Be Mine Forever (23 page)

N
o painting this morning?”

Cam glanced up from his iPad, accepting the cup of coffee Etty offered him before she took her seat at the table.

“In a little bit.” Cam sipped the coffee, grimacing. “I don’t think I’ll get used to Greek coffee. Do we have any of the plain old leaded coffee?”

“There’s a Starbucks up the road.” Etty batted her lashes over her mug. “You’d actually have to leave the villa for that, though.”

Well played, Etty. Well played.
They both knew he was not leaving this villa anytime soon. He had stuffed a few things in his saddlebag, jumped on his Harley, and rode off before Jo woke up. Etty once mentioned that her family owned a villa in Crete if he ever needed somewhere gorgeous to paint, so he’d taken her up on that offer. You could have knocked him over with a beret when Etty came sashaying through the villa doors three days into his self-imposed exile.

And she’d been here ever since.

He’d made it incredibly clear to her that he wasn’t interested, and so far, she had respected the protective wall he’d built around his cock. He’d been tempted more than once to leave and find somewhere else to crash, but he was getting so much done. He’d finished the protocol for the film. Producer—pleased. Nice. He had started new pieces for the exhibit, and they were some of his best work to date.

Also, there was something dark and sad hiding behind Etty’s bright blue eyes. Cam understood dark and sad. He had a patent pending on his own brand of dark and sad. He’d been around enough heiresses to know wealth didn’t guarantee happiness. There were times Etty reminded him of Jo. They were completely physically dissimilar, but they both had so much brass. And they could make him laugh. The scars on Etty’s wrists told him she hadn’t always been quick to laugh, and sometimes, she might laugh so she wouldn’t cry. He’d been Mr. Tears of a Clown himself on occasion. A little while longer here in Crete wouldn’t hurt.

In the meantime, God, he missed Jo. “Missed” was a tepid word for the dull, achy emptiness gnawing a hole in his heart daily. More like withdrawal. Was this what his mother had felt, willing to lay aside morals and self-respect in search of her next high? Jo was his field of poppies. A needle lodged in his arm, shooting dreams through his veins. She was sweet smoke filling his lungs with every inhale. His hallucinogen, rolled between his lips, fooling his heart that it was whole. Infiltrating his bloodstream. She was the hit he needed but would deny himself until he knew it was safe.

“Look, it’s your firecracker!” Etty swept her finger over the iPad.

“Firecracker?” Cam checked back in. Etty was always screwing English up, which usually made for a good laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“I said it wrong again?” Etty pushed her bottom lip out, which some guy would find adorable. “The one I met in New York.”

“Jo?” Just her name on his lips tasted good. “Where?”

“Pictures of her on vacation in Dubai with your friend Walsh.” Etty licked her lips, letting out a lusty little growl. “Hmmmmm. Her boyfriend is hot.”

“Boyfriend?” What the fuck? “Let me see that.”

The picture captured Jo emerging from the water, hair slicked back. Her bikini, flimsy scraps of black fabric, barely covered all the necessary parts. A belly chain gilded a golden trail down the elegant six-pack of muscles he’d painted Heinekens on just weeks ago. And there was Peter, looking like a damn Viking conqueror. He had his hand at the small of Jo’s back, like some perfect gentleman creeper copping a feel. His hand was probably mere inches away from her ass.

Cam thought of Jo standing naked in front of him with MINE scrawled across her backside. He literally felt hot under his collar. He practically saw red. All the clichés attacked him at once. He stood up from the table so abruptly, the wrought-iron chair fell and slammed against the terrace floor. Cam tossed the iPad onto the glass table, not even flinching when the screen cracked.

“Mon Dieu!”
Etty divided a cautious glance between Cam and the fallen chair. “What is it?”

“Sorry. I, uh, I need to make a call.”

Cam had to dig his cell out of the saddlebag. He hadn’t turned it on in three weeks. Text and voice mail alerts crowded the screen, all of which he ignored. Moments later, Walsh’s deep voice commanded the phone line.

“Cam, about damn time you surfaced. Where the hell are you?”

“I knew you didn’t want Jo and me together, but this is low, even for you, Bennett.” Cam pulled the trigger on all the anger and resentment building in him over seeing the photos. “A romantic double-date getaway in Dubai, huh?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Walsh put his voice on ice. “I brought Jo on vacation with us so she wouldn’t waste her time wallowing over your sorry ass.”

“Exactly, and while you were at it, you played matchmaker. Peter is exactly the kind of guy you want for her, isn’t he?”

