Collecting Secrets

by PE Kavanagh

  His body straightened, and he pulled away from her. “I understand.”

  The absence of his body on hers left a painful sensation somewhere between cold and numbness. “We need to think this through. What we have deserves consideration.”

  He burrowed his gaze into her eyes. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  There they sat - inches apart, his hand on her back, her hand on his chest - for minutes.

  He broke the silence. “I’m staying here tonight.”

  Camille blinked rapidly. “No. You -”

  “Cam, I’m staying here tonight. Too much has happened today for us to be apart.”

  She didn’t want him to go.

  “You don’t have to worry about anything. We’ve spent many nights in the same room. In the same bed, even. You know you can trust me.”

  There was no one on the planet she trusted more than Jackson King. The only question was: could she trust herself?

  He stood up and eased her back onto the bed, where he tucked her in the blankets, just the way she liked it. Standing in front of her, with the city lights creating geometric patterns across his suit, he began to shed each of his layers. His jacket, then his shirt, each button undone more mesmerizing than the one before. Then his belt, and his pants, leaving him in dark boxers that clung to his remarkable body.

  This was not the first time Camille had seen him like this. But never before had his body been an offer to her.

  She fisted the sheets that separated the two of them, desperately praying for the feeling of desire to pass.

  He walked around the bed, outside of her view, and slid under the covers. The next sensation was of the front of his body - warm, angular, needy - curled against the back of hers.

  “Good night, Camille.”

  Instead of forcing the response that was stuck in her throat, she took his arm and wrapped it tightly around her.

  * * *

  She awoke to the sensation of a hand on her breast and a man pressing into her back. When the realization of who those parts belonged to cleared her sleepy mind, her body jolted. He responded by pulling her hips and bottom into him.

  “Jackson. Wake up.”

  Her assumption that he was asleep was incorrect. He shifted himself on top of her in one swift move. Before she could say anything more, his mouth was on hers.

  Between the weight of his body and the tenderness of his lips, Camille struggled to find a reason not to continue. His hand explored the tender flesh of her breasts while his mouth took her in. Her fingers slid under the band of his underwear, squeezing a handful of his muscular ass.

  She caught her breath as he pulled away, only to gasp as he dispensed with both her t-shirt and underwear. Before bringing himself back down, he stared, unapologetically, at her naked body.

  “You are even more stunning than I imagined, Camille.” He dropped his head and licked one of her nipples before pulling it into his mouth. The sensation of his teeth grazing against her pulled a yelp from the base of her throat. When his hand slid between her legs, the shock of it shattered the last of her sleepy and desire-laden daze, and emerged like a primal growl.

  He looked up at her without pausing the gentle movement of his fingers. There was no hiding how ready she was for him. When he brought his fingers from inside her to his lips, her body quivered with need. His underwear came off with a combination of their hands and legs, and soon he was pressing into her. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, panting her name. She forced herself to open her eyes, assaulted by the ugly speckled tiles of the ceiling.

  She slid her palms under his hip bones and urged him away. “This can’t happen.”

  He pushed up onto his hands and knees, and then dropped his head onto her belly. She ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair, while they both caught their breath.

  “I don’t know what to say.” His lips hovered over her skin.

  “You want to fuck me.”

  He jerked his head up. “Do you think that’s what this is?”

  She crinkled the corners of her eyes. “That seems indisputable, don’t you think?”

  “That’s not what’s happening here.”

  “How can you say that? I mean, look at us.”

  He scanned her body.

  She drew her arm across herself. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “This has nothing to do with wanting to fuck you.”

  Camille’s eyebrows shot upward.

  “Okay, yes, I want to fuck you. But that’s not the whole of it.”

  “I think we should get up now. We’re not making good choices. You need to go.”

  He pressed onto his knees, stepped off the bed and stood before her. She had, for so many years, stopped herself from imagining his body. The reality was much, much better than the fantasy anyway.

