, but Camille. No amount of replaying what she said seemed to help him analyze what she really meant-or what she really wanted.
The boys clattered downstairs. Eggs got shoveled onto plates. Ian punched on CNBC. Sun poured in the east windows.
When Pete looked out, though, he didn’t see the sunlit grass or the dewy glisten in his apple orchards. He saw her. His mind’s view whispered back three nights. He saw Cam’s face by moonlight, the magic in her eyes, her silky white naked skin. The way she’d come alive for him. Apart for him. Gone wild for him, with him.
For damn sure, he hadn’t been hurt that she’d ended the night with honesty. Her confession that she was still in love with her dead husband came as absolutely no surprise. She’d never given him a reason to expect anything else. A man would have to be an idiot to not realize the tragedy was still haunting her. Camille was nothing like Debbie. When Cam loved, she
A glass of juice spilled. Ian babbled on about an eye doctor appointment. The boys only had a couple weeks of school left, and they had plans. “I’m not going to bug you about a horse again, Dad. I’m just saying…”
“It’s okay,” he said.
“You mean, it’s okay that I can get a horse this summer?”
He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the counter, looking out. He’d never made love with her because he expected any kind of return. The chemistry was explosive, so yeah, there was plenty of selfishness on his part. He wasn’t trying to claim that he’d made love for her sake. But that really wasn’t the whole picture. He hated seeing her shut herself off from life. He also didn’t want her getting her feet wet with some guy who’d hurt her-something he knew he’d never do. He wanted to be the one who helped her heal. What was wrong with that?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Making love hadn’t hurt her. Hadn’t hurt him. Her admitting she was still hung up on Robert was an honest, honorable thing to tell him.
He was happy she had.
Very happy.
A yellow school bus suddenly braked at the end of the driveway. The back door slammed once, then twice, as the boys pelted outside.
“I think Simon broke the remote control. Didn’t want to tell you, but from the looks of the situation, I believe it found its way into the bathtub.”
“Sure,” Pete said.