“If you mean someone who cares about her, treats her with respect, and is a decent guy, then, yeah. He’s precisely the kind of guy I’d want for Jo.”

Cam had suspected it, had even thought it himself, but hearing it from Walsh, after all they’d been through, hurt like a hornet sting.

“But.” Walsh allowed the conjunction to dangle over the long-distance connection. “She wants you.”

Cam pulled a sharp breath through his nose and forced it out through his mouth.

“Still? She isn’t into him?”

“Can I be honest without you blowing a freaking gasket?”

Cam remembered the cracked iPad and his enraged exit from the terrace.

“Of course. I’m a reasonable man.”

“No. You’re a lunatic, but I’m hoping we can converse like civilized human beings.”

“Now that I know you didn’t undercut me with Jo, we can.”

“I didn’t undercut you with Jo.
She
invited Peter.”

Cam absorbed that bit of disturbia, forcing back all the questions that clamored up his throat.

“Honestly, if you weren’t in the picture, I have no doubt they’d get together. They have great chemistry, similar interests. It’s obvious he’s crazy about her.”

“You’re not really helping with that whole not-blowing-a-gasket thing, Bennett.”

“It’s obvious she loves you. She misses you. She wants you, so where the hell
are
you?”

“You know what happened.” Shame curdled in Cam’s belly every time he remembered holding that gun to Jo’s head. “Don’t pretend you want me anywhere near her.”

“I want you to get help, which it sounds like you’re doing. Dr. Stein helped Kerris a lot. How’s it been?”

“Cool so far.” Cam tucked away as much of the emotion he felt as possible. “We’ve been meeting by Skype. Next time I’m in Rivermont, we’ll have a session face-to-face.”

“And when will you grace the Rivermont city limits?”

“I don’t know. Christmas?”

“That’s over a month away. Will you at least call Jo? Talk to her?”

Cam already knew if he talked to Jo he’d cave. His need for her was desperate. Not just sexually, though if his balls got any bluer they might just fall off, but the need for her company. He loved being alone with her. Sitting in silence with her. Listening to his vinyl records while she knit. Yeah, no calls quite yet.

“I just need to see where I am at Thanksgiving, and I’ll determine then what I need to do.”

“I’m going to be honest with you. Peter hasn’t given up. I know Jo has loved you a long time, but everyone has their limit. You might want to at least call.”

“Walsh, I held a gun to Jo’s head.” The words burned his tongue like hydrochloric acid. “I just…I’m not ready to talk to her. She should hate me. If she comes to her senses, she might.”

The silence over the phone filled up with all the fear and shame Cam had hidden in some catacomb of his head. Walsh had always had a way of cracking him open, without really even trying. Cam both loved and hated that about him.

“Cam, you’re dealing with your past, and it’s about damn time. Do you want a future with Jo?”

Did he deserve one was a better question, but that was probably beside Walsh’s point.

“And speaking of the future,” Walsh plowed on, apparently prepared for and used to Cam’s reticence. “I see the way Jo looks at Harlim and Brooklin. She’s amazing with them. She’s almost thirty. I know she wants kids of her own. Are you going to give her that?”

Jo didn’t just want kids of her own. She wanted
his
kids. Cam knew it. He wanted that, too.

“I need to go.” Cam pushed back the emotion working its way up his throat like chimney smoke.

“Should I tell Jo we spoke?”

“No, not yet. I’ll reach out to her soon.”

“Don’t wait too long, or she may not be waiting anymore.”

W
anna grab lunch?”

Jo looked up from the adoptive parent application, rationing a percentage of her attention for Peter’s question.

“Um…we’ll see.”

“You’re losing weight, Jo. You’re working too hard and skipping meals again.”

It wasn’t work as much as misery that had her dropping pounds everywhere except her ass. Of course, that stubborn appendage wasn’t going anywhere no matter how thin the rest of her got. If ten miles a day didn’t budge her butt, a few skipped lunches certainly wouldn’t.

Jo was a self-acknowledged workaholic. Everyone knew it, but no one ever
did
anything about it. No one except Cam had ever canceled her appointments, taken her roller-skating and peach picking. Made her slow down. She’d lived her whole life in luxury, but it had taken a hot meal and a waiting bath every night to spoil her.

God, she missed him.

And to be clear, men did not have the market cornered on wet dreams. Jo woke up sweating, clenching her thighs and sopping wet between her legs every night. Now that she’d had the real thing, no amount of knitting or running appeased that sex-starved wildcat she collared to go out in public among decent people. Behind closed doors, she missed him pushing so deeply inside her it smudged the hard lines between ecstasy and pain. She craved his tongue in her mouth. His mouth between her legs. His hand slapping her bare ass.

