Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“Sure doesn’t look like nothing from where I’m sitting.”
She loses the fight to restrain her grin. “Mum wants to know when we’re going out for dinner.”
That’s it? “You can go out whenever you like.” The words sound far more sincere than I actually feel. Letting go is a challenge I’ve underestimated. Constantly telling myself that she’s safe is easier than believing it.
Her grin widens. “She means all of us.”
Oh. Like socializing? “All of us?” I mutter feebly, twisting her blond locks around my fist until my hand is a ball of hair. “I’m not sure that’s my thing.”
“What is your thing?”
“You.” That’s easy. “You are my thing.”
“Will you think about it?” she asks, hope rife in her topaz eyes.
How can I refuse? I’ve been alone for so long, I don’t know how to be sociable. To make normal conversation. “Yes,” I agree, nudging her to lift as I sit forward. For her, I’ll do anything. “Up you get.”
“Why? Where are you going?”
I get to my feet and look down at her huddled on the couch, looking unprepared to move. “We’re going out for the afternoon.”
“We are?”
“Yes, we are.” I take her hand and pull her to her feet, making sure I put enough force behind my tug to land her against my chest. Her tiny exhale of breath hits my neck and sends my knees weak. A lifetime of this makes every heart attack I’ve had since meeting Camille Logan worth the agony.
“Get dressed.” I kiss her but push her away at the same time, mindful that if my pelvis captures a skimming touch of hers, I’m done for. We can’t be late.
She grumbles, relenting and detaching her mouth from mine, narrowing her eyes on me as she backs away. “I don’t know where we’re going. What should I wear?”
“Something pretty. Girlie.” I wave a hand to her head. “And braid your hair down one side,” I order, meaning to be as demanding as I sound. I love her hair like that. Tousled and cute.
“Makeup?” she asks, knowing damn well what the correct answer is to that silly question.
“Are you trying me?”
“Yes. I like it when you’re all bossy.” She blows me a kiss and pivots, heading for the bedroom, a tactical sway to her arse. That T-shirt. Simple and sexy. Camille Logan is not to be ignored. And I never plan to. I need to find out where she got it from. She needs at least seven of them on rotation.
She likes it when I’m bossy? I can fully comprehend the weight of her admission. Cami Logan, miss headstrong and independent, loves me being bossy. It’s just as well. That isn’t going to change. She’ll never lose her feistiness, and I hope she doesn’t. It makes for good bouncing off when the time calls for it.
Smiling, I head for the shower to get myself ready.
* * *
I’m waiting for the treacherous shakes to make themselves known. I’ve got out of the car, I’ve walked down the street, and I’ve been standing at the end of the pathway to the house for at least two minutes. Two silent minutes, with Cami on my arm. I feel too calm for such a monumental moment. What’s going on?
“Okay?” Cami looks up at me, her arm linked through mine. My hand rests in my jeans pocket.
“Yeah,” I answer, because I am. Calm, stable, and resolute. It’s the woman attached to my arm that’s helping. I glimpse down at her and siphon off some more of the purpose that she feeds me. “I never imagined I could do this.”
She reaches up on her tiptoes and pushes her lips against my jaw. “You can do anything.”
Closing my eyes, I push into her kiss and slip an arm around her tiny waist. “Only because you’re here,” I tell her, leading her on.
Abbie is expecting us, so I’m not surprised when the door opens and she appears before we make it all the way up the path. She looks more nervous now than she did on that awful day when it all went so horribly wrong. She smiles and motions us in, giving Cami a reassuring rub on the arm as we pass. The gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by my angel. She swallows and glances up at me, tears forming in her eyes. She doesn’t let them take hold, though, shaking them away like the brave girl she is.
“We’re in the garden,” Abbie says, gesturing toward the dining room off the hall. “It’s a lovely day. Thought it would be nice to make the most of it.”
I nod, and Cami drops my arm, making my steadiness waver for a moment. I shoot her a look but she just tilts her head toward the door that leads into the dining room, her way of telling me I can do this.