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All we did the night before was kiss and cuddle because I was too emotionally spent to do anything else. In fact, my body was sore from the emotions wrenched from each muscle, as if someone wrung me out like a dish rag.
Crying hangover was real, and I’d never experienced one before. My head had a thick, cottony feel to it, and my eyes were still coated in sticky sandpaper.
Oddly enough, though, I felt better despite the stripped-down vulnerability I’d shoved in his face the day before.
I felt lighter.
Eventually, I’d have to deal with my dad.
Eventually, I’d have to figure out what all of this meant in the bigger picture.
I poured some of the steaming hot coffee and watched him slide the perfectly scrambled eggs onto two plates. He added salt, and then some pepper, and then sprinkled some shredded cheese on top.
I hopped up onto the island, crossing my legs slowly, because I liked the way he looked at me when I did.
“I do have furniture,” he said.
“This feels like a much more rebellious way to eat breakfast, though.” I took the plate with a smile, moaning when I took my first bite of eggs. As I finished chewing, I eyed him skeptically. “You did not make these.”
“You see anyone else in here?” He finished his eggs in about three wolfish bites, which should not have been attractive. Then he set down the plate and gently uncrossed my legs, stepping between them and sliding his hands up the outside of my thighs. “I’ll show you all my tricks.”
I snorted. “I’ll bet.”
I set the plate down and ran my hands over his chest, up over his shoulders, and down the thick muscular line of his arms. He gave me a lingering kiss, rubbing his nose against mine before he pulled away.
What must I look like right now?
Because in my mind, I stared up at him like some dopey lovesick puppy.
The man was feeding me, for fuck’s sake. He held me when I cried. Didn’t mansplain the situation with my dad, and he handed out orgasms like candy.
The only thing I could find wrong with him was his zip code.
“What are you up to today?” he asked.
“I told Poppy I’d go shopping with her. She wanted to find a dress for the festival.” I shivered when the tips of his fingers tracked over the edge of my underwear. “And I need to meet with Marcy about the estate sale for all the furniture.”
He dropped his head onto my shoulder and curled his massive arms around my backside, tugging me closer to the edge of the island in one rough movement.
“Were you listening to anything I said?” I asked in mock exasperation.
“Yes.” His voice was muffled because he was gently mouthing at my neck. “But it’s really, really hard to concentrate when you’re sitting here in my shirt.”
I bit down on my grin. I pushed at his shoulder, arching a brow. “Would it help if I took it off?”
Cameron growled under his breath and scooped me up over his shoulder.
With a breathless laugh, I gripped the waistband of his shorts as he clamped a hand over the back of my thighs and walked us down the hall toward his bedroom.
He left for work a little late, but with a smug-ass smile on his face that I thought about all morning.
“What about this?” Poppy asked. I wrinkled my nose, and she laughed. “Okay, no floral prints for you.”
“Florals are fine,” I amended. “Those are sunflowers. I am not a sunflower dress girl.”
“Pretty sure you could wear anything, but…” She set the hanger back on the display.
“We’re here for you, remember?” I flipped through some options on the rack, tugging out a light purple wrap number that would look killer with her dark hair. I held it up, and she nodded. I added it to the stack on the chair behind her. “I didn’t realize the festival required sexy dresses.”
