by Lissa Bilyk
“Juliet told me you live in Kensington. I live in Notting Hill. You took John’s car to pick me up this morning which means you caught the train. A cab will be warmer, and faster, and safer than the tube.”
“I’m not afraid of trains,” I said.
He shrugged, and managed to make it look sexy. “It was just an idea.” He turned as if to walk away. A thousand possibilities shattered before me and I leapt at the one remaining thread before it could slip through my grasp.
“Wait!” I blurted. “I lied to John. My car is here. Why don’t I take you home?”
He didn’t move for a moment, then he turned to face me again, a killer smile lighting up his beautiful, chiselled face. “Okay. Thanks.”
The ride could not have been more awkward if it tried. My car was tiny and old and creaking, a complete bomb compared to John’s nifty little red sporty thing. In fact, I had nicknamed her Bombalurina, after the sexy red cat in Cats.
Just don’t stall it, I begged myself as we buckled up and turned out of the car park. After I entered the traffic flow, Cameron reached forward to snap off the radio spewing cheap pop music.
“You don’t like music?” I squeaked, afraid I’d said or done something wrong already.
“Not that kind,” he said. My car was smaller than John’s, and his broad shoulder was closer to mine. It was impossible to ignore that he could just reach behind the gear stick and place his big hand on my thigh. His legs were almost too long for the passenger seat, and he looked as uncomfortable as I felt stuffed into my little bomb.
I shifted gears and accidentally-on-purpose brushed his thigh with my fingers. He hissed in a sharp breath, which I pretended to ignore, but it set my heart aflutter. I could be cool as well.
After an interlude he finally broke the silence. “Why did you lie to John?”
Feigning innocence, I double checked for oncoming traffic at an intersection. “About what?”
“Earlier this morning you picked me up in John’s car instead of your own. Then you told me you lied to John to take his car. Why did you lie to him?”
Trapped, I shrugged. “It’s not important.”
“It is if you’re his assistant.”
“It’s not business, it’s personal.”
“So why’d you lie?”
I said nothing.
“Do you prefer driving his car?”
I shook my head. “It’s not that.”
“So tell me.”
I slammed on the brakes behind an inconsiderate bus driver. “I’m driving right now, Cameron. In London. Can we have this conversation later?”
“Fine.” He reached for the radio and snapped it back on, then tuned it in to BBC Radio 3. Adagio for Strings filled the silence. It would have been bliss if I hadn’t heard it a thousand times before and if the strings weren’t pulling my already taut nerves on edge.
I was about to pull up to the kerb outside Cameron’s apartment complex when he said, “Go to the gate. I’ll get Leslie to let you in.”
Nervous, but without missing a beat, I pulled up to those intimidating black gates and rolled down my window. Cameron unsnapped his seatbelt and leaned across me, his back brushing my breasts, his torso leaning on my thighs, and a hand outstretched on my door. My entire being ricocheted from his touch and I froze, pushing my body into stillness. I barely dared to breathe, lest I accidentally inhale a scent that sent me spiralling into torrents of desire. He greeted the receptionist cordially and laughed at an in-joke before the gates opened.
He eased himself off me and I attempted to inch the car forward, only to misjudge the timing between clutch and accelerator. Bombalurina revved like a jet engine and my face flushed in response. We were both out of place in this high-class apartment complex.
Cameron directed me to one of the vacant visitor spots in the underground car park and I manoeuvred into it without managing to embarrass myself further. I turned off the ignition and waited for him to get out. Instead, he turned to me.
“Would you like to come in for a drink?”
I was glad the car park was dimly lit, for my face burned hotter and adrenalin exploded in my veins. I hesitated, trying to compose myself, but before I could say anything he added, “I don’t get to just hang out with many Aussies anymore. Remember chocolate ripple biscuits? Digestives just aren’t the same.”
I smiled knowingly into the darkness. He wanted an Aussie friend. I could do that. I could be friends with Cameron Campbell. So long as he never touched me again, because I wasn’t sure I could handle it.
“Okay,” I said breathlessly. I cleared my throat. “Okay,” I said again, trying to exude an aura of cool, calm confidence. “Let’s go in.”
Cameron used a swipe cad to gain access to the lobby, a broad black and white tiled area that echoed our footsteps as we made our way to the second elevator. The receptionist wore masses of blonde hair piled on her head and greeted us with a tired smile behind her oversized half-moon desk. Her eyes darted between Cameron and me, observing the arm span length of space between us, taking in my frame larger than her svelte one, and she couldn’t quite hide her judgemental expression.
When the elevator chimed and opened I felt his hand on the small of my back, guiding me, burning through my clothes. I clutched my ratty shoulder bag closer and refused to send the receptionist a nasty look over my shoulder. Hah! I’m the one going to Cameron Campbell’s apartment, and you’re stuck on night duty!
I tried telling myself I wasn’t a bitch.
Cameron punched in the top number and out of the corner of my eye I watched him take a step closer to me. I ached with longing and wanted nothing more than for him to take me in his arms, or maybe push me against the wall and crush me with his larger body as he kissed me. Friends, I repeated to myself, concentrating on keeping my breathing even. He wants a friend from back home.
