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Henry’s dark eyes glistened. He cleared his throat and laughed. “She’d be proud that I torture kids to read.”
“‘It is well worthwhile to be tormented for two or three years of one’s life, for the sake of being able to read for the rest of it.’”
Henry faced him, close. “My favorite, again.”
Cameron stood before him, unsure where to put his hands. Fold them? On his hips? Pressed against a shelf, leaning into Henry?
He cupped an elbow and rubbed his neck.
“The first time we met,” Henry said, “you mentioned scripts.”
“You remember?”
“I remember everything. I want to read them.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“They’re drafts.”
Henry cocked his head toward the books. “Drafts need feedback to grow into finished products.”
“They’re romances, Henry.”
“All the better. I can glean your secret desires. I hope they’re naughty.”
Cameron flushed. “You laugh, but . . .”
Henry uncrossed his ankles, straightening. “I need to read these now.”
“I’m not sure the kissing parts are any good.”
“I’m sure they’ll be great.”
“No, I mean, the passion might be unrealistic.”
Henry’s brow lifted.
“I mean, I’ve kissed guys before, but . . .”
A long beat followed, then Henry said quietly, “Never with passion?”
“I’m sure it was my fault.” Cameron laughed. “I was nervous, and I wasn’t . . . connected. I wanted to be kissed so badly. I wanted more, but no one cared to try after kissing. Anyway . . .”
Henry fingered Cameron’s coat, pinching it, urging him a half-step nearer. “I thought it might be fun to read your writing. Now, I think it’s necessary.”
“I don’t think laughing at my expense is necessary.”
Henry held Cameron’s gaze steadily, no hint of amusement. “That won’t happen.”
Henry’s fingers dropped, playing idly with Cameron’s buttons.
Cameron let out a shaky breath. “What are we, Henry?”
“We know each other’s inner struggles and we can still look each other in the eye. We’re a miracle.”
“Anything else?”
“Friends, in public.”
“In private?”
Henry’s gaze connected with his, dark, hungry, restrained. “Whatever you want us to be.”
Cameron nodded dumbly. His tongue suddenly stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his armpits sweated. God, his gloves were practically damp.
Henry took his hand and dragged him into the middle of the library.
“What are you—”
“Getting what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“To dance again.” Henry bowed playfully. “If you’ll do me the honor?”
“You’re something else, Henry. Nothing despicable about you.”
Henry pulled him flush against him, chest to chest, hip to hip. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you could read my mind.”
Um. Oh.
Heat rippled up his throat, his cheeks. His imagination bubbled off on its own, and his breeches tightened.
Henry hummed a beat and began a slow waltz. “Your turn, Cameron.”
“My turn?”
Henry’s lips touched his ear. “To get something you want.”
In Henry’s ear, “What if I want a lot of things?”
“Start asking.”
“Could I have a library like this? Fill it up with all my books?”
A laugh.
“Do you have a middle name?”
Henry’s lips turned up at the edges. “Bloom.”
“Henry Bloom Tilney?”
“Henryson Bloom Alastair Tilney.
“I’m just Cameron Morland.”
“Nothing just about you.”
That smile melted him from the inside. His grip tightened on Henry’s hand. “Um, when’s your birthday?”
“December 12th.”
“Sagittarius? I should have figured.”
Henry waited for him to continue.
“Hilarious, honest, smart.”
“I’m smart to like you.”
Cameron laughed.
“Anything else you’d like?”
“There might be a part of me that wants you to read my latest script.”
Henry brightened. “You’ll let me read?”
“I’ll forward you my best one.”
“Wonderful. I’ll read it at camp.”
“Camp?”
“I’m away next week for school camp with the year nines. The first of two weeklong trips, but the other is not for a month.”
“Exciting.”
“The kids love it, once they adapt to life without cellphones. This might be a good time to tell you we won’t be much in touch next week. I return Friday afternoon, though. Georgie wants to pick me up for our usual weekly constitutional. Would you like to join us? It’s a lovely walk around the bays, we always start with coffee and end with ice cream.”
“Are you sure I wouldn’t be a third wheel?”
Henry smiled. “Georgie is super curious about you. She’ll be thrilled.”
“Okay, then. I’d like that.”
They danced a few more beats, their bodies close. So close, Henry was a solid wall of sexy literacy against him, all his favorite words crammed into keenly defined strength and poise.
“Cameron?” Henry said softly, knowingly. “What else?”
Cameron focused on the shifting muscle and fabric under his palm, wishing he’d—
He stopped dancing and pulled his gloves off, tossing them over the armchair.
Henry followed the move, his eyes briefly closing. “And now?”
Cameron returned to his arms, reveling in the soft feel of cashmere. He dragged his fingers up and down Henry’s shoulder. Soft fabric, and harder Henry under it. Firm, strong.
Henry’s fingers curled tightly around Cameron’s other hand, a tantalizing soft kiss of their palms. “I want to be close,” Cameron whispered.
“A feeling very much reciprocated.”
A shaky laugh escaped him. Surprise, nervousness, and delight prevented him from looking Henry in the eye. He folded against him, arm sliding to his shoulder blade, head ducked, pressing against the cords of his neck, chest, thighs—more—touching.
