Prescription For Love (The Kingsley Series)

by Kennedy, Brandi

  "I suppose I must be," she said, as the backs of her thighs touched the top of the bed. She swallowed, a nervous lump forming in her throat. She'd never done this willingly before, and her heart thundered powerfully in her chest.

  "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, stepping close to her, his arms sliding around to circle her waist. Her breath caught as his fingertips grazed the skin above the zipper that held her dress snug along her body, and he froze. "Cameron?"

  "I'm sure," she said, her own hands reaching up to catch his face. Meeting the blue of his eyes, she smiled nervously. "This is what I want. It's just I've never done this before, willingly, you know, and able to move and speak and participate. And mess it up." She lowered her eyes, bowing her head to the still-open chest of his shirt to hide her face. He let her press her forehead to his chest, gathering herself, and then she looked up again, uncertain.

  "Mess it up?" he asked. "How could you mess it up?"

  "Well, you know, I'd want you to ... I'd want you to like it. To like me. Being with me," she stammered, her cheeks flaming again, her eyes skittering from his chest to circle the room, back to his chest, and then lower, looking everywhere but into his face.

  "I bet I will like it just fine," he chuckled again, slipping a finger under her chin and lifting her lips to his. The sensation of her tentative reaction filled him, the taste of spiked punch still strong on her tongue, sweet and heady in his mouth as he deepened the kiss. She moaned softly, stepping more firmly into the circle of his arms, their bodies pressed flat together from shoulder to thigh, and Mac's head was swimming with the scent of vanilla.

  "Uhhnn," he moaned, as Cameron caught his tongue, sucking gently, causing his fingers to take a life-or-death grip on her waist. She jerked, moving away from him.

  "That's wrong?" she asked.

  "God no, do it again," he whispered, sliding his hands up her back to drag her close again.

  "Mmm, okay," Cameron whispered back, sliding her arms up to circle his neck, her fingers digging through the hair on the back of his head as she angled him closer. Cool air hit her back as Mac slowly slipped the zipper of her dress down, allowing the back to open up. His hands spread over her bare back, finding no bra to block him from her skin, and he groaned again. This time though, she didn't move away, only pulled slightly on his hair to tip his head back, exposing his throat.

  "Touch me, Mac," she whispered, feathering kisses along his jaw, down the thick column of his throat to the open collar of his shirt. Spreading her hands and running them over the planes of his chest, she followed with her lips, hardly noticing when he slipped the straps of her dress over her shoulders and allowed it to fall to the floor.

  She noticed though, when he gripped her shoulders to hold her still and backed away, his eyes sweeping her bare, round breasts, following the contours of her waist, fire lighting in his gaze as he took in the electric blue lace of her panties. Meeting her eyes again, Mac shrugged his jacket to the floor, asking, "Are you really sure? Because if I touch you now, I'm not sure I can stop again."

  Stepping closer away from the bed, Cameron took his hands in her own. Meeting his eyes, she guided his hands to her hips, sliding them around to cup her rear. "I'm really sure," she said.

  "Oh God, help me," he whispered, his voice low and gravelly as he watched her hands work their way down his chest, floating back up again and over his shoulders to push his shirt back and away. She moved to his belt next, looking up at him coyly from under her eyelashes as she rattled the buckle and unhooked the belt. Deliberately, she grazed his hardness with her knuckles, watching his eyes widen as he gasped under her touch.

  Cameron squealed as he lost control, grasping her hips and spinning his back to the bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Mac scooted back, dragging her to his lap on her knees in front of him, grasping her bottom as she straddled his outstretched legs.

  "Well, you move fast when you want to huh?" she gasped, her hands buried in his hair as he buried his face in her breasts.

  "I can," he muttered, before taking a rigid nipple into the depths of his mouth.

  "Oh, God, Mac," she whimpered, clutching his head close as he fell back bringing her to rest on top of him. She threw out one arm, catching herself before she fell fully down on him, gasping again as her body flared to the erotic position.

  He rolled them, leaving her on her back, rising up between her knees to shed his pants; she had only a glimpse at black boxer briefs before they were gone and he was there, naked and glorious.

  Leaving her panties untouched, Mac lay beside Cameron, passing his hands gently over her body, kissing gently wherever his hands roamed. Finding her altered tattoo, he sat back to read it, smiled to himself, and kissed her there, loving the small tortured moans she threw out each time his lips came into hot contact with her skin.

  He slid his hands down the flat of her stomach, tracing the curve of her hip, slipping easily below the lacy waist of her panties. She tensed, a strangled moan floating from between her lips.

  "Mac," she breathed.

  "Mmhmm?" he asked, slipping his fingers lower, testing her.

  "I'm still sure," she gasped, and he allowed his fingers to take the plunge, causing her to cry out, her fingernails digging into the muscle of his shoulder.

  Mac smiled to himself again, listening to her soft and not-so-soft cries of pleasure. She had a lot to learn, and he was ever so glad to be her teacher.

  ***

  Waking up, it took Cameron several moments to realize that she wasn't alone in the bed, to remember that the hardness pressed to her back was Mac's chest. His chest, which was as bare as the hardening length in his lap, pressing snugly against her hips, the fuzz of his equally bare legs tickling along the backs of her own.

