Camden (The Casanova Club Book 13)

by Ali Parker

  It caught me a little off guard.

  I wasn’t used to happening upon men like Camden in their pajamas in the morning. He looked sophisticated and expensive even now, and I wondered dimly how much his ensemble had cost.

  Camden glanced over his shoulder. “Oh. Good morning. How did you sleep?”

  “Wonderfully. That mattress is the most comfortable one I’ve ever slept on.”

  He nodded knowingly and then turned all the way around to face me. He held two mugs of coffee in his hands. Steam curled up in soft tendrils from the tops of the mugs, and he walked toward me, handing one over.

  “Thank you.” I wrapped both hands around the mug for warmth. I sipped at the edge and was careful not to burn my tongue. Camden did the same, and I watched him over the rim. “I thought you had to work today?”

  He shrugged one shoulder and set his coffee down on the kitchen island. “I considered going in but decided against it.”

  I licked my lips. “How come?”

  He studied me with a hint of amusement playing in his dark-blue eyes. I wanted to fidget. He made me nervous when he looked at me like that. His gaze was calculating, and I had the feeling he was playing with me to see if I’d break the silence before him.

  I did not.

  Camden chuckled softly. “I decided to stray outside my comfort zone and take the day off.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “As am I. My partner and coworkers are appropriately horrified. I apologize in advance if they treat you like a rare collectible item at the Christmas party.”

  “It’s been that long since you took time off?”

  “Yes. Quite. And they’re going to chalk it up to you, I suspect.”

  “I’m all right with that. It is in part because of me, isn’t it?” I cocked my head to the side and gave him a challenging, sultry smile. “Or is it just because you’re so looking forward to helping me decorate your Christmas tree?”

  Camden smirked. “Our Christmas tree.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  Camden shifted so his back was to the island, and then he leaned casually up against it and crossed one ankle over the other. He looked like an expensive dream. A very masculine, effortless, sexy dream.

  I swallowed. “Um. We don’t have any decorations for the tree.”

  His eyebrow quirked. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” He reclaimed his coffee and took another sip. His gaze never wavered. “I’ll have Daniel see to the tree delivery. How about you and I go do a little shopping?”

  “Really?”

  “I wouldn’t tease you like that, Piper. Yes. Really.”

  It was settled. Camden and I would spend the morning acquiring a variety of Christmas decorations and ornaments, and upon our return to his apartment, we would begin the process of bringing Christmas indoors. My stomach fluttered with excitement at the thought, and I couldn’t tell if it was genuine excitement or nerves as I watched him over the rim of my coffee mug.

  What if things didn’t go well, and he still hated Christmas after our time together?

  It was his prerogative, though, and I didn’t very well expect him to change twenty-eight years of hatred toward the holiday over the course of the next two weeks.

  Twenty-eight years since he was eleven.

  Our age difference had stuck out like a sore thumb since my arrival. His comment about not being in a decorated house for Christmas since he was eleven was an intimidating prospect. What sort of trauma had resulted in that? Was I biting off something too big for me to chew with all this? Did he think me a child he had to entertain with snowflakes and Christmas stockings?

  No, I doubted it. Camden didn’t strike me as the sort of man who would do something he really didn’t want to do. As I finished my coffee, I convinced myself that he really was open to trying Christmas for real this year. And I had to be grateful for that. It was what I wanted, after all, and this was far better than spending the month in a cold apartment wishing for a Christmas miracle.

  After coffee, Camden and I split ways to get ready for the day. I had a quick hot shower, blow-dried my hair to avoid having a freezing scalp and neck in the New York winter, and skipped my makeup routine altogether so he didn’t have to wait for me, indulging only in one swipe of buttery lip balm.

  When I met Camden downstairs, he was shrugging into his knee-length black coat. It looked dashing on him. Coupled with the dark-red scarf he draped over his neck and his black leather boots, he looked like he belonged in a movie.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  I nodded, and he plucked my black pea coat from where it hung in the hall. He held it out for me, and I slid each arm into it before buttoning it up and tightening the sash around my waist. Then he called the elevator, and we stepped on.

  As we rode it down, I could feel his eyes on me.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  He slid his hands into his jacket pockets and faced the doors. “Nothing.”

  I didn’t believe him.

  Daniel waved at us when we crossed the lobby, and Camden swerved over to his desk to give him the details about the tree that would be arriving around eleven o’clock.

  “Tree?” Daniel blinked. His eyes darted from me to Camden. “As in Christmas tree?”

  “What other sort of tree would I have sent up to my suite in the second week of December, Daniel?” Camden asked dryly.

  Daniel adjusted his snug red vest and lifted his chin. “I will see to the delivery, sir. Would you like me to inspect it for any damage?”

  I snickered.

  Camden rolled his eyes. “No. Thank you, Daniel.”

  Daniel beamed like a kid on Christmas morning as we took our leave and made for the front doors. The chill in the air bit into my cheeks, and I buried my chin into the collar of my shirt as we crossed the sidewalk to a car pulled up to the curb. Camden opened the back door and ushered me in ahead of him, and once he joined me, the driver pulled into traffic.