  “I want to be perfectly clear, Camille. I am in love with you. I want you, as you have now seen. I’m going to leave, because you’ve asked me to. But there is absolutely nothing that’s happened in the past day that I wouldn’t call a good choice.” He picked up his clothes, got dressed, and left her room.

  Eight years earlier

  Camille and Jenna walked up the three flights of stairs to Jackson’s loft, excited to celebrate the end of sophomore year. It had been a tough one. As they struggled to keep up with the brilliant minds around them, Jackson was making impressive strides as an expert in the psychology of attraction. By the time he completed his doctorate, he was going to be world famous. At least, Camille thought so.

  They stepped into the enormous and impressively messy space. Jackson strolled out of his room wearing long shorts and nothing else.

  “How are my favorite girls?” A grin filled the lower half of his face.

  His sister scrunched her nose in distaste. “Put on a shirt, Tarzan. We’re not here to fawn over your pecs.”

  He ignored her, instead giving Camille a hug. “Hey, Cammy. Thanks for coming in to town.”

  She let herself settle against his chest, palms on his back. His amazing chest and back, carved like an Italian sculpture. She steadied herself. “Of course, Jack. We have to celebrate.”

  He leaned back to look her in the face. “My girls are halfway through college. Imagine that.”

  “I thought we were celebrating your article,” added Jenna, straightening his couch cushions.

  “Yeah, that too.”

  Camille stepped out of his arms, giving her a better perspective to see him. “Vanity Fair is no pulp rag. You did well, Jack.”

  He held on to her hands and smiled. “You guys decide where you want to go?”

  Jenna busied herself cleaning off the coffee table. “Let’s do the Village. That place where they know you and won’t give us a hard time about our IDs.”

  “You two need to hurry up and turn twenty-one before we all get in trouble.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She walked into the kitchen and deposited an armful of glasses in the sink. “Got anything to eat?”

  “Yeah, there should be some Chinese leftovers in there. Have whatever you want.”

  “You know I will. Come on, Cammy, let’s have a snack.”

  “I’ll go get ready, then,” he said, disappearing into his bedroom. Camille stood completely still, but in her mind, she stepped across the apartment, followed him in, and closed the door.

  * * *

  They were all intoxicated by the time they entered the third bar, in search of some dancing. They weren’t fans of the stadium-sized clubs that filled Manhattan, opting instead for the packed bar with a tiny dance-floor. It was nearly impossible to move in the crush of bodies, but Camille found it exhilarating anyway. She was lost in the beat, the heat, and movement of her body when someone grabbed her arm. Her eyes snapped open to see Jackson’s worried expression.

  “Hey, where’s Jenna?” Panic creased the middle of his forehead.

  “I don’t know, Jack. Last I saw, she was over by the bar. Maybe she’s in the bathroom?”
/>   “Could you go look, please? I’ll check by the bar.”

  “Sure.” A shiver ran down her back.

  Camille scanned the room for Jenna’s long blonde hair, distinctive in the huge crowd. Pushing her way through to the bathroom, she looked up and down the line. Still no sign of her. She continued back down the long corridor past the men’s room. Jenna had always been a bit wild. Maybe…

  Camille noticed the flash of blonde even though it was mostly covered by a large, dark shape.

  Her heart rate doubled. “Jenna, is that you?”

  “Get the fuck out of here,” someone snarled at her. The man moved his head just enough for her to see the side of Jenna’s face, pressed against the dirty wall. Her eyes were glazed.

  “Get off her, asshole!” Camille strode directly to the large man.

  “What? You wanna join us? Three’s fine with me.” His lips parted as his eyes raked over Camille’s body.

  “Just let her go, okay? I need her to come with me.” Camille’s chest burned with fright. There’s no way she could take this guy. And Jenna didn’t look like she would be any help at all. Had he drugged her?