  He knew she was waking; he felt her stiffen. He also felt her conscious effort to relax against him, and he smiled into her hair. "Good morning," he whispered, rising slightly to kiss behind her ear, lowering again and tightening his arms around her. She murmured quietly, wiggling her shoulders to bring her upper body more snugly to his chest.

  "Are you sorry?" he whispered, running his hand down the curve of her hip and back up again to trace the dip of her waist. She shook her head, her curls rustling against his cheek, and shifted her body even closer to the growing issue in his lap.

  "I'm not sorry," she whispered back. "You were just as I expected you to be."

  Pulling away slightly, Mac rose up on his elbow and pressed her to her back beside him. He searched her face, the mocking twinkle in her eyes reassuring him. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?" he asked, grinning down at her.

  "It means I'm not sorry, Mac. I'm really, really not sorry. You were just the right mix of gentle and passionately wild. You held me, and you whispered to me, and when you kissed me, I felt ... alive. I felt special, and lovely, and, I don't know. I liked being with you." She reached up lazily, one hand stroking the morning stubble that roughened his face. "And that thing you do with your tongue? Um, down there? I'm definitely, one hundred thousand percent, not sorry for that," she finished, her face flaming.

  Lowering his head to drop feather-light kisses along the curve of her lips, he grinned. "Good, I'd hate to think I'd failed to make you a good first memory."

  "Oh no, Mac, you succeeded," she breathed against his lips, her fingers finding his chest and traveling down the chiseled planes of his stomach. "You deserve a medal. Is it always like that?"

  "Wanna find out?" he chuckled, his lips trailing down her throat to burn a fevered path between her breasts.

  "Okay," she gasped.

  Later, they crawled from the bed, laughing together, dressing between bouts of kissing and touching. Finally dressed, they made their red-faced way back to the upper deck, where there would be a morning-after breakfast for anyone who had chosen to stay aboard the yacht.

  Just inside the line of tables, Tabitha stood and walked over to Cameron, a knowing grin lighting her face as she looked up at Mac.


  "Uh, good morning, guys," she said, struggling not to laugh.

  "So far," Mac answered cautiously, watching Cameron's face flame as laughter broke out behind them. A glance over Cameron's shoulder as she swatted Tabitha's arm revealed the laughing faces of Drew's partner Nick, their friend Hunter, and Cass's sisters, Chelsea and Renee. "It seems we're late for breakfast," he muttered to Cameron, taking her hand as the group broke out into fresh laughter.

  "You guys, grow up," Cameron groused, her tone conflicting with the self-satisfied smile that wouldn't leave her lips. She nudged an elbow into the back of Nick's head as she walked by, heading toward the breakfast buffet as if she ate scrambled eggs in cocktail gowns every morning. Turning her back, she flipped her curls over her shoulder to spill down her back as she made herself a plate. "Want some?" she asked, innocently turning to offer Mac some food.

  Fighting a grin as the rest of the crowd laughed, Mac stepped closer to Cameron and took a plate for himself, standing beside her to fill his plate with food he didn't want. "Better be careful offering me 'some' like that, babe," he chuckled. "The others are taking liberties with what they think you're offering me. You know, for breakfast."

  Cameron's mouth fell open, her eyes widening in shock. A biscuit fell from her plate as she spun around, and she gestured with a fork as she grumbled. "You guys are a freaking bunch of perverts," she said, refusing to acknowledge the increasing roars of laughter. Stalking off, she found a different table across the room and waited expectantly for Mac to join her.

  "Are you really mad?" he asked, chuckling as he walked up and took a seat at the table she'd chosen.

  "No," she spat, fighting laughter. "I'm just embarrassed. They're acting like they’ve never seen anyone wearing yesterday's clothes before, sheesh. I feel like I'm doing the walk of shame or something. And I'm doing it alone, because you don't appear to be shamed at all!"

  "I'm not," he said, surprising her. "In fact, if I have to 'be' anything, I'm going to be downright proud that you trusted me enough to let go with me. And I'm going to be glad that you weren't offended to find that I had protection in my wallet. And I'm going to be happy that I woke up with a woman in my arms. And I'm going to be downright thrilled that I get to sit here and watch your pretty face while I eat my breakfast."

  "Hmph. Well. Okay then," she answered, slicing off the end of a sausage link and neatly popping it into her mouth. "I guess that's not so bad, then."

  Laughing, Mac ripped a biscuit in half, dipping it into a bowl of gravy before tucking it into his own mouth, still grinning.

  ***

  "Okay, I'll call you later on then," Mac whispered, running his fingertips along Cameron's jaw, feeling her breath catch as his knuckles brushed the sensitive flesh of her throat.

  "I'll answer," she said quietly, her dark eyes rising up to meet his blue ones. He couldn't help noticing the trust there, the way she looked at him, believing that he was inherently a good man, with no ulterior motives and nothing to prove, and all she expected from him was that he should be himself. She hadn't run when he'd told her about his wife's death; she hadn't even flinched when he'd mentioned his son, Logan.

