The Dysfunctional Test (31 page)

“We forgot the condom,” she said.

He froze. No matter how attractive the woman, no matter how good the sex, he never forgot a condom. Never. Cam had him so riled, so freaking turned on that it wasn’t even a thought in his head.

“It’s not the right time in my cycle. We should be fine.” She pulled back to look at him, seemingly calm as ever. “Are you safe?”

His teeth ground. “I wouldn’t have touched you in the first place if I wasn’t safe. Give me some damn credit.”

“You’re the one who’s slept with half the population of Milwaukee. It was an honest question.” She rose and walked to the bathroom.

He flew off the bed. “What in the hell does that mean?”

She tried to shut the door. He palmed it open.

“Connect the dots, Troy. It was a no-brainer.”

“Jesus. And we’re not done fighting yet.”

She laughed bitterly. “You’re the one who wanted me angry. ‘Get angry, Cam,’ you said. For my list. You’re not good enough the way you are. Do these things and you’ll be a woman instead of a robot.”

Her mocking him had his control gone again. He grabbed her arms and hauled her into the shower. “I never called you a robot. I never said those things. And you are good enough!”

She looked down at his hold on her, then into his eyes. When her eyebrows rose, he looked down too. Her feet were a good six inches off the ground. He released her at once, letting her feet drop to the tile.

He wrenched the water on, the hot spray pouring over them. In seconds steam filled the room as they stared at each other.

“Want to hit me?” she asked, as if not fazed at all that he just manhandled her like a barbarian. As if they were discussing what type of syrup to have with their pancakes.

Her question sank in. “What? No!”

“Yet you’re mad at me?”

What in the hell was she up to? “Beyond any measure of vocalizing.”

“So, now you see. You’re not your dad.”

Now he considered hitting something. Like his fist right through the tile. “You got me pissed off on purpose to prove a point?”

“No. That was mere circumstance, but my point is proven. Now you can stop wondering if you’re able to control your temper. I, on the other hand, am still angry. Let me out of the shower.”

“Three orgasms didn’t do it for you?”

“No.”

He grinned. “I’m getting to you.”

“Yes, like a parasitic insect. Move, Troy.”

His erection sprang anew. Camryn was sexy as hell when angry. He could do this all night. In fact, they probably would. She had a lot of aggression buried way in there, and he’d love nothing more than to help her release it.

He crossed his arms, blocking her way. “No.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Move, Troy.”

“I love it when you say my name.”

“Troy…” she growled, and he nearly came right there in the shower.

God, the way she said his name. Like a curse. He’d never been so hard in his life. He slowly backed her to the tile. Taking one wrist, he pinned it above her head. Thump. He took the other, doing the same. Thump.

She fought. He grew harder until the erection was more pain than pleasure.

No one made Camryn Covic lose control. He was getting to her, she just wouldn’t admit it. That’s what all this anger was about. All this hot, livid sex. She’d rather be mad than admit any feelings for him, than admit his list proved her theory of love wrong.

He pressed so tightly against her that there wasn’t room for even the water. He leaned in to kiss her, but hovered over her cheek instead. She started shaking again.

“What do you want, Cam? Tell me.”

“Let me go.”

“Uh huh. What do you really want?” His tongue darted over the wet skin on her cheek, down her neck. He moved to the other side, licking every drop. “Tell me, Cam. What do you want?” When she refused to answer still, he slid his knee between her legs, and she moaned. Deep, long.

He could feel the moment her anger drained.

“You. I want you.”

Oh God.
Yes
.

He drew back, let her wrists go, and stared into her eyes. “You have me.”

Camryn opened her eyes and stared into the dark room while Troy snored quietly in the bed next to her. In fact, he had been snoring for the past four hours. Right after they had sex in the shower. And in the bed. Again.

You have me
.

She didn’t dare ask what that meant. Didn’t dare hope. His version of a relationship and hers were very different. His future goals and hers not even close to being in sync. So why had he fought so damn hard earlier? He could’ve just let her go. Why ask questions as if he planned to take this further?

Because he felt sorry for her. That’s what his list and everything this week was about. It had to be. Her boyfriend said mean things and dumped her. Troy took pity and agreed to step in. He glimpsed her version of life, how pathetic he thought she was, and gave her tasks to do to make herself better. More presentable. Less boring.

So maybe the next guy who dumped her won’t say anything on the way out.

She was nice to Troy as a kid. Helped him out a time or two. He all but admitted this thing between them was to pay her back for her kindness. He should’ve just said thank you. That would’ve hurt less than this.

Grr!
Her brain wouldn’t shut off. Of all the times in her life she really needed solace, and she couldn’t quell the feelings, the images of the past week.

Sighing, she glanced at the bedside clock. Everyone would be up in a few hours. The gift opening was this morning. Afterward, while Justin and Heather flew to Cancun for their honeymoon, the rest of the family would fly back to Milwaukee.

Quietly, she rolled out of bed and tiptoed to the closet, picking out a plain, white dress. The only garment Heather hadn’t stolen days earlier. Lord, had it only been days? Exiting the closet, she peeked at Troy, finding him still asleep. She went into the bathroom to wash and dress. After applying her makeup she stepped out and opened her bag.

The mundane task of packing to go home grounded her, gave her the composure she needed. It was time to return to reality. Time for her to get back to normal.

After folding the last of her shirts neatly in the bag, she packed her cosmetics. She paused, looking at Troy’s toothbrush on the counter. The intimacy of seeing it lying there next to hers made her hands shake. Maxwell never left his toothbrush at her apartment. Maxwell never left anything but a hollow gap where a boyfriend should be. Troy was different. They weren’t even a real couple, with the commitment and boundaries an actual relationship should have, but yet he gave her his all. Mind. Body.