  “We’re not done yet. So either do something useful or scram.” He turned his head back to Jenna and burrowed his face in the side of her neck.

  Camille harnessed all her strength and pushed his arm. He barely budged.

  “You’re really starting to piss me off, bitch.” He backed away from Jenna, and her body drooped onto the floor.

  With each step he took toward Camille, she took one step back. Her eyes darted to either side searching for a way past him, or something she could use as a weapon. All she saw was the obscene graffiti scrawled on the walls, and seething rage in front of her.

  “Don’t even think about touching that girl!” The recognizable low growl echoed off the walls closing in on her. Thank God he’d found them!

  Jackson’s arm wrapped around the front of her waist and pulled her back. His heart beat through his shirt into her back, his breath blazed on the back of her neck. He spun her around so she was behind him and ordered her to go.

  Camille took a few steps back, then turned around just in time to see the two men heading for each other. This was not going to end well.

  “What do you think you’re going to do here, kid? Be a hero?” A crazed grimace contorted the dirtbag’s features.

  “I’m just going to get my sister and go. I’m not looking for trouble.”

  Camille couldn’t see Jackson’s face, but his pace was steady. Nothing in his body signaled apprehension.

  “Well you found it.” The large man took a lumbering swing at Jackson, who was significantly faster and ducked under him. By the time the man turned around Jackson had run to his sister and picked her up.

  Camille spun toward the bar to get help. She returned with two bouncers to a drastically different scene. Jenna was back on the floor, Jackson’s nose was bleeding, and the large man was doubled over.

  “That’s him! In the jacket! He attacked my friend.”

  The bouncers stood the man up and dragged him the opposite way down the corridor, away from the main part of the bar.

  “Wait! Don’t we want to wait for the police? Where are they taking him?”

  “It’s okay, Cam. I’m okay. We don’t need the police.”

  Jackson and Camille swiveled in the direction of the unexpected voice, then ran over to Jenna.

  He moved the hair away from her eyes. “What happened, Jenna?”

  “We came back here to make out, and he got a little… intense.”

  “Did he…?” Jackson asked the question Camille was afraid to.

  Jenna’s body convulsed. “No. He didn’t have a chance. Cammy got here just in time.”

  Jackson pulled his sister up with one arm, put the other around Camille’s shoulders, and marched them both out of the bar.

  Camille struggled to keep up with his long strides and brisk pace. No one said a word.

  When they entered his apartment, the women went into the bathroom, where Camille wet a washcloth and Jenna splashed water onto her face. The women’s eyes met in the mirror.

  “I’ll be out in a minute. Why don’t you check on Jackson?” Jenna spoke so softly, Camille had to read her lips in the reflection.

  “Sure, sweetie.”

  Camille found Jackson in the kitchen, putting ice into a plastic bag. “How are you doing, Jack?”

  He lifted his fingertips to the gash in the middle of his nose. “I’m okay. It’s not broken.”

  “Here. Let me…” Camille took the washcloth and gently cleaned away the blood that had dried around his nostrils, cheek and upper lip. He closed his eyes and placed a hand on her shoulder to steady himself.

  She removed as much as she could, revealing the beginnings of the inevitable bruise. “As good as new.”

  “Thanks, Cammy. I appreciate that. How’s Jenna?”

  “She’s cleaning up. Maybe in shock.”

  He nodded. “And you?”

  “I’m okay. Better than you or Jenna, I think.”

  He lifted her chin toward him. “That was really brave of you to confront that guy.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my life. I’m surprised I didn’t vomit. He had Jenna pushed up against the wall and I thought he was-”

  “Stop talking about me.” Jenna emerged from the bedroom wearing one of her brother’s Columbia tee shirts, which draped over her like a knee-length dress.

  “Hey, bunny. How are you?”

  “I’m okay. You guys saved my ass tonight. Sorry about the drama.” Jenna dropped her head and took a few ragged breaths.

