She cocks her head. “What if it’s a few days of pain? Or weeks? Because let’s be real, I’m not the sort of person who bounces back quickly.”
“Then you have a few days or weeks of pain.” I shrug. “Worst-case scenario, you’ll still survive.” I straighten, deciding it’s time to end the conversation while I’m ahead. I’ve stirred her thoughts. Hopefully she can muster enough confidence in herself to do something about it. “It’s your choice. Do whatever you think is best. Just make sure you’re doing it because it’s what you want.”
“I will.” She nibbles her lip again, and this time, I can’t resist the urge to reach over and smooth a thumb across it. She freezes. So do I. What was I thinking? I can’t touch her like that. She’s not for me. But to my surprise, she doesn’t flinch. I retract my thumb, which is still tingling from her lips. “Would you like to see what I’ve been working on?”
My stomach lurches, and my heart takes off. “I thought you hadn’t showed anyone before?”
“I haven’t.” She smiles tentatively. “But I’d like you to be the first.”
“Absolutely.” I may not have had any interest in women’s fashion before today, but when it comes to Camile, I want to know everything. “I’d love that.”
“Great. Can you drive me back to my place?”
She doesn’t mean that the way it sounds. But damn, my body wishes she did.
“No problem.”
We finish our drinks and head to the car. She directs me to an apartment building, and we park in the basement. As we climb the stairs, I sense her body tensing with each step.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask as we leave the stairwell and enter a corridor.
“Absolutely.” Her tone is firm with no sign of the quiver I see in her hands. “It’s this one.” She stops outside a door. “Excuse the mess. I don’t have visitors often, and I can get a little carried away when I’m on a roll.”
I hide a smile. I doubt Camile’s mess is anything compared to some of the guys I’ve lived with. But my eyes widen as the door swings open. Holy crap. It’s not so much that the place is a mess. It’s more that pieces of paper and scraps of fabric cover nearly every surface. I don’t even know where to start looking. There must be dozens of designs littering the table and floor. I cross to the coffee table, figuring that’s where she’s most likely to keep whatever she’s currently working on. As gently as possible, I touch one of the sheets of paper and orient it so I can see what I’m looking at. A flowing dress with a low-cut front is sketched in the same careful lines as the tattoo design had been. Even with my limited experience, I can tell the outfit would look beautiful on her.
“This is amazing,” I breathe, and scan another piece of paper. Then another. With each new design, my admiration increases. Eventually, I stop and face her. “You’re really fucking talented.”
She blushes and bites her lower lip. “You think?”
I nod. “These should be on display. There’s no doubt in my mind that someone would pay you to make these.”
Her smile nearly blinds me with its brilliance. “Thank you.” The air leaves her in a gust. “I always thought they were nice, but it’s kind of hard to judge your own work.”
“Don’t ever doubt yourself again.” Before I can think about it, I grab her and kiss those pouty lips of hers. They taste just as good as they did on Sunday, and when she gives a little gasp of surrender, my cock stiffens to the point of discomfort. I rock forward, then freeze and force myself to back off. God, I can’t go humping her like an animal. We might be getting on well, but she’s shy and skittish—at least, she is when she’s not handing me my ass. “You’re good.” I brush one more kiss over her mouth so she knows I don’t think it was a mistake. “Really good.”
“You have no idea what a relief it is to hear you say that.” She smiles slyly. “Even if you’re not exactly an expert on fashion.”
I narrow my eyes at the saucy comment, but my heart lifts. I love when she teases me. “I could be an expert if I wanted to be.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure you could.” She saunters across the room, her hips swaying, and settles onto the sofa. “So, what say we make a plan for ziplining?”
6
Leo
Camile and I message each other constantly over the course of the next week. I keep telling myself to play it cool and slow down, but every morning, without fail, I think of her and I’m unable to concentrate until I get in touch. She’s sweet, and sometimes funny. But it’s her moments of sass I love the most. When they come out, it takes every bit of my control not to tell her all the dirty things I want to do to her. Not that I really know how to flirt or talk dirty. It’s been so long since I tried. But that’s okay, because she seems a bit rusty too, and we’re figuring this out together.
Smack!
Enya’s fist hits me in the face, and I automatically raise my arms to block any further punches. We’re at Crown MMA Gym, sparring, and I’ve let myself drift into another world yet again.
“Get your head in the game,” she snaps. “You’re distracted.”
She’s annoyed. In her shoes, I would be too. She needs to train, and I’m putting in a shitty performance. She deserves better. Enya has never won a major championship. She gets within a hairbreadth of the win, only to have it snatched away every time. Now, in our new gym, she has renewed energy. Seth Isles has got her doing weights every second day and it shows. She packs a lot more power than she used to. But no matter how much heart she has—and it’s a fuck ton more than most men—she’s going to be crushed if she doesn’t get the win that’s been eluding her. Seth has mentioned a promising lead for her and she wants it badly.
“Sorry, En.”
Her nostrils flare and she thwacks a kick toward my rib cage, looking mollified when I check it and strike back with a push kick. For the remainder of the round, I force myself to give my training buddy the attention she needs. When the beeper sounds, we bump gloves.
