She bit her lip and looked up into those fathomless eyes, seeing her insecurities reflected in their sandy depths, as well as relief.
He saw it too. “We’ll take it slow.”
He was real, and flawed, and haunted, and everything she wanted.
Wanting anything was a dangerous thing. The world wasn’t gentle or loving to her kind. She’d fought what had been plain in front of her since that night in the warehouse. Deep down, she’d known all along he was different.Shewas different when she was with him; she was someone she didn’t hate.
“I’ve no experience with...” She refused to say something as ridiculous asaffection. “Relationships.”
“Good,” he said. “Me, neither. I’d hate to be on uneven footing with you.”
She grinned. “You wish to continue our rivalry?”
“Heavens, no! I’m tired of losing.” He brushed a stray hair from her cheek, his eyes going soft. “But I wouldn’t be averse to stumbling through it together.”
“Together.”
Camille had never felt the warmth of that word until this moment. Trust, support—there were facets of affection she’d never touched, never hoped to find, and now that she’d found them, she was terrified.
What if she wasn’t good at them?
“You’re frowning.” His smile was dazzling; his touch on her brow was feather soft. “I’ll have to do something about that, my Milly.”
Camille’s heart swelled at the sweetened form of her name. He knew. Somehow, he saw her fears and knew what she needed.
“Together.”
She wouldn’t be alone. Equal rivals could become equals on an altogether more treacherous battlefield. That was what those eyes said. What her heart told her.
And faith. Caring was a leap her brain couldn’t calculate, not when everything in her past told her such feelings weren’t enough.
“What do you say, Milly?”
That vulnerability returned to his gaze, the only thing that could reach past her doubts.
She smiled up at him, feeling exposed and cherished. “Very well,” she said, her voice husky from emotion. “Slow.”
Perhaps, this once,affectionwould be enough.
Chapter Twelve
Syd dropped downbeside Camille in the alley outside the club, taking two years off her life.
“Stop doing that!” Camille said.
Syd etched a low bow. “Apologies, miss.”
Camille rolled her eyes and fell into an easy stride. After her afternoon with Renard, she was looking forward to crawling into her cot on the floor at home to relive his touches and his words over and over until she convinced herself she’d imagined it all, but her mother’s request came first. “I have an errand to run on the way home.”
“A detour?” Syd’s eyes flashed with amusement. “To a gentleman’s house, perhaps?”
“When did you become a meddler?”
“When I was forced to sit and wait up on the roof all day and night.”
Camille’s irritation ebbed. “Have I thanked you for that?”
“Not yet. Buy me a whiskey and we’ll call it even.”