  Camille walked toward her, watching the tears drop from Jenna’s cheeks onto the front of her shirt. Jackson moved to his sister, bent down and scooped her up like a small child. Their immense size difference had never been so obvious. Camille followed the two of them to the large sectional, where Jackson sat down with Jenna on his lap.

  She tucked herself into him and cried as he stroked her hair and whispered, “You’re okay, bunny. I’m here. You’re safe.”

  Camille sat across from them and watched. Raised in a family that never expressed this degree of tenderness, she was mesmerized. It was at that moment she made the decision that changed everything between her and Jackson. This was not a man you fucked. This was the kind of man you honored, respected, and admired. A man you did not risk losing to satisfy some silly desire.

  She would never sleep with Jackson King.

  Chapter 4

  Now

  Camille took his arm to walk down the aisle and Jackson flashed to a fantasy of the two of them at their own wedding. But she happened to be in a dark red dress, not a white one, and they were merely a bridesmaid and groomsman. And she was clearly furious with him.

  She was so beautiful, it hurt him to look at her. He’d been studying her for a decade, and she’d become as integral to him as his arm or leg. He had never experienced anything like the relationship they’d built, and had never been so honest with another human being, even the siblings he adored.

  It had always been different with Camille. Even from the beginning, she was one of the very few who saw underneath the intricate persona he created. Their connection was beyond friendship or attraction. It was a soul to soul connection that all of his analytical training could not understand but his heart knew to be true.

  He could not pinpoint the moment he understood the nature of his feelings for her, as if they had always been. They were young when they first met and she was so fragile. Traumatized by her parents’ death and completely inexperienced. He couldn’t possibly have taken her the way he wanted. But it had been ten years, and she had turned out to be stronger and more capable than anyone he knew.

  Their accidental kiss was his freedom from the faceless women he carried on his arm, from watching her love anyone else, from the arbitrary boundary that defined them as friends and not lovers.

  They stepped in p
erfect rhythm, as instructed, greeting the large crowd around them, and pacing their movements to match the music. “You should never be a bridesmaid, Camille.”

  Her head tilted to search his face.

  “You outshine every woman in this room. Including the bride.”

  She spoke through the perma-smile that she was forced to make as she met the happy eyes on either side of the aisle. “I’m begging you, Jackson. Please stop. I need to get through this wedding without falling apart.”

  He squeezed the hand tucked into his arm. “I just want you to know that I see you. I always have.”

  Something in the bottom of her abdomen made a gentle flip up to her heart when Jackson put his arm out for her as they entered the chapel. This man, who had always been her ideal, had made a case for a shift in their relationship. Of course she loved him. Of course she wanted him. He was the most important person in her life. That wasn’t the point. Camille desperately wanted her best friend to resume that prized position and stop trying to fit himself in a more complicated way. There was too much at risk.

  She sighed with relief as they moved to opposite sides of the altar. Her body still shimmered with the memory of his touch. It didn’t help that he was gorgeous in his groomsman tux, either. As if God had designed the tuxedo for that particular man.

  Their exit from the chapel was much easier, partially due to the ability to walk at a normal speed, and partially due to cheers and applause that greeted the entire wedding party. As soon as they were through the double doors, Camille unhooked from his arm and made her way to the bathroom to freshen up before the pictures.

  Smiling and making nice for the camera were going to test every bit of her discipline and willpower. Her head was spinning, her heart was pounding, and her thoughts were everywhere she did not want them to be. How could she stand next to him and not get lost in the sensation of his body and her body almost…?

  * * *

  The wedding party and all family members waited outside the reception hall until all four hundred guests were seated. Keeping with tradition, each couple in the wedding party, as well as all immediate family members, would be introduced and make a choreographed entrance. Despite Camille’s desire to put some space between herself and Jackson, she had been forced to be in close proximity to him all day. She looked everywhere but in his direction. Which is why she noticed the commotion in the lobby.