He’d been here with her all week. Not just a stand-in, but a presence. How could she ever go back to her old life after this?

Shaking her head, she packed Troy’s clothes too, leaving his toiletries in the bathroom for when he woke. She set his bag on the dresser.

Bag in hand, she stood by the door feeling oddly sentimental. She told herself she was just checking the room to make sure nothing was left behind. She would not come back up here again. She’d bank down these emotions, get through the gift opening, and go home.

But just one last look wouldn’t hurt.

Her gaze fell on Troy as he slept. She’d leave him and what they’d done together in here too. Where it belonged. As a memory. A dream.

As the only good thing to ever happen to her.

Swallowing, she mentally told him good-bye so she could move on. To make this moment final. It shouldn’t hurt this bad. From day one they knew this wasn’t true. They never existed. If anyone understood the reality of this past week, it was her. Her life reality.

Never let them see you hurt. Never let them see you cry. Never let them in.

Troy, damn him, had gotten in.

Closing the door behind her, she stared at it, resisting the urge to rush back inside.
Look away
.
Go!

She turned, walked downstairs, and headed for the kitchen. After starting a pot of coffee, she set out the bakery items Bernice had purchased for breakfast. She whipped up a quick fruit salad with what was in the fridge and set that on the table too.

The others would be awake soon. For the first time in memory, she couldn’t wait for the family. The sooner they woke, the sooner this day would be over. She glanced out the window when lightening flashed. Rain beat against the glass and cascaded down.

After pouring herself a cup of coffee, she walked out the patio door and under the awning to watch the rain. The sound reminded her of that night on their balcony when Troy made her dance. Smiling, she sipped her coffee.

The crew the Hortons had hired had cleared away all remnants of the wedding. All that lay out over the yard now was the rain-soaked grass. She’d miss this place once she got back home. Miss the quiet, the clean mountain air. Miss Troy.

Thunder boomed overhead as the first of the family straggled into the kitchen. She turned, seeing Fisher pulling orange juice out of the fridge and Emily watching her from the doorway. She held her hand out for Emily to join her.

“I hate rain,” her niece declared, emerging from the doorway, a pout forming her bottom lip.

“I love rain. It smells clean. The sound is relaxing.”

Emily looked at her. “You can’t play in the rain. It sucks.”

Camryn grinned. “Don’t say
sucks
. Your dad will get mad. And you
can
play in the rain. It’s quite fun actually.”

“Dad says I can’t. I’ll get all wet.”

“Well, not today then. Some other time.”

Her niece looked doubtful. “You’ll take me?”

The rest of the house was awake by the sound of it. She looked at Emily. “Sure. Sometime soon, okay? Let’s go inside before Tetaka Myrtle eats all the chocolate donuts.”

Emily laughed and bolted inside. Camryn glanced out over the mountains one last time and followed her niece.

At the second crack of thunder that morning, Troy groaned, barely able to fight the urge to burrow deeper under the covers. Changing his mind, he reached out for Camryn to tug her under with him.

The bed was empty.

He opened his eyes to confirm. Sitting up, he looked around the room, not finding her, or any trace she was there in the first place. He got up and headed for the bathroom. Her cosmetics were gone.

He walked out of the bathroom and eyed the closet. The closet was empty too.

His gaze landed on the dresser as he raked a hand through his hair. She’d packed his bag for him. Well, at least she wasn’t subtle.

He sighed, a heavy weight settling in his gut. She was done.

But he wasn’t. If he were to tell her how he felt, would she love him back? Last night she’d said she wanted him. His hands dropped to his hips, wondering if that was a physical want or an emotional one.

He didn’t think Camryn was the one-night-stand type. Or in their case, one-week stand. Even after everything, all the checks on his list, she didn’t know true love when it was standing right in front of her. Too scared to think someone could love her that much. Too scared to give in and let herself love.

Maybe she didn’t know how emotionally invested he was. Maybe she didn’t know if she herself was capable. If he took this gamble, if he laid out every raw emotion she invoked inside him, would it change her mind?

Hell, what other choice was there?

He bolted back inside the bathroom. He shaved, brushed his teeth, and dressed. Shoving the items in his bag, he ran out the door and down the stairs, hoping to catch her before the family…

Was sitting at the table eating breakfast.
Great.

He dropped his bag inside the doorway. “Morning, everyone.”

A few mutters greeted him in return. He poured himself some coffee and sat across the table from Camryn. She was decisively pushing the fruit around her plate, gaze cast down, not joining in on the conversation around her. She wouldn’t even look at him.

“What does hung over mean?” Emily asked, looking like Groucho Marx with her chocolate donut mustache.

Fisher rubbed his forehead, sighing. “Thank you very much, everyone.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “Relax. It’s not a curse, for crying out loud.”

Mom grinned. “Hung over is what your daddy used to be every Sunday before you were born.”

“Mother!”

Exasperated, Emily turned to Camryn. “What’s it mean, Auntie Cam?”

Camryn’s head shot up. “What?”

Yjaka Harold laughed. “Looks like Cam’s hung over too.”

“I am not.”

“Then what’s wrong with you?” her mother insisted.

“Nothing.” Oh, she was a terrible liar. Always was. She looked at Emily. “What did you ask me, honey?”

“What does hung over mean?” The three-year-old drew out every word as if talking to an idiot. Hilarious, because Camryn was the only non-idiot present.