  And she hadn't asked him how to help this depressed friend or that emotionally challenged neighbor. She hadn't been dying to jump into bed with him like so many easy women he'd dated, but she'd come to him willingly, afraid and yet still willing to trust. She'd been willing to trust in him, willing to risk her heart and her body, placing both in his hands. And when he reminded himself that in the aspect of willingness, he was essentially her first true lover, he couldn't stop the grin that spread his lips; he couldn't contain the contentment that lowered his mouth to hers.

  Smiling against her lips, he slipped his tongue out to trace the curve of her mouth, his fingers losing themselves in the wild curls of her hair. Hearing the gasp leave her lips hardened him, excited him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to deepen the kiss.

  "You'd better go," she said after what seemed like only seconds. Judging by the catcalls behind them, it must have been rather longer than that. He grinned over her shoulder, winking to the crowd of females clapping and cheering for Cameron. Taking her hand, he turned her to face the crowd, raising their joined hands above their heads and using his other hand to gesture toward her flaming face.

  "Ladies and gentlemen!" he bellowed. "I give you, for now, Cameron Kingsley!" And bowing, to the chaos of the crowd, he laughed. Cameron turned to him, her face shocked. Still, she was laughing as she swatted his arm, and his laughter carried him away from the lively crowd as he left the yacht.

  By the time he'd reached his motorcycle, his legs had remembered how to work on land, and his sense of balance had returned completely, but his sense of humor was still working overtime as he felt the buzzing of his cell phone in his pocket.

  "Mackenzie Caswell," he answered, still chuckling.

  "Dad?" Logan's voice was in his ear, and Mac switched into what they jokingly called 'dad mode.'

  "Hey, dude," he said. "What's crackin'?" He slung a leg over the seat of his motorcycle, adjusting his weight until he was comfortable and bracing his feet on the ground on either side of the bike to keep it steady.

  "Oh, jeez, Dad, please tell me you don't talk to your girl that way. 'Cause you don't sound cool, you sound like an old dude trying to sound cool."

  "Actually, son, I speak to her sweetly. I tell her she's pretty and special, and that she's better than, uh ... Supergirl."

  "Dad, everyone knows Storm is hotter than Supergirl. Are you coming home?"

  "Sure am, kid. How was your night with Grandma?" He asked, propping his helmet between his knees and patting his pockets to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

  "It was good, Dad, we played Monopoly and I made Grandma sell all her stuff to me and be my slave. Did you have a fun night?"

  Mac threw his head back and sighed, trying to throw away the image of Cameron's naked body rising up above his in the night. "Yeah, I had a fun night, son. I had lots of fun. I gotta start the bike now so I can get home, okay?"

  "Okay," Logan said missing the sudden stress in Mac's voice. "Love you!"

  "Love you, too, kid," Mac said, his chest tightening with the truth of the statement. Ending the call, he slipped his phone into his pocket and lifted his helmet, pressing it down over his head. He started the motorcycle, missing the way it felt to have Cameron beside him. Or behind him on the bike. Or under him. Or, oh man, above him, with those breasts bouncing, and ...

  At the edge of the parking lot, Mac shook his head. "Get it together man," he muttered, watching the street before pulling out and turning the bike toward home.

  As he rode, Mac's mind was on his night with Cameron, but eventually, his focus combined with the image in his head of his son laughing up at her. It was a clear vision, and hard as he tried to throw it off, it simply wouldn't let him rest. Allowing himself to daydream a little as he took the familiar left into his neighborhood, Mac imagined the curve of her lips smiling down at Logan, laughing at the silly child's antics. The mental image of those same lips pressed to his son's forehead decided it.

  He wanted her to meet his son. He wanted Cameron and Logan together, same time, same place, getting to know each other. It was a scary idea for Mac, causing his stomach to churn as his house came into view, because it confirmed to him how important Cameron had become in his life. He called on his memories of Alex, almost begging her to give her blessing, to share her son, but as always there was no answer; he felt only the usual sense of warm freedom that he always felt when consulting his dead wife.

  Turning into the drive, Mac cut the engine of his bike and waited; he dropped his helmet between his knees as the front door of the house exploded outward, and his little boy came barreling out.

  "Good grief, I was only gone one night!" Mac exclaimed. "And look at you, grown bigger than before! What are you, forty now? You been shaving with my razors?"

  Logan laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as h
e grinned openly at his father. "Dad, you're a goof; I'm still nine! But I still say I can ride that thing cooler than you can. And probably faster."

  Mac gripped the boy around the shoulders with one arm, stilling him so that he could slip a hand around his ribs, tickling relentlessly as he dragged the boy onto the bike in front of him. His helmet rolled off the bike with a thud on the driveway, skittering into the yard as Logan shrieked with laughter.

  Looking up, he saw his mother in the window, smiling out at them, and he raised one hand in a lazy wave. She waved back and disappeared behind the curtains. "So tell me, son," Mac laughed. "How much trouble did you get into today?" He allowed Logan to scramble down from the bike, carefully blocking him from accidentally touching anything hot on the way down. Swinging his leg over the back of the bike, he kicked the kickstand into place and mussed Logan's hair as they walked together to the front door.