All He Ever Wanted

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  Her eyes glazed, turning more green than brown again in the moment before they started to close.

  “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go watch the video.”

  Faith pressed her lips together, scrambling for composure. “You enjoy keeping me off balance, don’t you?”

  He nibbled her lip again. “Gotta take my advantages where I can…against the superior species.”

  She started to smile, remembering the snowball fight when she’d jokingly assured him females were superior. But the fact of the matter was Cam needed no special effort to throw her off balance. All he had to do was be.

  Thank heavens his heart was still tied to his wife.

  If it weren’t, Faith could never let herself be with him this way. It would just be too dangerous. Too painful when he ended it. And end it he would, if he knew about her infertility.

  She lifted her mouth more fully to his, pushing the thoughts away. Hard. “How long are those steaks going to take?”

  “Not long enough,” he murmured.

  Still, he kissed her slowly.

  Thoroughly.

  Until she was in danger of melting right into the floor beneath her bare feet. Then he walked her back to his den. Settled her on that sinfully soft leather couch.

  Picked up the remote.

  Hit Play.

  And sat in the chair opposite her. His eyes were sharp. Amused. Aroused.

  She exhaled. Focused on the mammoth television set.

  In minutes, she was entranced all over again by the children and managed to forget—mostly—the fact that Cam watched her far more than he watched the video.

  When it came time for Erik’s solo, she hit Rewind twice. Fortunately, Cam had gone to the kitchen again to attend to dinner, after giving her strict instructions to stay put.

  She did, with one quick foray to find a bathroom.

  In her exploration, though, she found Cam’s bedroom.

  The bed was mammoth. No real surprise there. Cam would need a good-size bed. He was a good-size man, after all. It was covered with a thick, caramel-colored comforter with a few brown pillows tossed haphazardly on top. And it was made.

  Which was more than she could say for her own considerably smaller, full-size bed at home, which she’d left in kicked-about disarray from her restless nights of late.

  It was the photographs on the dresser as she crossed to the attached bathroom that grabbed her attention, though.

  They gave Faith her first look at Laura Stevenson.

  And Cam’s wife had been stunning.

  There was just no other word for her. Clouds of black hair. Violet eyes so vivid they seemed to leap from the photographs. She’d had curves where Faith had never had them, and the adoration between her and the man beside her was tangible.

  But as curious—and yes, daunted—as she’d been about Laura, it was Cam’s image that really stopped Faith in her tracks, making her actually pick up the sterling-framed photograph to look closer.

  His hair had been brutally short, but the severe style simply played up his carved features. Maybe made him look a little older than he would actually have been at the time the photograph was probably taken. And the suit he wore looked as if it belonged on the cover of GQ.

  It was Cameron. Yet…it wasn’t the Cam she knew.

  The Cam who padded around his house in tube socks and jeans and—her hand drifted down the front of his thick sweater that was all she still wore—who’d pelted his son with snowballs.

  She settled the photograph carefully back in place, well aware that she was intruding in his personal space, no matter what they’d done together in his foyer, and quickly used his bathroom. She was hurrying back to the den when he appeared in the hallway opposite her, a large wooden tray held in his hands.

  She froze, feeling ridiculously guilty. “I, um, used your bathroom. Hope you don’t mind.”

  His eyebrows drew together a little bit, almost as if he were curious why she’d even have to ask. “Better mine than Erik’s,” he said after a moment. “Kid’s a slob no matter what I tell him.” He gestured a little with the laden tray. “Come on. We’ll eat by the fire.”

  She went into the den. He set the tray on the iron coffee table in front of the couch and then sat down beside her. He grabbed the remote and punched a few buttons. The video turned off. The television slid down, disappearing into the rustic pine cabinet beneath it.

  She slid a glance his way. “You definitely don’t live like any other teachers I know.”

  He smiled a little. “Nice to know the law, business and accounting degrees went to some good.”

  She tugged at her ear a little. “So, um, what are your parents like?”

