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27. Forde

Having Cameron stay under my roof was like a flashback to the summer I turned twenty-one. In the weeks running up to my birthday, she’d insinuated herself into my every free moment and pretty much tortured me with her proximity.

One particularly hot afternoon on my day off, we ended up swimming at Mornish Beach. There was no one else around. It was an impromptu swim and Cameron stripped down to her bra and knickers to go in. When she came out of the water, I could see everything, and it was the first time my body reacted to hers.

I tried to tell myself it was just a heterosexual male’s natural reaction to seeing an almost naked female. But there came a moment later that day when I realized I was in deep trouble. We were sitting on the beach to dry off and Cameron made me laugh about five million times with her blunt observations and quick rejoinders. I remembered looking at her as she giggled in the sunlight because she was obviously delighted that she’d made me laugh, and this flood of affection and rightness washed over me. Like I knew I’d die happy if I got to spend all my afternoons laughing with Cameron McQuarrie.

It was the first time I got a hard-on from an emotional response to a woman.

And I knew then I was fucked.

Every day after was like foreplay without the actual foreplay, so by the time she straddled me on that couch on my birthday, I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t want to think straight.

Living with Cameron was like that summer all over again.

We were on day three and I was tired from tossing and turning each night, knowing she was under my roof, across the hall, sleeping in tiny sleep shorts and no bra.

I’d dragged myself out of bed when my alarm went off, quickly showered, shot the guest room door a look of resentment for existing as a wall between us, and disappeared into mine to get dressed for the day. My ears pricked up at the sound of a door opening and of Cameron’s slow progress out into the hall with her crutches.

I’d been avoiding touching her, but I needed to check her stitches today. She’d told me last night that her foot felt better, so hopefully she’d be back on her feet in another week. There was still no word from the police about the man who had broken in, and Cameron had spent her days working on her design business in my office at the garage. Caoimhe had been on her best behavior, which mostly included staying out of Cameron’s way.

A crash from across the hall had me rushing out of my room before I was finished getting dressed. I burst into the bathroom to find Cameron on her arse on the floor, cheeks flushed with frustration.

One of the crutches was in the tub.

“What happened, baby?” I reached down to help her up, and she was surprisingly docile in my arms.

“I was trying to bend over the tub to wash my hair, and I leaned my weight on my bad foot. Apparently, it is still sore.” She’d wound her arms around my neck as I lifted her and now as we stood, our faces were so close it would take only a few millimeters to bridge the distance between us.

My lips tingled at the thought, hot blood rushing south as I stared at her very fucking kissable mouth.

Cameron cleared her throat, unwinding her arms from my neck. A shiver of awareness skated down my spine as her palms coasted over my naked chest. “Oh.” She jerked back like she’d just realized I wasn’t wearing a shirt, and my arm tightened around her waist as she wobbled unsteadily on one foot.

A flush crested her fair cheeks as her gaze dropped to my pecs. Her eyes narrowed, and I shuddered against the rush of arousal that thrummed through me when she brushed her fingertips over my heart. “This tattoo is new.”

A bolt of panic had me gently spinning her around toward the tub. “I can wash your hair.”

Just as I’d hoped, she was flustered from the suggestion and forgot about the ink. “You don’t have to do that. I’m capable of washing my own hair.”

Call me a masochist, but the thought of being able to touch her was suddenly imperative. This was why I’d avoided it the last three days because I knew once I did, I’d be a goner all over again.

“Here.” I gently took the remaining crutch from her grip and leaned it against the wall before I helped her to her knees. Cameron was weirdly compliant, which gave me hope that maybe she wanted me to touch her too, but in a way that felt safe from declaring her feelings. I cocked my eyebrow at that thought, deciding therapy had maybe unlocked my perceptive side. “Huh.”

“What?” Cameron craned her neck to look up at me.

“Nothing.” I reached past her, my chest brushing her head as I grabbed the other crutch out of the tub so it didn’t get wet. As I steadied it against the wall, I looked down at the sole of her foot. She’d taken off the bandage, and the wound wasn’t red or swollen, which was a great sign. “I’ll wrap your foot before we go anywhere this morning.”

“Okay. The other one was looking grubby.” Cameron pointed to her bright pink shampoo bottle. “That’s mine.”

“Well, I didn’t think it was mine.”

“It could be yours. Mr. I Secretly Listen to Adele.” She turned, her lips twitching against a grin as she raised her eyebrows.

Unashamed I shrugged. “Yeah, because 21 is a great album.”

Cameron giggled. “I don’t disagree. I might disagree with the Bay City Rollers vinyl.”

I huffed, “That was a joke from Quinn. Have you been nosing through my things?”