  “So, where are we starting?” I asked.

  Camden gave me a knowing smile. “Where else would one go shopping in New York?”

  I pursed my lips thoughtfully. In all my years living here, I hadn’t ever had one of those glorious NYC shopping experiences. It simply wasn’t in the budget. But if it were, there was one place I would have gone.

  “Fifth Avenue?” I asked.

  Camden nodded. “Fifth Avenue.”

  Another surge of butterflies fluttered around in my belly. This day had all the potential to be a Christmas dream. I had a handsome man on my arm with no spending budget, and we were about to spend the entire afternoon shopping for Christmas decorations of the likes I would never have been able to afford.

  Fifth Avenue was done up in light displays of enchanting extravagance. Shop windows displayed Christmas scenes to show off their holiday merchandise. Salt crunched under our boots on the sidewalk, ready to fight against the fresh little flurries that clung to our hair and shoulders of our jackets. It smelled like pine trees and hot chocolate. Vendors were stationed on every second street corner, and Camden bought us each a cup to keep us warm as we wandered from shop to shop, collecting items as we went and depositing our shopping bags in the car that followed us down the street like a shadow.

  It was the ultimate way to shop.

  I came to a dead stop in front of a shop window. Camden slowed and returned to my side as I gazed through the frosted glass-framed in blinking multicolored lights. He rested a hand in the middle of my back. It wasn’t a sexual touch or anything like that, but it was a gesture of closeness. I liked it.

  He leaned into me. “What caught your eye?”

  It was silly really, but I’d seen the star on top of the Christmas tree out of the corner of my eye. It was a dazzling, sparkly masterpiece, and it caught the glint of the colorful lights framing the window. It appeared to be winking, as if it was begging to come home with us.

  “The star,” I whispered. “It’s
a simple thing but it’s beautiful.”

  Camden stared through the glass at the star. His hand lingered on my back and moved lower as he leaned in even closer to speak softly into my ear. “Then it is yours.”

  Chapter 10

  Camden

  I should have seen Piper’s love of Christmas music coming a mile away.

  It poured through the speakers in the living room, the volume reasonably low so we could still talk above it, and Piper hummed under her breath to almost every song that played. She had her hideous slippers back on, but they didn’t ruin how cute she looked.

  She was wearing a pair of gray leggings. She had red Christmas-printed socks up to her knees and a loose red pullover on. She looked festive and cute as hell, and I found it hard to look away.

  So I didn’t.

  I watched her sip her red wine while she hovered over the box full of ornaments we’d purchased this afternoon. She selected a sparkly white snowman, slid a metal hook through it, and set to picking the perfect branch for it to live for the next three weeks.

  All the while, she hummed “Little Drummer Boy” softly.

  Even I could not deny there was a special feeling in the air, a feeling I hadn’t had since I was just a boy.

  Piper glanced over her shoulder at me and stepped aside to show me where she’d hung the snowman. “What do you think?”

  “Perfect.” I sipped my wine.

  She smiled and continued hanging ornaments.

  I wished I could let my guard down. I wished I could let myself believe that this month was going to change more than just how I felt about the holidays. But things wouldn’t work out between us. There was simply too much working against us.

  For starters, I was last in a very long list of worthy bachelors vying for her love. There was no doubt that she’d likely already formed some very serious relationships. If she hadn’t, then I’d be questioning her intentions.

  Secondly, I had her at Christmas time. It wasn’t exactly my shining moment. Things had started out rocky, and that was on me. It was only because of her visit to my office and her steadfast honesty that we’d even begun to start taking steps in the right direction.

  And lastly, there was the age difference.

  Piper took a break from hanging ornaments to fill up her glass of wine. She topped mine off as well and then made a pit stop at the charcuterie board she’d put out for us to munch on while we decorated.

  She knew how to make an occasion special. I’d give her that much.

  Back when I was a kid, Christmas was this thing that just sort of arrived. My mother would hang some haphazard lights around the front door because my father couldn’t be bothered to get up on a ladder and do a decent job. She would put up the tree by herself, and presents were wrapped in newspaper from Santa. If the gift was from my parents, it wasn’t wrapped at all.

  Piper knew the magic was in the details, in slowing down the moments and soaking them in for everything they were worth.

  That explained why decorating had taken us so long.

  My mantle was covered in rich green garland. Candles flickered inside black lamps on the hearth as the fireplace burned. The ambiance was warm and inviting and definitely more festive than I thought it would be. Just a few simple things made all the difference.

  “Do you like it?” Piper asked when she caught me studying my living room.

  “I’m trying to acclimatize,” I admitted. It was a big change. And it was weird to think of it all as mine. I wondered if I’d bother with all of this next year.

  Probably not.

  Piper rooted through the box of ornaments and straightened up with a little red orb dangling from the tips of her fingers. She set her wine down before moving close to hand me the ornament. “Your turn.”

  I stared at the sparkly red glass masterpiece in my hands and wondered if it was supposed to make me feel something. It didn’t.