  He handed her a plate buried under by steak, salad and potato. “Conservative. Old money.” His lips quirked. “As old as Denver goes, at any rate. They had me when they were both over forty. No brothers or sisters, either. By mutual agreement, we see as little of each other as humanly possible, and mostly only for holidays. Dad didn’t take too kindly to it when I didn’t join his brokerage, but put out my own shingle. I actually became his competition.” He sliced off a corner of steak and studied the pink center for a moment. “They raised me to have my own brain, and didn’t want me to use it.” He shook his head a little, then ate the meat. “Last time I heard from him, it was to tell me he’d gotten Erik accepted into my old private school.”

  Alarm halted her fork as she stabbed it into the fluffy potato. “You’re not going to send him to boarding school, are you?”

  He shook his head. “No. That was never the plan.”

  Relieved, she poked at the potato a little more, letting some of the heat escape. “And that plan is to raise him in Thunder Canyon,” she confirmed quietly. “Laura’s plan.”

  His gaze was suddenly inscrutable. “Yeah.”

  “Do you like living here, Cam?” She couldn’t bear to think that maybe he did not.

  “Do you?”

  She nodded immediately. “There was a time when I was perfectly anxious to leave it, of course.” She grinned wryly. “I was eighteen and ready to grab the world by the tail and swing it around my head a few times.”

  “And now?”

  She tasted a corner of steak, and stared into the fire across from them for a moment as she savored the bite. A little crispy on the outside. A lot juicy on the inside.

  “Now,” she said eventually, “I can’t really imagine living anywhere else.” Thunder Canyon had welcomed her home when her world had been in tatters. It had healed her.

  Had it?

  She ignored the unwelcome query and caught Cameron watching her when she looked at him. “And you still haven’t answered the question,” she pointed out.

  “I don’t know.”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “You must have some opinion. You’re not exactly without one when it comes to most matters. I’ve heard you at those council meetings, remember?”

  He smiled wryly at the jab. “I haven’t thought a lot about what I feel about Thunder Canyon,” he said after a moment. “I’ve been…going through the motions.”

  “Doing what you believed Laura would have wanted you to do,” she finished quietly.

  “Yeah.”

  His gaze shifted to the fire and Faith wondered if he was envisioning his beautiful, black-haired wife.

  She set down her fork, her ravenous appetite suddenly gone. “You know, maybe it’s none of my business, but it seems to me that for a guy who’s living his life to someone else’s desires, you’re doing an awfully good job of it.”

  “What?”

  “Well.” She turned sideways on the couch, tugging the sweater over her knees. “Just that you could have stayed here in Thunder Canyon, raising Erik here and all, without going to the measures that you have. I mean, you don’t have to be the coach at school. You clearly didn’t even have to become a teacher, for that matter. And the mayor wants you to run for town council. You actually told him you’d consider it. Pretty involv
ing stuff, that’s all.” And she wasn’t at all sure how he’d react to her opinion.

  He turned a little on the couch, too, his arm stretching across the back of it. He lifted a lock of her hair and slowly flipped it through his fingers. And all he said in response to her observation was a low “hmm.”

  But the glint in his eyes was unmistakable and heat slid through her with the subtlety of a bulldozer. “I, um, I should probably be going.”

  He shook his head once. “It’s cold out.”

  “It’s February,” she said dryly.

  His lips twitched. “And you brought Valentine’s Day dessert.”

  She shot a look at his plate. He’d eaten more than she had, but his plate was still half full. “I’m sure you’d tell Erik that he had to eat more of his supper before you’d let him have a cookie.”

  His smile widened. He leaned forward, grasping her arms and easily pulling her right over to him. She caught her breath as he swept his hands beneath the sweater.

  “Who mentioned cookies? I was talking about you.”

  He kissed her, and didn’t stop until they were both breathless.

