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Shaking his head, he inhaled, hoping a good lungful of bracing sea air might give him the clarity he sought since he’d first laid eyes on Cam again. The refreshing tang of salty sea air didn’t help, as memories of the way she’d looked and smiled and sounded assailed him.
Memories of those incredibly tight black jeans moulding her long legs to perfection, those sexy knee high boots, her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders when she’d let it out, the same rich color as the chocolate fountain on the bar of her café.
She’d changed so much, the young, shy girl maturing into a confident, striking woman. If she’d captivated him six years ago it had nothing on the need coursing through him now, the need to reconcile with his wife.
Hiswife…the label rolled around and around in his brain, sweet and tempting and oh-so-right, exactly like Cam herself.
She’d been his driving force all these years, the thought of coming back to her with much more to offer making him work longer, harder, and faster than his competitors.
Reuniting with the only woman in the world for him had been a powerful motivator and now he’d finally seen her…he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Cam could stall and bluster and pretend she was immune to him all she liked, but he knew better.
He’d seen the old spark in her eyes, the tenderness when she’d swayed toward him of her own volition, the flare of desire when he’d touched her.
He hadn’t sugar-coated why he’d left, and while she probably hadn’t accepted it yet, she’d come around.
In the meantime he had every intention of giving her all the encouragement in the world to see exactly how perfect they could be together. All over again.
And if she needed concrete proof…glancing at the house, he hopped off the Ute, refastened his tool belt and sauntered back to work, whistling their song under his breath with a smile on his face and hope in his heart.
Chapter Five
Camryn paced the length of the bar, her high heeled boots rapping against the polished boards, echoing in the silence.
She flicked on a random jazz playlist, only to switch it off again in a mild panic whentheirsong came on and Blane might see it as a sign she wanted to create a cozy atmosphere, or worse, take it as an indication she’d changed her mind and wanted to give them another chance. ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ had been one of her parents’ favorites and though she’d never admitted it as a teen, she’d liked it too. It had seemed momentous that the first time she’d laid eyes on Blane, that song had been playing in the background. It had kind of been theirs ever since.
And exactly why she’d turned it off now. She’d also retied her hair into its signature French braid, had blown out all the tea light candles, switched on the bright fluorescent strip hanging over the bar, and removed all traces of the essential oil she’d been burning since closing, all in the attempt to ‘de-cozy’ the place.
The last thing she needed was him getting the wrong idea.
Which was?
An image sprung to mind of the two of them sitting in the plush lounge area of the café, curled up on one of the comfy sofas, sharing a steaming mochacino, or maybe one of the fine merlots she kept out the back, with the lamps muted and the luscious aromas of cinnamon and vanilla in the air from the essential oils she used to compliment the baking.
Oh yeah, she could see it all too clearly, and unfortunately, her vision of the wrong idea appeared way too right.
Casting one last critical look around—and satisfied she’d obliterated any semblance of romantic ambience—she fiddled with the espresso machine, going through the soothing motions of pouring milk into a stainless steel jug, sliding it under the frother, filling the scoop with coffee, using the tamper, checking the water level.
The familiar actions calmed her, giving her something to do with her hands rather than tug on her plait until it unravelled. She had nothing to be nervous about. Absolutely nothing. This was business. Nothing to do with pleasure at all.
With a groan, her head fell forward and thunked against the espresso machine. Thinking about the combination of Blane and pleasure unnerved her.
Of course, he had to find her with her head slumped against the machine, his rapid knock snapping her head to attention in time to see his face crease with concern as he peered through the glass door with hands cupped against it.
Giving her head a rueful rub, she crossed to the door and unlocked it, beckoning him in.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” She locked the door behind hin. “I was inventing a new way to check the coffee ground levels.”
He smiled, his dubious expression saying he didn’t believe her for a second. But what could she tell him? That the merethought of seeing him had her in a spin, wishing she could clunk her head repeatedly to knock some sense into her?
“How have you been?”
He propped against the bar, giving her a tempting view of a broad expanse of muscular chest beneath faded sky blue cotton and a healthy set of biceps. Good. Just what she needed, a great set of biceps…to fix the fridge, of course.
Clearing her throat, she said, “It’s been manic here. I haven’t had a moment to myself.”