  Piper watched with eager eyes and a hopeful smile as I hung the ornament on the tree. I didn’t take my time like she did to pick the perfect spot. I saw an empty branch, hung it there, and stood back, looking for her approval.

  “Perfect.” Piper grinned. “Let’s keep going.”

  As the hour passed, the open gaps in the tree were filled with baubles and Christmas knickknacks, sleigh-riding Santas, suit-wearing penguins, sparkly snowmen, red-velvet bows, and thin glass icicles that caught the lights in the tree and dazzled like motor oil on dark asphalt in the sunshine. When every item had a home on the tree, Piper and I collapsed onto one of my sofas to polish off the rest of our spread of meats and cheeses and nuts.

  Piper made a little sandwich with a cracker and popped it in her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out like that of a chipmunk storing food for the cold winter ahead, and she covered her lips with a bashful smile when she caught me staring.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled through her full mouth. “That wasn’t very ladylike, was it?”

  “Being ladylike is overrated, in my opinion.”

  She flushed bright pink.

  I crossed one leg over the other and sipped my wine as Piper reached for another piece of cheese. This one, she broke in half and ate more daintily.

  I chuckled. “Piper, if the Casanova bachelors wanted dainty, they would have voted for one of the other blonde-haired Barbie dolls in their powder-pink dresses. You swept the vote. Please, do not concern yourself with being ladylike for my benefit.”

  Piper leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. She picked little pieces of glitter from her hands left there by the ornaments, and when she lifted her eyes to meet my gaze, there was a curl in her lips, the softest hint of a smile.

  I arched an eyebrow in invitation for her to speak what was on her mind.

  Piper clasped her hands together and licked her lips. “I had fun today.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Her head quirked to the side, and her dark brown hair tumbled over her left shoulder. “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Have fun?” she asked plainly.

  “Yes. I suppose I did.”

  She giggled softly and leaned back on the sofa, shaking her head slightly. “Well, I guess that’s better than nothing.”

  “I enjoyed myself, Piper. I assure you.”

  “I hope so. I would hate for all of this to have been nothing but torture you had to endure all for my sake. I mean, I love Christmas. But I don’t want it to—I don’t know—make things uncomfortable for you. Especially in your own home.”

  “You don’t need to worry yourself over that.”

  “All right then.” Piper pushed herself to her feet. “Should we turn off the lights and see this tree in all its glory then?”

  “You do the honors.”

  Piper moved to the light switch on the far wall away from all the windows. She brought the dimmer down low, and the whole living room glowed with a warm amber light cast from the pot lights in the ceiling above and the fireplace. The tree, of course, helped. Some of the lights winked on and off, lending a soft romantic feel to the space.

  She switched the lights off entirely.

  The tree was magnificent. I couldn’t deny that.

  Piper moved up to stand beside me and sighed contently as she sipped her wine and admired our work. “It’s beautiful.”

  It was, in a sense, but it was also sad. Maybe not in her eyes, but that was all I could see. Pain.

  I grimaced as I recalled my old family tree in the rundown townhouse my parents rented in a living assistance co-op. Christmas Eve in that place meant whirring sirens outside and angry neighbors fighting.

  Mom tried to keep it together on Christmas Eve as best as she could. She stayed away from the drink until I was in bed. Dad didn’t. He’d be drunk before four o’clock and shitfaced by dinnertime.

  When I was eleven years old, shit hit the fan.

  And it started with the tree.

  A string of lights went out on Christmas Eve at seven-thirty. Dad was wasted and half-consc
ious in an old beer-stained recliner by the fire. It wasn’t on. It was too expensive to run. Mom was wrapped up in an old knit blanket her mother made for her at least a decade earlier, and I was lying on my back, my head under the tree, gazing up at the branches and lights and decrepit ornaments, trying to remember what Christmas used to feel like when I was just a young boy.

  More than anything, I wanted that feeling back. I wanted to believe.

  But parents like mine made it hard to believe in Santa Claus. They were drunk too often to pull something off like that. I’d learned when I was seven that Santa wasn’t real. I’d denied the truth for two more years before the magic of Christmas was lost for good and it became just another day. Another day for Dad to drink and for Mom to feel sad and for me to try my very best to make them both happy.

  It was an impossible job.

  As I squinted under the tree to make the lights all fuzzy and pixilated, one of the strands flickered out. I frowned and waited for them to come back on, but they didn’t, and my mother got up from her spot on the sofa and unplugged them. She plugged them back into the wall, and nothing happened. The entire tree was dark.

  Dad, in his drunken slumber, told her to leave it the hell alone before she fucked it up even more. She didn’t say anything. She just looked at me. At the time, I didn’t know what she was trying to tell me without using her words. Now I know the truth of it. She was apologizing for the storm that was to come.

  Dad called her a lot of names. Then he was on his feet and pulling me out from under the tree, prattling on about how useless we were and how nothing was ever done right in this shithole without his help. Which was an audacious lie. The only thing my father was good at was filling his gullet with booze and meat we couldn’t afford.

  He couldn’t get the tree to light.

  Mom told him to leave it. Christmas would still come with or without the lights. She smiled at me. I smiled back.