Staying For You Read online

  It’s the best meal I’ve had in years. Mostly because I didn’t have to look at him while he ignores me, wondering when he started hating me so much. I sit alone, eating a filet that was so tender, it was like butter, creamed spinach and even indulged in one of the best slices of cheesecake even though I was full. We didn’t, in fact, have reservations like he led me to believe. But I was able to get a table after waiting for only thirty minutes. I took the time waiting to email my lawyer and have him start the divorce proceedings.

  Maybe that’s why the food tasted so damn good.

  It was satisfying for more reasons than just the taste.

  I shake off the feelings of my past. Of the fact that my ex never told me I was beautiful and return my focus on the man sitting next to me. “So, you said those things to… what? Get yourself to stop liking me?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Pretty much.”

  We share a laugh and I shift in my seat so I’m facing him as well, resting an elbow on the back of the couch. “I understand. You were right when you said I was temporary. For the record, I think you’re pretty damn good looking, too.”

  He narrows his eyes. “That doesn’t help.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “I know I’ve said it, but I truly am sorry. I saw the way you were getting along so quickly with my family, how generous you were with your time and considerate… how you knew ahead of time that I’d need help so the kids’ parents could get here. Then you cooked and it was so incredible, like you’d been making meals just for me for years. It was all too much, I guess. I kept thinking you fit perfectly into my life here.” His eyes hold mine. “But then I realized you don’t fit.” There’s that crappy but I was dreading. Darn it.

  “Because I don’t live here,” I confirm the obvious.

  “Right.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, looking at my mouth when I lick my lips. It’s not on purpose, but the way he’s looking at me has my mouth going dry and wow… speaking of the way he’s looking at me. When his dark lashes rise, my body feels like it’s on fire just from the look in his eyes as they go from the top of my head down to where my hands are fiddling with my coffee cup resting in my lap. I move it to the floor for no other reason than I’m afraid I’m about to dump it on myself if I keep trembling the way I am. The effect he has on me is overwhelming, and a little confusing.

  Once I’m sitting up again, I sigh, understanding settling in. He’s right, just had a crappy way of going about making himself believe it. It hurt to hear that’s how he sees me, but I do get the need to protect yourself. Heck, I lived in a loveless marriage for years because it was easier doing that than admitting the truth to myself. I protected myself for years, hoping that if I just brushed it under the rug it would go away and I wouldn’t have to admit that my marriage was a farce. Because how can a woman who writes romance not have the first clue what it’s like to be in a romantic relationship? I had this impression that if my readers found out that I couldn’t even keep my husband happy, they’d see me as a fraud. I wasn’t putting nearly enough faith in them.

  “Do you forgive me, Cami? For being a jackass?”

  “Yes. I get it, the protecting yourself.” That part I do understand. I need him to know why I reacted the way I did, though. “But just so you know… the words you used? They brought back a lot of awful memories that I prefer stayed buried. You don’t need to be so hard on yourself because you couldn’t have known, and the things you said, if it had been anyone else, probably wouldn’t have bothered anyone else.”

  Awareness dawns on his face. “Your ex?”

  “My ex,” I agree.

  His jaw clenches as does the fist on his thigh. He’s angry, on my behalf. And maybe it’s wrong, but it makes me feel warm inside. “I’m sorry.”

  Enough with the apologizes already! Keeping my voice neutral, I remind him, “You’ve said that. No need to continue apologizing, Owen.”

  The way he looks at me, now, though, I know he’s no longer talking about what I overheard. We’ve both recognized it. Moved on already. “Maybe I’m saying sorry for something else this time. I’m sorry that your ex would make you feel less than amazing and that my insecurities caused you to relive those memories.”

  “I need to move on,” I say quietly, picking at my leggings. “Not from him,” I rush to correct myself. “From caring or letting the past creep in.”

  “It’s not that easy, though, is it?”

  “I wish it was.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  We let that sink in. He’s opening himself up to me without even trying to. I can see that he’s dealing with his own past, though, I have a feeling it’s not like my own. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he truly just enjoys being away from it all, away from people and society. Living a simpler life, of sorts. I look into his eyes, hoping for answers. All I get, though, is comfort and sincerity. That his apology wasn’t just for show, like it always was with Scott. I don’t need to see the list to know what it says, or to know the truth behind it. The thoughtfulness that was put into it.

  “What’s your past you’re up here running from, Owen?”

  He blows out a breath. Gives me an ornery, crooked grin. It’s a nice deflection. “Why do you think I’m running from anything?”

  I shrug a shoulder. “A hunch, I guess.”

  “I never really thought I was running, so to speak.” I tilt my head, encouraging him to continue. “I found a life here that suited me and I ran with it. I like it here. Away from the possibilities of getting hurt.”

  “You’ve been hurt?”

  “Who hasn’t?”

  Yes. He’s been hurt. Maybe it was years ago and he shielded himself from that ever happening again or maybe what he said is true. He found a life here that he liked, maybe even loved, and saw no reason to change. Either way, he’s here. And while I am, also, I won’t be here forever. And I don’t see him leaving anytime soon. Maybe ever.

