Not just the sensual power of his movements—although that was enough to make his mouth dry with want. No, there was something more, something essential, carnal even, about the way Elijah moved. It was so much more than just a man dancing at his stove while he cooked. It was freedom.
A shiver ran down Camden’s spine as recognition took hold. This wasn’t the first time he’d recognized this freedom. It wasn’t the first time this man’s power had drawn him in, overwhelming his senses.
This freedom, which he’d only had the chance to sample for a few hours into the night, had forced Camden to stay away from Elijah. The one night they’d shared had been enough to tell Camden that Elijah, and the freedom woven into the fabric of his being, would never fit into Camden’s world.
“You gonna stand there and watch me dance all night, or help set the table?”
The deep rumble of Elijah’s voice was the perfect excuse Camden needed to loosen the grip a five-year-old memory had on him. He blinked a few times, waiting for his mind to slip back into the confident persona he was so used to portraying. When the uncertainty of Elijah’s effect on him faded away, he fell into character. With a tilt of his lip into his signature cocksure smile, Camden was back.
Camden leaned against the doorjamb, angled his head, and smiled wider as he took in another healthy eyeful of the still-dancing lieutenant. “I don’t know,” Camden huffed. “The view from here is so perfect, moving would just spoil it.” When Elijah ignored him, Camden stepped inside the kitchen, spreading his palms wide on the island that stood between them. “How’d you know I was standing there, anyway? Your cop sense tingled?”
Elijah shut off the stovetop and turned around with a steaming hot pan in his hand. He laid it atop a heat protectant mat on the counter before lifting his eyes to meet Camden’s.
“Yeah, it was my cop sense.” His face straight with a lifted brow, he pointed behind him. “Or, you know, it could’ve been the reflective surface of the stovetop exhaust.”
Camden laughed, shaking his head as Elijah went about pulling plates and cutlery from hidden places in the modern kitchen and filling the dishes with food.
“Smells good in here,” Camden hummed. “Like breakfast.” He gave a passing look to the bacon, eggs, and biscuits Elijah placed in front of him and whispered to himself, “Greasy breakfast, it appears.”
“What was that?”
Camden shook his head. “Oh nothing.”
Elijah shrugged. “When I left here today, my intention was to stay at my apartment in Brooklyn. I didn’t have a chance to make a grocery run, so it’s either breakfast for dinner, or nothing.”
Camden held up a hand. “Breakfast for dinner sounds divine.”
“It’s my mom’s biscuit recipe taken up a notch with my dad’s sweet and spicy jelly recipe. Some bacon and eggs added to it will set it off just right. I promise you’re gonna love it.” As if to demonstrate that fact, he quickly fixed a plate for himself and dug into it.
Elijah smiled. There was pride there as he ate. Camden was certain it had more to do with Elijah’s parents than actual biscuits and jelly, and that knowledge made his heart tug a bit with sadness. He shook his head, not wishing to focus on the negative, so he zeroed in on Elijah’s smile.
“Has your dad retired yet?”
Elijah’s eyes squinted, and then a spark of recognition took hold. Had their one night together been so forgettable that Elijah hadn’t remembered telling Camden he’d joined the force to follow in his dad’s footsteps?
Just because you remember everything doesn’t mean he does, Camden.
If Elijah remembered nothing from that night, Camden knew it was no one’s fault but his own. He’d let fear pull him away from the most engaging man he’d ever met, and he could only blame himself. Well, himself, and the well-oiled machine that was his father’s plan for his future.
“Yeah,” Elijah answered as he met Camden’s gaze, “about two years ago. Now, he spends most of his days watching the Cooking Channel, and his nights making wonderful meals for my mom. They’re both in heaven. His retirement seems to agree with them both. And your dad?”
Camden shook his head as a derisive chuckle shook his shoulders. “They’ll pluck the gavel from his cold, dead hand before Chief Judge Warren retires from the New York Court of Appeals.”
“I know having a dad with an impressive record in the department was difficult for me,” Elijah hedged. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for you knowing your dad was—is—the head honcho in the highest court in the state.”
Smothering.
That was the only way Camden could describe it. On paper, it made for an amazing read. But to live that existence, always needing to be perfect for fear of besmirching the family name and legacy—yeah, no fun at all.
“I guess you don’t think about it when you know no other way to be,” Camden huffed as if balancing those heavy scales all his life hadn’t been a living hell. The song playing cued a transition, and Camden allowed it to pull him away from the heavy conversation they’d found themselves in.
“I love this song,” Camden spoke, not waiting to see if Elijah would acknowledge his subject change. “‘Left & Right’ was a club favorite.” Camden bopped his head to D’Angelo’s deep bass rhythms. “There are a few hits on theVoodooalbum, but I’ll always favorBrown Sugar.”
Elijah lifted his head, his eyes narrowing into slits as he focused on Camden. “You would’ve been what, twelve or thirteen whenBrown Sugarwas popular, fifteen or sixteen when theVoodooalbum dropped? What the hell would you have known about a neosoul king like D’Angelo at that point?”
“We’re the same age, Elijah,” Camden huffed, snatching a piece of crispy bacon from his plate. “Why is it so crazy I would’ve known about D’Angelo and not crazy you would?”
“Because I didn’t grow up in one of those soulless boarding schools I’m assuming Mommy and Daddy sent you to. No way your headmaster would’ve allowed you to pollute your precious mind with music like that.”