The elevator doors opened onto a small entry way. Cameron unlocked his door and stepped back to reveal his apartment. I gazed in wonder as I stepped over the threshold. It was a broad well lit and tastefully decorated entryway with several brightly coloured works of art in basic black frames, a staircase split off in two directions before us and another room on the left.
“Bedroom, kitchen, living room,” he said, pointing at each in turn. “The bathroom is through the bedroom, if you need it.” He led me to the living room and flipped on a light. A soft warm glow filled the stylishly and masculine decorated room – a black leather couch with matching twin recliners in front of a mega-broad flat screen TV, bookshelves bursting with books, a burgundy pool table, a black baby grand piano shining in the light.
“Take a seat. What would you like to drink? I have some Dom Peringon, some Cab Sav, whiskey? Beer?”
“Orange juice?” I squeaked. I felt terribly unsexy. What grown woman turns down alcohol when in a famous actor’s apartment?
He smiled at me in understanding. “Of course.”
As he left I slid onto the couch and let my bag fall to the floor. I considered taking my shoes off but figured it wasn’t polite on the first… whatever this was. Certainly not a date. What kind of a guy brings a girl straight to his apartment for a date?
A guy just like Cameron Campbell.
It’s not a date, I told myself sternly. You’re just hanging out after a long day at work.
Soon he was back with two tall glasses of orange juice. I took mine, careful to avoid brushing his fingers, and nervously sipped it. Would he sit next to me on the couch or take one of the recliners further away? What would it mean if he did either?
He brandished his phone at me. “I’m just gonna make a call about getting my car seen to tomorrow and getting a rental.”
I can pick you up tomorrow! The words nearly jumped out of my mouth but I stuffed them back in. I didn’t want to appear desperate for his company. As he left the room my brain finally put two and two together: it’s not a date because he’s not expecting you to spend the night. He’s organising a rental car. He’s not
into you, he just wants a friend. Why would Cameron Campbell want to sleep with a chubby girl when he could have any girl he wanted?
I steeled my resolve. ‘Friend’ I could do. If I kept my hands to myself and didn’t think about what was under his black pullover, that gorgeous golden skin I ached to run my fingers over; didn’t think about the way he leaned across me in the car; didn’t think about being alone in his apartment with a judgemental blonde down in the lobby.
Didn’t think about his reputation for sleeping with anything and anyone he crossed paths with, because it most certainly wasn’t going to happen to me.
Chapter Five
By the time he returned I’d kicked off my shoes and curled them under me, prepared to play the friend. He slid onto the sofa next to me and tossed his phone on the mahogany coffee table.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” I assured him. I still held my drink because I didn’t want to fidget. I avoided looking at him because he sat only a few feet away, and it would be nothing to launch myself across the sofa at him and plaster my body against his. I tried to squash the aching deep in my core.
He leaned back, relaxing against the leather, and I ignored the feeling of his eyes all over me, burning me up. “So… why’d you leave Australia?”
I took a sip. “You first.”
“Opportunity. My agent got me a TV job. I wanted to expand my horizons, do more theatre, maybe get into films. The average theatre run in Australia lasts a matter of weeks, not months. The few film roles available are ultra-competitive, and the only way I can make a living is by getting a main cast role in a soap.” He stopped to take a drink. “Not that there’s anything wrong with soaps. But I want more than what Australia had to offer. So I moved. Now you.”
The abrupt change threw me and I darted a look at his intense blue eyes. I took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “I’m an orphan. My mum died of cancer when I was ten and my dad died of heart failure when I was sixteen. I don’t really have any family or anything holding me to one place. I graduated from college and because I couldn’t afford to go to university full-time, I figured I’d start working… and then I figured if I was going to work for the rest of my life it might as well not be in the same place that makes me think of my parents every day. It might as well be something I enjoy doing. So I moved over and got a temp job in an office before John hired me as his assistant.”
“I’m so sorry about your parents,” he said, casting his glass aside and scooting up the couch to rest his forearm on my thigh. Warmth blossomed from his touch. “That must have been awful.”
I nodded, concentrating on keeping my breathing even. “I miss them every day. Do you get to see your family a lot?”
He shrugged. “Not really. I Skype them every now and then. I’ve got a younger brother who’s in year twelve at the moment. He says he wants to come to London after he’s graduated but I think he just misses me. My folks were farmers before I started making enough money to help them out. They managed to sell the farm at a decent price and live in Sydney now, semi-retired. The pound is good against the dollar, but then you’d already know that.”
I nodded. He tilted his head to one side and hesitated before his next question. “Have you seen me in anything before? Acting, I mean?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “I saw you in some of the kid’s shows when I was younger, and I know you were in some other TV shows back home, but I didn’t watch them.”
A bashful smile played across his lips and he started tapping my leg in a staccato rhythm with his index and middle finger. “Now will you tell me why you lied to John about your car?”
My breath hitched. “I just didn’t want to be driving in London during rush hour. You know how it is.”
Tap tap tap. “That’s all there is to it?”
I didn’t want to lie, so I kept my mouth shut.
“Because when I heard what you said, I thought maybe you didn’t want to come and pick me up. Like maybe I’d done something to offend you.”
