“Mmm,” he moans against my lips. “We taste sweeter together.”
It’s only when his warm, labored breath blows against my face that I sense cool tears sliding down my cheeks.
God damn. This is so much more than just sex.
42
Josefine
In his bathroom,Cam cracks the tiny window to let out the steam, then wraps a towel around me for the second time today. Once I’ve secured it around my damp body, I dig my hairbrush out of my toiletry bag. My hair is so tangled I’m tempted to chop it all off.
He removes his contacts, then props himself up against the countertop, watching me, those damn glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. At least I have something pretty to look at while I undo these stubborn knots.
“Stay with me tonight.” His voice is hushed, barely audible over the sounds of traffic filtering in from the streets below.
Eyeing his reflection, I worry my lip, still working out a tangle.
“Just one night,” he urges.
Shifting closer, he gently pries my fingers off the handle of my brush and sweeps my hair back before dropping a kiss to my bare shoulder. Goose bumps skitter down my arms—whether from the kiss, the chill of my wet hair on my back, or Cam brushing it, I’m uncertain.
“Don’t look so shocked.” He grins in the mirror. “I have a little sister, remember?” His face falters, and the corners of his mouth turn down. “I brushed my mom’s hair when she was really sick too.”
“How’s your relationship with her now?” I watch his reflection, note the way some of the sadness in his expression dissipates. “You saw her before you left for Austin, yeah?”
“I did.” He balances the brush on the sink’s edge so he can work through a knot with deft fingers. “Our relationship is pretty good. Right now, though, she’s in a tough position between my dad and me.”
“What do you mean?”
Having worked out the biggest tangles, he picks up my brush again. “My parents don’t see eye to eye when it comes to my inheritance. My dad is withholding it because I don’t want to take over the family business. She doesn’t agree. But she’s also ready for him to retire.” He says all of this with his eyes cast down and his shoulders a bit slumped.
I turn and grasp his forearm gently, silently giving him support.
“I don’t see my dad very often, and only if my mom or Claire is around,” he supplies. “But my mom comes into the city to meet for coffee or lunch pretty regularly. I think she’d really like you.”
“Me?” I can’t imagine an upper-class woman from Long Island who owns a hotel chain and frequents the local country club liking me.
“Of course you.” He boops my nose and returns the brush to my bag, effectively ending the conversation.
I dance my fingers up his chest and link them behind his neck. With my face pressed against his heart, I find the answers I’m looking for between each beat. “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
I raise my head. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
In the morning, I turn down Cam’s offers to make me breakfast. I’m anxious to get home and fill Millie in. Before we went to bed last night, I sent her a text and told her, in all caps, that we needed to talk.
Her response:Coffee or mimosas?
Both.
Cam, being the annoyingly handsome gentleman he is, walks me home.
“What are your plans for the weekend?” I ask, dodging dog poop on the sidewalk.
“To the Statue of Liberty, believe it or not,” he chuckles. “I’ve never been. Claire is off tomorrow, too, so we’re going to a whiskey distillery in Brooklyn with Ezra and his mom.”
“That sounds fun,” I say. “Claire and Ezra aren’t?—”