  Then he pushed to his feet, lifting her right along with him, and carried her down the hall to his bedroom. When he reached the bed, he leaned over, swept back the comforter, sending the pillows bouncing to parts unknown, and settled her in the center.

  The room was dimmer now. The sun had set. The only illumination came from the hallway. But there was enough that she could see the look on his face as he slowly pulled off his clothes.

  Faith tucked her tongue between her teeth, unable to look away from him. He was so incredibly beautiful.

  “Something wrong?” His voice was amused.

  “Not a thing,” she assured faintly.

  He smiled a little, then knelt next to the bed. He curled his warm hands around her ankles and slowly pulled her back across the bed toward him. She moved. The sweater, however, stayed put, until it rode up above her waist. Her breasts.

  “I’ll never unwrap another present and not think of you,” he murmured, watching the progress of the sweater.

  She swallowed, steeped in the warmth of his gaze as he pressed his lips to the curve of her knee.

  His palms slid over her thighs. Reached up to her hips. The nearly healed scrapes. “Do they still hurt?”

  She slowly shook her head. “Not anymore.”

  His right eyebrow peaked. “Supposed to say that they do,” he murmured, sin and temptation wrapped up in that low, husky tone. “So I’d have to kiss ’em better.”

  She exhaled. “Oh.” Then swallowed as he moved. “I…ah…think you’re doing that anyway.”

  He lifted his head for a moment, his brown gaze colliding with hers. “Observant, aren’t you?”

  Her legs shifted, restless as his lips roved over the point of her hipbone. She pulled at his shoulders, but the man was immovable. “Cameron.”

  He leisurely pressed his mouth against her navel. “Mmm?”

  He was maddening. Playing her as skillfully as if he’d written a playbook designed just for her. “Cam.”

  “Yeah.” His lips moved against her. His palms pushed on her thighs as he slid forward.

  Her head fell back against the mattress as he found her. Took her. Just that smoothly.

  Just that easily.

  Just that perfectly.

  Her arms circled him, and she opened her mouth against his. His name sighed through her mind.

  And then she thought no more.

  Chapter Twelve

  Faith wasn’t aware of falling asleep. Not until she woke when the cool dawn light curled into the room and the warm weight of Cam shifted beside her.

  She turned on her back. His elbow was bent on the mattress beside her head, his chin propped on his hand and she reached up, smoothing back the hair that was falling over his forehead. “Hi,” she whispered.

  “I was watching you sleep.”

  She let her hand trail down his face, his jaw. Rub against the hair on his chest for the sheer pleasure of feeling it against her palm. “Hope I wasn’t drooling.”

  He chuckled softly. Leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “That would’ve been me, looking at you.”

  She smiled faintly.

  Then he touched her hand and warmth crept up her arm, soothing. Seductive. She couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it. Nor did she want to move. Her palm slowly flattened, barely grazing against his.

  The warmth reached her shoulders. Drifted through her bloodstream, thawing. Steeping. “Cameron—”

  “Shh.” His thumb slid along hers. Traced up her index finger. Pressed gently against her fingertip, then slid down, and up her middle finger.

  Her heart thudded heavily. She turned toward him, her leg sliding over his. “We probably shouldn’t have done this,” she whispered.

  “Regrets already?” His fingers slowly slid through hers, bringing their palms flush against each other, snug and warm, steady and strong.

  Did she regret being with him? She slowly shook her head. “No.”

  His fingers slowly released hers, only to run down the inside of her wrist. She swallowed. His fingers dipped to the inside of her elbow, then retraced the burning path back to her wrist. Her pulse thudded erratically against his fingers when he paused over it.

  “Your skin is so soft.” His low, deep voice rolled over her, as sensitizing as his fingertips. “Here.” He dragged the palm of his hand back down her arm, then up to her shoulder.

  Her breathing stalled.

  “And here.” He smoothed over her collarbone. Cupped the base of her neck. “Here.” Her breasts tightened when he flattened his hand against her chest, thumb and little finger grazing the inner swell of them as he followed a straight line down to her navel.

