"I want to take you upstairs and spend the night showing you exactly how much. But I need you to know what you're getting into."
I study his face in the candlelight, searching for something I'm not sure I want to find.
"Which is?"
"I'm forty years old, Tara. I've been on the road for twenty years, and I've never had a serious relationship in my life. Never wanted one."
He runs his thumb along my jawline.
"My parents' marriage was a disaster. Screaming matches, thrown dishes, lawyers. I watched my mother cry herself to sleep for years after my dad left."
"That doesn't mean?—”
"It means I learned early that forever is bullshit." His eyes hold mine, unflinching. "I don't want to hurt you. But I won't lie to you either.”
Cameron makes a vague gesture. “This moment is about us wanting each other. Not about white picket fences or meeting your mother."
My heart beats like it’s going to shoot through my chest.
"Did I ask for any of that?"
"No," he says. "But most women do, eventually. And when they do, I'm out."
Cameron's honesty cuts like a blade.
"I've had girlfriends who thought they could change my mind. Thought if they were patient enough, sweet enough, sexy enough, I'd suddenly want the entire package." He shakes his head. "It never works. I always disappoint them."
I take a steadying breath. "So what are you proposing?"
"That we be honest about what this is." His hand slides up my thigh, thumb tracing circles that make coherent thought difficult.
"You're beautiful, intelligent, and you make me laugh. I haven’t wanted anyone this much in years."
I wait for him to continue.
"Assuming all goes well with the hearing, I'll take Posey back to New York with me and resume my normal life. And you..."
He touches my bottom lip with his fingertip. "You have your entire future ahead of you. College, opera, some nice guy who'll give you everything I can't."
The words sting more than they should.
"You're assuming I want something you can't give."
"Don't you?" His blue eyes search mine. "Most people do."
I consider his question. The wine made me bolder than usual.
"What if I don't want the nice guy? What if I want the man who saves the lives of old fishermen and writes songs that make people cry? And tells bedtime stories to his daughter like he's been doing it for years instead of days?"
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe hope. But it's gone too quickly.
"Tara, you don't understand what my life is like. The tours, the tabloids, the women throwing themselves at me every night." His jaw tightens.
"I'm not going to lie to you about my past. There have been hundreds of women. Maybe thousands. One-night stands, brief affairs, nothing that lasted more than a few weeks."
Cameron pauses. “Including Posey's mother. Not proud to say that I didn't even remember her name."
I’m stunned into silence, though I expected as much.