  I wonder, though… Gretchen told me before I left that I needed to have some fun. I’d been without the feeling of a man’s affection for so long. So. Long. She told me what I needed was a man between the past and the future. A transition, so to speak. I waved her off, thought she was crazy and told her as much, but I’m beginning to think there’s something to it. I’m not sure Owen wants anything more than what I can give him so maybe he’s the perfect transition Gretchen spoke of. Besides, I can’t deny how attracted I am to him.

  “I read it in a book. A woman was just getting out of a shitty marriage and her best friend suggested a transition guy. The guy between the shitty one and her one day forever.”

  “Was this a fiction?”

  “Of course it was. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. You need to get laid, girl. Going off to the woods where you’re all alone isn’t going to get your vagina any sort of happiness.”

  Vagina happiness? She’s so crazy. I love her.

  “I’ll bring my vibrator,” I assure her.

  “Well, pardon me for being blunt…”

  “As if you’ve ever apologized for that before…”

  “But you need dick.”

  “I had a dick around me for eight years,” I smirk, knowing she doesn’t mean Scott’s actions, “and it wasn’t all that great.” This entire conversation is making me a little nervous. Itchy.

  I do want a real live man to make me feel wanted. Like a woman. But I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.

  “I suppose you have a point. It would be stupid of us to even think about starting anything up, even if it’s just... you know.” I waggle my eyebrows and gesture between us, hoping he gets my meaning. I wonder if he can sense the hesitation in my words. The fact that it’s the opposite of what I would like if our situations were different. The more I’m in his presence, the more I want to do exactly what I just said was stupid.

  “It would be,” he agrees, leaning closer.

  “A terrible, terrible idea,�
� I whisper as I mimic his movement.

  Our lips are a breath apart and I know deep down that if we cross this line, there will be no turning back. It’s a horrible idea. I don’t live anywhere close but I can’t stop myself from wanting more. I have no desire to resist this temptation — this pull he has on me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Owen

  I can feel her breath on my lips. Smell the sweet coconut of her shampoo mixed with the coffee she just drank. I want to remove the last few inches of space between us but I know if I do, everything will change.

  She’s a guest at my resort.

  She lives hundreds of miles away.

  She’s not looking for a relationship.

  Then again, neither am I.

  Maybe that’s what makes it perfect.

  We can have our fun while she’s here and then she’ll go back to Tennessee and our hearts will be in tact because we both know what we’re getting into.

  No.

  I can’t ask that. Can’t pursue that with her. It’s not fair to either of us. I’m not sure if we can keep our hearts intact. There’s more than physical attraction between us. It goes so much deeper… I can feel it.

  “We shouldn’t,” I whisper, my lips skimming against hers.

  “I know.”

  “You’re leaving in a few weeks,” I remind her. “And I’ll still be here. This is where I have to be.”

  “I know.”

  I lift a hand because I’ve had enough of not touching her and cup her neck, letting my thumb rest on her pulse point. It’s racing, just like I know mine is.

  I lean my forehead against hers, needing to press pause and find out what she wants.

  “I need.” I gulp and sit back, keeping my hold on her neck but I need to see into her eyes when I ask what I’m about to.

  “What? What do you need?” Cami asks quietly, placing a palm on my cheek. Her hand is soft and comforting and I have to resist the urge to lean into her touch.

  She forgave me after I said awful things about her.

  She didn’t laugh at my reasoning.

  Beautiful.

  Smart.

  Funny.

  Compassionate.

  Why doesn’t she live here? That would make this so much easier.

  I can’t resist wanting more with her. Not when it’s just the two of us alone in the woods, quiet surrounding us and nothing but the space between the lodge and her cabin between us.

  I don’t know anything about her.

  But I know her.

  How is that possible? Is this what people talk about when they say they just knew?

  She’s incredible and I know it’s a mistake to want more but the alternative, not having her at all and watching her leave here, would be the biggest regret of my life. I know it already.

  Am I really about to suggest this? That we have a fling while she’s here with no expectations of more? Can I allow myself to get to know her and not want more? Because I already feel it’s impossible to resist her. Discovering what makes her, her, will only make it harder.

  That doesn’t stop me, though.

  “I have a question and this is going to go against everything I said earlier about me being a good guy.”

  She laughs, eyebrows rising to her hairline as she drops her hand and leans back against the armrest of the couch causing my hand to drop also. I don’t like the new arrangement, neither of us touching the other.

  “Not a great lead in, there, buddy.”

  “I know. But just hear me out, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I think we can both agree that we’re attracted to each other.”

  A blush creeps up her cheeks and she bites the corner of her lower lip, nodding her head ever-so-slightly.

  Yeah.

  She’s attracted to me.

  Just like I’m attracted to her.

  Damn, she’s pretty. Without a doubt, the prettiest woman I’ve ever met.

  I understand for the first time what a Siren’s Call means. She calls to me and I can’t help but answer. I resisted as long as I could and now I’m here, about to lay it all on the line and hope like hell she’ll accept what I’m about to propose to her.