My heart started racing as his fingers stroked my leg. “No,” I managed to say.
“Because I haven’t talked to you before today.”
“No,” I told him, avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t want to take my car because I was embarrassed it was a junk heap, and I didn’t want to pick you up because… well…” I took a deep breath and threw caution to the wind. “You’re gorgeous, and you make me nervous just by being around, and you’re driving me crazy right now and you don’t even know it.”
His hand flattened against my thigh and he drew in a shuddering breath. “I do.”
“You do… what?”
He took my hand. I nearly jumped out of my skin. If he moved towards me would I turn towards him? Would I let him kiss me? Would I let him sneak in between my knees and press me into the couch as he kissed me breathless, grinding into me?
He squeezed my fingers. “I know I’m driving you crazy. I can read your body language. You’re trying to hide it, but I can tell.”
I tried to pull my hand back but he held tighter and lifted his other hand to join the grasp, smoothing over the back of my hand. The sensation sent thrills spiralling up my arms and a delicious clutching sensation deep in my groin.
“That’s not fair,” I said, breathless. “You’re not affected in the same way. Let go.”
“I am,” he insisted, and he pulled my hand forward so it strayed across his granite abs, down his trousers and to the bulging front of his crotch. I snatched my hand back and launched to my feet. No, I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to… damn him for being so irresistible! Where did I put my shoes?
“Tori?”
I ignored him and jammed my feet into my sneakers. I could re-tie the laces later, once I was out of this suddenly stifling apartment.
“Tori, what’s wrong?”
I snatched up my bag and headed for the door. He grasped my elbow and I whirled around to face him. “Don’t touch me!”
He held his hands up in a calming motion as his eyes searched my own, but he moved his big body between me and the only exit. “It’s okay, I won’t… Tori, I won’t hurt you. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. Just calm down and sit down with me. Finish your drink. I won’t do that again. I’m sorry.”
I stared at him. He really was gorgeous, and despite that, wouldn’t it be nice to at least be friends? I could increase my measly friend count by one. And if he wanted to sleep with me, and it was looking like he did, then I didn’t have to. I could make demands of my own. A player like Cameron had to settle down sometime, right? Maybe I was the someone he’d settle for. Maybe he’d date me, if he got to know me better.
A girl could dream.
“I’m sorry,” I said, lowering my bag from where I’d held it in front of me like a shield. “It’s not personal. Just… don’t do that again. I can’t, I’m sorry.”
“Felt pretty personal from where I was,” I heard him mutter as we both sat back on the couch, as far apart as it would let us be. I drank my orange juice.
“Do you have a boyfriend or something?” he said after a minute.
“No.”
“Do you just not want to sleep with me?” he said a moment later, avoiding my gaze and fidgeting with his phone, twirling it between his hands. Hands that I desperately wanted back on me, but not if I was going to be just another girl in his long list of conquests.
“Can we not do this?” I said, my voice squeaking. “Can’t we just have a nice evening together – as friends?”
He nodded, set his phone back down, and leant back against the sofa. “I can try. I don’t have many female friends… I don’t really know how to treat girls. I’d be a shitty friend, I think.”
I raise my glass towards him. “Here’s to new beginnings, then.”
“To friends,” he added. We clinked and I drained the last of the juice. He took a deep breath and I inwardly steeled myself. “It’s just that Juliet said you were crazy
about me.”
My face reddened and my stomach sank. I didn’t want him to think I was playing hard to get because I never expected him to notice me, let alone want me. “Even if I am, that doesn’t mean I’m going to drop everything to sleep with you, no matter how gorgeous you are.”
He smiled. “I admire your resolve.”
Oh, it’s more than that. “I’m going to kill Juliet.”
“Don’t.” He moved to place a hand on my leg again, but thought better of it. “She only wants what’s best for me. For both of us.”
I stood up and moved away from him, towards the piano, giving myself space to think, to breathe. “I’m not easy prey,” I said over my shoulder, dropping a finger on the keys. The notes rang through the room, clear and sweet.
“I don’t want you because I think you’re easy.”
“Then why do you? Why me, when you could have any of the hundreds of gorgeous starlets willing to walk the red carpets with you, or any of the girls standing in line for hours in the freezing cold just to get a signature or a selfie?”
He stood up and followed me as I trailed towards the pool table, keeping it between us. The more distance I had the clearer I could think. The less I thought about how easy it could be to tumble in to bed with him, if I was a regular person and not plagued by my own insecurities and secrets.
“Because I don’t want them.”
“Yes, but why not?”
He cracked a sardonic smile as he placed his hands palm down on the table and leaned over. “I’m not sure if I should be offended at your insinuations.”
I sighed, turned my back on him and leaned against the table. “I know your reputation, Cameron Campbell.”
“You think I shouldn’t be interested because you’re neither famous nor a fan?”
“Because I’m fat,” I mumbled.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He moved swiftly, planting himself in front of me, forcing me to look him in the eye. “I think you’re beautiful.”
My heart thundered so painfully in my chest I thought it was trying to escape. It would be so easy to lean forward and press my mouth against those irresistible lips.