Shit.

Jo dropped her head into shaky hands, pushing the application aside. Tears crept from the corners of her eyes. A tiny liquid path of pain leaked from her nose.

“Jo, can I help?”

She had forgotten Peter stood there waiting to hear her lunch plans.

“Um, no.” Jo covered her face, sneaking a quick swipe over her face before raising her eyes to face Peter. “I’m fine.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Peter’s kind blue eyes darkened. Concern, irritation, jealousy. Jo wasn’t sure what made them that stormy hue, but she couldn’t care enough to deny it. She was so tired of pretending to be okay.

“It’s always him, Peter.” She pushed a chunk of hair behind her ear. “Please don’t forget that.”

Ever since Dubai, Peter had been pressing her. Under the guise of work, he’d asked her to dinner. He’d started lingering in her office again. Fabricating excuses to drop by the house. As much as she hated to admit it, Walsh had been right. Taking Peter to Dubai had not made things better. In some ways, it had made things worse because her actions must have given him hope. Jo knew firsthand what a flighty bitch hope was.

“I know he’s attractive.” Peter twisted his mouth in a way that said,
If you like that type.

Which Jo did. Very much.

“But he’s not worth this, Jo. Losing weight. Being depressed.”

“I’m not depressed. I miss my boyfriend, Peter.”

“But where is he? He doesn’t even care enough to call you. To let you know where he is.” Peter came around the desk to tower over her. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You have no idea what is going on with us. I appreciate your concern, but Cam is working a few things out that will only make us better and stronger as a couple. I trust him to do that and come back to me.”

Peter opened his mouth, obviously armed and ready with more denigration for the man Jo unequivocally loved.

“Let’s grab that lunch, okay?” Jo stood, pushing the sleeves of her mocha-colored cashmere sweater up her arms. The black leather leggings sculpted the muscles of her legs and butt. She hadn’t meant to dress provocatively, but Peter’s hungry eyes wandered over her curves like she was the meal he needed.

“I think I’ll just grab a sandwich at the cafeteria.” Jo picked up her clutch and headed for the door. “You coming?”

Or will you stand around all day gaping at my ass?
Jo had inhabited this body long enough to feel comfortable with the way men responded to it. She had just never cared about any man’s lust but Cam’s.

You wore a bright red bikini with pink daisies.

He’d remembered.

Suck. It. Up, Joanne Elizabeth Walsh. She could almost hear Aunt Kris’s voice telling her that. Calling her by her full name when Jo indulged in self-pity. Aunt Kris had always known when to push and when to pull. And when to just leave Jo be and let her figure things out for herself. Jo’s compass was spinning. All her natural instincts told her to track Cam down. To follow him. To rescue him. But that sixth sense she had gotten only from Aunt Kris told her to give him the space he requested. And to trust his love for her.

“So what did you think of that last app?” Peter grabbed a tray and passed one to Jo.

“I wasn’t impressed.” Jo grinned at the hair-netted lady who always had a smile for everyone passing through the line. “Grilled chicken salad.”

“You need some potatoes, too.” The older woman ran sharp eyes over Jo’s slim curves. “You’re wasting away.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her.” Peter collected silverware for them both.

“The salad will do for now.” Though a perfectly grilled steak with crisp veggies would be better, especially if her man had it waiting for her when she got home.

“Hey, if we sit here, I can see the TV.” Peter gestured toward the mounted flat screen. “See the scores I missed. This okay?”

“You’re such a guy.” Jo sat down across from Peter, smiling at him and slicing into the tender chicken topping her salad. “I’m not trying to be difficult with this last adoption. I just want to make sure we find the right parents for her.”

“You’ve always had a soft spot for Tiki.”

Jo grinned, unable to deny it. You didn’t play favorites, but in a small chamber of her heart where Jo kept secrets, Tiki was her favorite.

“Yeah, well, if we could just—” Shock chopped the words up in Jo’s mouth as she caught a glimpse of the screen. The sound was down, but the ticker tape at the bottom read clearly enough over the mug shot flashing on-screen.

Local known drug dealer murdered execution style in Barfield projects.

“Jo, you okay?” Peter’s concerned eyes roamed Jo’s face, looking from her to the screen.

“Oh my God! I know…” Jo swallowed the lump snowballing in her throat. “I knew that guy.”