  Her abdominal muscles jumped. He sucked in an audible breath and his fingers slid again. Tightened against her waist, turning her toward him more fully.

  A soft sound escaped her lips. She pressed her forehead against the hot curve between his shoulder and neck. Her hands drifted over the supple skin stretching over his ribs. His hand cupped the base of her neck, tilting her head back until his mouth found hers, lingered, then moved on to her temple. Her ear.

  She sighed, lost in pleasure.

  “I could get used to this.”

  His voice was a low murmur through the haze clouding her senses. “Mmm-hmm.”

  He tipped her onto her back again, and threaded his hands through her hair, spreading it out around her shoulders. She finally opened her eyes only to find him looking at her. “What? I’m drooling now?”

  He shook his head. “I could get used to this,” he repeated. “Not just you in my bed. But you. In my life.”

  Her breath stuttered. Stopped. She flattened her palms against the mattress, and pushed herself up against the rough-hewn headboard. “Cam—”

  “No. Let me get this out.” He caught her hands in his. Even in the dim light, she could see the muscle that had begun to tick in his jaw. “I never thought I’d be able to say that to another woman, Faith. But you—”

  “You don’t have to say anything, Cameron.” Her voice was quick. Nervous. And there seemed nothing she could do to modulate it. “I haven’t…had sex since my divorce. You haven’t had sex since Laura died.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’ve had plenty of sex since she died,” he said flatly.

  “But you said you hadn’t felt this way since your wife.”

  “Felt,” he said evenly. “Not just working off some sexual steam. But that’s what you thought this was, didn’t you? Scratching some damn itch? Fulfilling some damn need?”

  She flinched at the hard note in his voice. She couldn’t back up any more than she had, since her spine was already plastered against his headboard. “No.” She struggled with words, knowing none of them would be right. “You know you’re special to me, Cam.” A monstrous understatement, but all she was capable of uttering when panic was turning her insi
de out. “You have to know that by now. This isn’t…typical of me.”

  His gaze didn’t waver from her face. His tone gentled. “Well…maybe we need to make this more typical. You. Me. Together.”

  His hands curled more tightly around hers, as if he’d read the frantic, futile messages screaming inside her head for her to pull her hands free. She stared at him, mute.

  “Faith, until you, I never thought I’d even be able to contemplate a future that included another woman. That I’d ever consider marriage again. More children.”

  Her breath suddenly whistled between her teeth. She was actually getting dizzy. She concentrated hard on his face, but it was the only thing in her vision that didn’t seem blurry. “No. No. This isn’t… You’re just—” she wheezed “—overreacting.”

  “Holy Chri—” He bit off the curse. “You’re hyper-ventilating.” He was off the bed in a flash.

  She leaned over, gasping, struggling for breath.

  This could not be happening.

  He returned almost immediately, a small paper lunch sack in his hand, and stuck it over her mouth. “Breathe.” His hand smoothed over her spine.

  Tears burned out the corners of her eyes. She cupped the bag to her mouth. Breathed into it.

  “There you go. Slow and easy.” His hand swept down her bowed spine.

  Her dizziness slowly faded, only to leave exhaustion in its wake.

  “That’s it. Just relax.” He kept stroking her back. Again. And again.

  And the fact that she wanted to stay there, wanted to have him touching her, in passion, in tenderness, in…anything and everything, made her slowly lift her head.

  To sit up.

  To face him.

  His hand slowly fell away.

  There were faint red marks on his shoulders. Not scratches. But definitely marks from her own fingers. His bed—the bed he’d undoubtedly shared with the beloved wife he’d lost—was more than tumbled. The bottom sheet was hanging on to the mattress by little more than a prayer.

  Panic had ripped through her.

  Exhaustion now dragged at her.

  And, as she looked at Cameron, her gaze taking in the rest of the room beyond him—complete with the collection of family photographs on his dresser—she could feel a great wave of grief building on the horizon.