The air in the van changed. A subtle tension ramped up his back as he waited for her challenge. He had a notion what it would be and hoped he was right.
“I dare you to kiss me.”
The invitation was there, and he took it. Without hesitation, he moved in and covered her mouth with his, tasting coffee and chocolate. She kissed him back, opening for him. It turned into an unhurried exploration of tongues, teeth, and lips. A slow burn started in his belly, one that resembled the heating of a billet. Metal had stages of color when it was annealed in a furnace: gray to blue to black to dark red to bright cherry to orange. It took time to reach each level, and once it did, it could become anything. Any form he wished to make.
What they would forge between them had yet to be decided, but the furnace had lit up.
The kiss ended. Cam found himself on top of Sabrina with one leg on the floor and the other between her thighs, his mouth hovering over hers. Tension and need permeated the air along with uncertainty. They’d reached a turning point, and neither of them wanted to make the next move.
Sabrina licked her lips as if tasting Cam’s flavor. “It’s still raining.”
It was indeed. The heavy downpour still pounded the van, and it didn’t sound like it would let up anytime soon.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked in a rough voice.
“No.”
“Whatdoyou want, Sabrina?” He was sure she could feel his heavy groin through their clothes. Only a couple of layers lay between them. If they were naked, he’d be inside her already—if she wanted that to happen. Her kiss dare made him think she did.
She took a few deep breaths, as if calming herself into control. “I’m not a slut. I don’t sleep around or do one-nighters. But right now… I think I need you.”
“I think I need you.”Those words burned themselves into his mind and his gut like an iron brand. But as much as he wanted to, the timing wasn’t right. Forging a blade took many steps, patience, and methodical work. Skipping ahead left the metal too soft to hold an edge or too brittle to last. If he wanted whatever this was to be long and solid, he needed to get the tempering right.
Cam spoke in a rough voice. “I’m not fucking you tonight. I’m not fucking you ever. When we get together, and we will, it will be more than just scratching an itch. We’ll be 100 percent sure we’re ready for that step, ’cause once we take it, there’s no going back.”
She licked her lips. For several moments, they stayed frozen, the air heavy and thick, neither one moving forward or backward or breaking. Cam held himself rigid, wondering how long they could listen to the storm without falling prey to its power and giving in. He could see himself kissing her hard, testing her response, and pushing her to open up and take him inside. His erection screamed for relief; only his iron will kept him still.
“I have a flat-screen over my bed so I can stream movies when I get a chance to hook into a Wi-Fi signal,” she finally said, but her eyes never moved from his.
Apparently, they weren’t going to talk about it. Very well, he would play the game and sweep everything under the rug. For now.
“I can do a movie.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Garfield Hob openedthe door to his shop and entered the dim interior.“People needs good shoes, and good shoes needs repair”was a phrase often repeated by his father. After Garfield Senior passed away, Garfield Junior expanded into repairing baseball gloves, purses, and belts. Some days he was a cobbler, and other days he was a leathersmith. Either way, the shop maintained a steady flow of customers.
The sweet, earthy smell of conditioning oils wafted through the open door. He inhaled the familiar scent. He’d been working in this shop since he was seven, and thirty years later, he was still at it.
Garfield pulled down the leather apron from its hook and replaced it with his jacket. Mornings were cold, but the afternoon should warm up a bit. He opened the plastic grocery bag his wife handed him an hour ago. Two chipped ham sandwiches, a can of cheddar cheese Pringles, a cup of fruit cocktail, and a big brownie. He smiled as he put his lunch in the small fridge. They were coming up on ten years married with two children, and every morning she sent him to work with a similar packed lunch. He felt so lucky to have this beautiful life.
Shelves with pairs of customers’ work shoes, boots, and belts lined one side of the shop, but the majority of the space was taken up by the working area. Garfield’s main bench held several shoe anvils and had an array of leather working tools hanging from the pegboard at the back. Awls, knives, leather scissors, rotary cutters, thread, and assorted shaping tuckers lay close to his hands when he needed them. Several rows of lasts, otherwise known as shoe forms, sat in a regimented row across the shelf at the top of his workbench. He didn’t do as much custom work as his father had, but they were still a part of the shop and his heritage.
Most of these tools had been here for decades, the handles well-worn and dark with age. The same awls he’d learned to poke through the leather to sew soles were the same ones he used now. He loved his craft, and it was getting rarer to find someone with these skills. He wondered if his six-year-old son would eventually carry on the tradition.
Garfield checked the day’s scheduled workload before starting the coffee maker.“No work begins until coffee is made”was another phrase his father was fond of saying. As the water bubbled through the filter, he picked up one of the knives and tested the blade. It was time to make a run to Quillon’s place and have it sharpened. The machine shop was only a block away on the next row of businesses after the titty bar. But even that close, he would have to make a trip after hours or have Mira watch the shop for him while the kids were in school. Sharpening was one skill he’d never quite mastered. He could do some maintenance, but when it came to a good edge, Quillon had a guy working there who was a genius at making blades.
Garfield pulled out a pair of shoes with worn soles and set up to get started. He poured his coffee before setting one shoe over the anvil.
A moment later, he heard the door open behind him, and he frowned. His first appointment wasn’t until nine. He started to turn.
“Can I help?—”
Pain exploded across the back of his skull. His legs suddenly gave out, and he hit the floor with a bang. More pain hit his ribs, and he felt one snap. Confusion steeped with fear flooded his mind.
Why?