  “And that my home is here.” Another nod. “And your home is in Tennessee.” This time a pause before a nod.

  “I like you.”

  “You mentioned that.”

  “And while I’d love to see where this could go between us, I just don’t know what a future looks like for…” us. I don’t say it. But she knows that’s what I meant. There’s no chance for a future for us, but maybe there’s here and now. The present is right here at our fingertips…

  “But now…” I trail off, wondering if she’s caught on yet to what I’m saying. I’m so nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before. And until I came to her door, it hadn’t even occurred to me. My plan was to apologize again, pray she offered me forgiveness, and leave her alone. But one look at her sitting next to me on this couch, vulnerable but understanding, accepting, and so fucking beautiful… my plan flew the coop.

  “I don’t want to live my life with regrets,” I tell her.

  “Okay?”

  “And you’re really pretty.” Shit. I didn’t mean to say that. By the look on her face, she knows it, too. Trying not to laugh at me and doing a piss poor job at it because her lips are pressed together tightly and her shoulders are shaking. Not that I’m opposed to her knowing that I think she’s pretty — which is an understatement — but it sounds immature and juvenile to just blurt it out.

  “Thanks.”

  “But that’s not why I’m here or anything,” I rush to make sure she understands. “And if you didn’t live in Tennessee and I didn’t live here, we could probably have something together but you don’t live here and I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish things were different. But the fact is, it’s not different. Those are the cards we’re dealt with. But we’re also dealt with this insane attraction and I, for one, can’t really deny myself of it because I don’t like living with regrets and not pursuing something would be a tragedy,” I ramble, only stopping when I see the look on her face.

  Eyes are so wide, they’re bugging out comically. She’s staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. Her lips are pressed together so tightly, they’re turning white. She’s really trying hard not to laugh at me.

  I drop my head. “I’m an idiot.”

  “You mentioned that earlier, too.”

  “Maybe I’ll just go back to the lodge where I obviously left my brains.”

  “Would you find them up there?” she asks, head turned to the side as she teases me.

  “Probably not,” I grumble.

  She grips my knee, shaking it lightly to get my attention. “Owen? You want to ask me something, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it that you would like to have a friends with benefits type of thing?”

  “What? No! That’s terrible! I’d never ask you to have sex with me with no promise of a relationship!” My lying protest is quick and if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll use her foot to shove against me and make me fall off this couch. Tell me to get out of here with my lying ways and I don’t deserve to spend time in her presence if I can’t be honest. But that’s not what she does.

  “Oh. Okay.” She shrugs, twists her mouth to the side. “I was going to suggest we do that, but if you’re not okay with it then we’ll just see each other when we see each other.” She’s the picture of relaxed while I’m practically hard already. “I mean, you’re right, we’re obviously attracted to each other and a relationship really isn’t possible for us. We’ll just have to forget about the fact that I’m dying to see if the chemistry between us that I can’t deny even if I wanted to — which I don’t —” I cut her off with a kiss.

  I lift up off the couch so I’m on my left knee, right foot planted on the floor so I have leverage and don’t just lay on top of her. I press my lips to hers tenderly, mo
ving them over her mouth in a gentle exploration. She sighs, relaxing underneath my hands that are gripping her shoulders, keeping her close. Shifting so her position matches mine, she clings onto my waist with a tight hold. I slide my hands up to cup her face. Her cheeks are like silk beneath my rough palms and I immediately want to remove them, embarrassed by the texture of my working hands.

  But then she places a hand over mine, keeping it in place. She breaks away from me, and I look at her with confusion.

  “I like your hands. I noticed them and wanted to feel them on my skin.”

  “You like my hands?” I ask for confirmation because it sounds odd to me. To like someone’s hands. Though, I have to admit I spent a bit of time imagining her hands on my skin, too.

  “I do. They’re a man’s hands.”

  “Uh huh?”

  “And, well, I’m used to… the opposite.”

  Understanding dawns on me and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my cheeks.

  “Exactly.”

  Instead of continuing to have a conversation about her ex-husband’s hands, I kiss her again. I haven’t tasted her yet. Not entirely. Our kisses have been close mouthed, I’m about to test the waters a bit and she jerks away.

  “What’s your last name? I don’t know your last name!”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Huh?”

  “You saw it in the emails we exchanged for one thing.”

  “Well, don’t keep me in suspense! I had big plans but I can’t keep kissing you if I don’t know your last name.”

  I chuckle, lean over, and kiss her lips to prove her wrong, then let her know, “It’s Cunningham. Owen Cunningham.”

  “Hi, Owen Cunningham. I’m Camilla Moore. Want to keep making out?”

  “Fuck yeah.” And I prove it by crushing my mouth to hers. My tongue begs for entry and she opens, allowing me inside and we both groan.

  I was damn proper earlier. Keeping my hands where they belonged but now I can’t stop myself. She tastes too good to not want more than what she’s giving me. She feels too good under my hands to not touch more places.

  Her mouth moves quickly over mine, tongue tangling with my own. Her hands are a mirror image, both of us grasping at any bare skin we can find.