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His heart banged like crazy, and all he could hear was the thump, thump, thump, along with blood rushing through his body. Had he just jumped off the damn cliff of no return? Had he read the signs wrong? Had he scared her off?
She shuddered. “Cam,” she whispered. “It’s not that simple.”
“It’s about as simple as it gets, Blue. Either you feel the same as me or you don’t. We take it to the next level or we don’t. I don’t want to be stuck here, where we are. You living in that big house and me here. I want to wake up next to you. I want to come home to you. I want to give you everything. Thing is, I’ve got a little girl to think about. If things go my way, she’ll be a permanent part of my life. That means we’re a package deal and…” He swore and ran his hands through his hair. “I had no plans of dumping this on you. I’m sorry, I…I guess my dad’s situation has me a little screwed up. And—”
Blue reached for him. She stood on her tiptoes and sank her fingers into the thick hair at his nape. He stared down into her blue eyes and felt his world tilt a little off-center.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Yeah?”
She nodded. “Let’s do this. Whatever this is. I’m in. I’m all in.” She kissed him slowly. Thoroughly. And Cam damn near lost his mind. They ended up back in bed. And while he made long, hot, passionate love to the woman who’d claimed his heart, Edward Barnes sat at his desk in his downtown office, smiling at the email he’d just opened.
He had the ammunition he needed. His cruel smile deepened. It was going to be one hell of a day.
22
Bluebell Liza Bodine-Barnes knew what all the fuss was about. Finally.
A late bloomer by anyone’s standards these days, she was almost seventeen the first time she let a boy get to third base. And then, more or less to get it over with, two weeks later, she let that boy go all the way. The sex hadn’t been good (but then what woman’s first time was?), and a few nights later, she gave it another go just to see—it hadn’t been any better. Blue decided early on that sex wasn’t something she particularly enjoyed, and she was more than willing to take the blame for that. Maybe she was wired differently?
Maybe it was why she’d done what she’d done a few months later. She’d been young, emotional and lonely.
Then a pregnancy she hadn’t seen coming and the fallout from that, and she was more than willing to forget about a healthy sexual relationship and all that came along with it. She came to the realization that for her, it didn’t exist and never would. She became an expert at faking orgasms—and had done so with every man she’d been with.
Arch your back just so.
Moan and whimper when he was about to come.
A little dirty talk to hurry it up.
Then the classic throaty release.
That had been her experience. So to have an honest-to-God, earth-shattering orgasm with a man she loved was a gift. And that gift had her floating on a cloud. Humming a sappy song. More importantly, it had her looking forward to the future. And that was something she hadn’t done in a very long time.
It was early afternoon, and she was in her studio, enjoying the quiet as she checked over the last-minute details before her grand opening. It was coming up fast, and she had less than two weeks to make sure it was a huge success. For the last ten days, she’d had carpenters, sound techs, plumbers, drywall guys, and office equipment people in and out making her dream come true. The beech spring wood flooring shone with a luster that made her heart sing. The wiring for the sound system was done and the acoustics incredible. Her change rooms featured a massage area, showers, and personalized cubbies, while her office was glass enclosed and fully open to her space. With the banks of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the river and mirrors along the opposite wall, the studio was both contemporary and timeless.
Dressed in black tights and a tank top, feet bare, hair loose around her shoulders, Blue tapped her tablet and began to sway as the soft sounds of Giselle awakened the silence. She closed her eyes and let the music take over. Dance had always been like this for her—an escape and a way to express the emotion that clogged her soul. She’d never been able to convey what she felt through words. Maybe because when she was young, no one listened. But music and dance unleashed something inside her. It freed her from th
e vise that held her tongue and stifled her feelings.
She became the music.
Blue moved around her studio, her feet gliding over the smooth, polished floors. The movement to the piece was automatic, and though she hadn’t danced professionally in several years, the muscle memory was still there, and she whirled around in a circle, arms out, toes pointed, laughing at the sheer joy she felt.
In this moment, in this studio, the sun shone and the birds sang. Nothing could touch her. How naïve, she would think later. Much later, when she had time to pick her heart up off the floor and gather her thoughts.
The Dance of the Willies finished and she was about to head to the change room and shower when a heavy pounding had her turning toward the foyer of the studio. Frowning, she glanced at her watch. Poppy was dropping by, but that wasn’t for another hour. Besides, she had the security code. Maybe she forgot it?
She jogged over, unlocked the door, and immediately regretted her actions. Edward Barnes stood there, a gift bag in one hand, a cold smile on his face.
He didn’t wait for an invite and nearly bowled her over as he pushed his way inside. The foyer was a decent-sized room, featuring furniture for parents or students waiting to enter, a flat-screen television, coffee machine, etc. There were still a few pieces of artwork waiting to be hung and empty boxes ready for recycling.
“Boots,” she admonished as Edward strode across the room and paused at the entrance to the studio. He peered inside while she hung back, more than a little confused by his visit.
“This is what you’ve spent all that money on?”
“Edward, why are you here?” She was wary. And concerned. And she hated that his darkness had infiltrated her sunny place.
