Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“Let’s talk.” He tucked as much of the crazy hair as would fit behind her ears.
Relief lit her eyes before she narrowed them.
“That isn’t a direct answer to a direct question.” She leaned up on her toes until their eyes were almost on level. “Do you want this?”
She was so badass. Even on the threshold of such a pivotal conversation, she was determined to get her way. It always made him want to break her down, to muddle her. She brought these things on herself really.
He reached out and tipped up her chin, holding her head still and snaring her eyes with his. He ran his tongue around her lips, never letting her eyes go. She moaned, and he licked into her mouth, eating the crumbs of that sound. Wanting to catch the last of it. God, she was sweet. Between the peaches and cream and whatever drug laced the inside of Jo’s mouth, Cam couldn’t stop if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t want to.
Both of his hands came up on either side of her face, his thumbs tugging at her chin, opening her mouth that much more so his tongue could delve that much deeper. Her hands dug into his hair, pulling him into the heated nectar of her mouth. She sucked on his lips and ran a hand down his back and cupped his butt. If he didn’t put a stop to this, he’d pop his load in his pants and they’d never talk. And he’d never get to answer her question properly.
He pulled back, filling the space between them with panting breath. Jo blinked several times, and he could see the passion ebb as she remembered the gravity of their conversation. He almost wished he hadn’t stopped. He’d much rather fuck Jo against the kitchen sink than talk about his past.
“Do you want this?” she asked, her breathing as unsteady as his.
“I want you, Jo.” He dropped that guard he’d conditioned himself to pull over his eyes so she could see how much he wanted her. “I’ll do anything to prove that to you, even talk about my screwed-up childhood.”
Jo stepped back, putting enough distance between them to cool off their bodies.
“Then let’s talk.”
“I think we’ll need a third party.”
“A third party?” Jo frowned. “Like a mediator? At this time of night?”
“My guy’s on standby.” Cam reached over their heads to the cabinet, pulling down a bottle of liquor. “Meet my third party. Dr. Jack Daniel’s.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jo folded her legs beneath her on the leather couch in Cam’s living room, still shaken by that kiss and the secret Cam had finally shared.
Molested.
It had never occurred to her. What were the signs? She had no idea, but she didn’t think he’d exhibited any that would have alerted her. Cam had a more-than-healthy sexual appetite. He’d been angry and belligerent when he’d first come to their camp, but a lot of the foster kids had been. He’d quickly adapted, and it hadn’t taken long for his naturally wicked, twisted sense of humor to emerge. He’d kept them all laughing and had been the life of the party most of the time. Sure, he had his broody moments, and she had realized there were things in his past he’d never discussed, but this?
Glass slamming on the coffee table snapped Jo back into the moment. Cam was about to pour himself another glass of whiskey, but she leaned forward, hand covering his on the bottle.
“Hey, let’s give Dr. Daniel’s a rest.” She raised her eyebrows, nodding toward the glass on the table. “And you need a coaster for that.”
She knew she had calculated correctly when he grinned, sliding the bottle away and leaning back on the couch. He pulled her bare feet into his lap and massaged some secret, knotted places in the arch of her foot.
“As heavenly as that feels, you will not distract me, Cameron Mitchell, from the subject at hand.”
“I’m worried about your feet, not your hands, baby.”
“Cam.” She pulled her feet away and scooted over until she could tuck her shoulder under his arm. “Talk to me.”
She was close enough to hear him swallow. Close enough to hear the thump thump thumping cadence of his heartbeat. Close enough to feel his muscles go tight against her.
“Maybe you could ask me questions, because I’m not sure where to start with all this crap.”
She leaned her head back to look up at him. One arm was over her shoulder, and he was toying with one of the many errant curls swelling around her shoulders from the humidity. The other hand lay in his lap, and he was tapping some rhythm with his fingers against his palm. His knee bounced like Mexican jumping beans had hatched in his pants.
Of course he was nervous.
“Okay.” She touched his knee, stilling the frenetic bounce. “I’ll ask questions.”