Page 19

CHAPTER 18

Exhausted from the long flight home from Colombia, Jeeves felt the weight of the journey settle upon him. The trip had been long and tiring, but he managed to accomplish everything he set out to do, leaving him feeling drained but satisfied. The phone conversation he had with Sutton and Tin Man just before he boarded his flight was intensely emotional, leaving him feeling spent.

She’d cried. Then laughed. Then cried some more. For her, the three-years of waiting for closure had finally ended. But for him, until he found Valeria, closure remained far out of reach.

Even with the weight of exhaustion pulling at him, he still stopped by the office to report to Flint. The Colombian government had expressed their disappointment at not having El Sombra in their custody, but couldn’t fault the fact that the leader who’d brought such terror to their country was dead. The years of violence and fear he’d inflicted on the nation had come to an end. And yet, Jeeves knew there would always be someone to take his place. But that was a problem for another day.

After dropping off his gear in the equipment room, showering in the locker room, and talking with Haley for a few minutes, he climbed into his truck, intending to head home. He did not head in the direction of home; rather, he chose a different direction. He drove instead into town. To the bakery. And the woman who lived above it.

As soon as she opened the door, her eyes locked with his, wide and brimming with something that looked a lot like relief—but deeper. More raw. Like she’d been holding her breath since he left. The vibrant yellow sundress, with its cap sleeves subtly framing her delicate shoulders, hugged her curves, enhancing and highlighting her already stunning beauty. A tantalizing glimpse of leg, where the dress’s hemline danced at her thighs, ignited in him an overwhelming desire to run his hands beneath. The soft skin beneath seemed to call to his fingertips. Her hair fell in soft caramel waves around her shoulders. It was debatable which called to his fingers more: her skin for her hair. A deep desire to touch both filled him, one promising silk and the other, so much more.

Neither of them said a word. The lights from inside her apartment spilled across her face, catching in the corners of her eyes. She looked beautiful, damn near ethereal. And real. So real.

He didn’t mean to step forward.

Didn’t mean to reach for her.

Didn’t mean to touch her cheek like she might disappear if he blinked.

But he did all of it anyway.

“You’re here,” she said quietly, like she needed to say it to believe it.

Her breath hitched just before he pulled her into him. She fit against his chest like she’d been made for that exact space—like coming home was never about geography, but her.

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, and he could feel how badly she’d missed him in that simple touch. How tightly she held on, like she wasn’t quite sure if this was a dream or not.

He leaned in slowly, giving her every second to pull away. But she didn’t. Her eyes fluttered closed just before their lips met—and then he was gone.

Gone in her.

The kiss wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t about passion, not yet. It was about presence. About all the words they hadn’t said and the fear they hadn’t voiced. About surviving the hard things and finding each other on the other side.

He tilted his forehead against hers when they broke apart, his breath mingling with hers in the quiet night air.

“I missed you,” she whispered.

He smiled, the kind of smile that felt like a vow. “I’m here.” He cupped her cheek, brushing a thumb beneath her eye, wiping away a tear. “I’m here, sprite.” His lips met hers again in a kiss that was quiet at first, reverent. The kiss deepened. There was fire behind it now—days of silence, fear, want—all crashing into this moment.

She tasted like salt and sweet relief. And so incredibly good. Almost too good; the sheer perfection felt unnatural, a tantalizing impossibility.

He almost pulled back. Almost.

But then she made this sound—low, barely a breath—and he was gone.

The kiss evolved, no longer tentative but urgent, hungry. His hands slid into her hair, pulling her closer, like maybe if he held her tight enough, he could keep the rest of the world from creeping in. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, clutching him like she didn’t want to let go.

Neither did he.

Her mouth opened under his, soft and yielding, and the fire between them blazed hotter. Time folded in on itself. There was no before, no after—just her lips, her warmth, the way she melted against him like she’d been waiting for this as long as he had.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her hands slid up into his hair, fingertips trembling. Her eyes searched his, full of questions, but she didn’t ask a single one.

His hands moved to cup her face. He brushed his thumbs across the soft skin of her cheekbones. “I thought about this. About you. Every damn second I was gone.”

“I thought about you too,” she replied, that attractive rosy blush coloring her cheeks. He swiped his thumbs over the hue, feeling the heat from it. With a worried frown, she raked her eyes over him, and then softly asked, “You’re okay?”

He smiled to ease her concern. “I’m good. Just tired.” His stomach chose that moment to lodge a complaint at having been ignored all day. He chuckled. “And hungry.”

“I was just about to make something for dinner,” she said, dropping her hands and stepping back. He was loath to let her go, but he let her take his hand and followed her to the kitchen. The aroma of brewing coffee filled the small space.

Unable to resist the tempting smell of dark, roasted coffee beans, he asked, “Whatcha been brewing?”

“Something new I’m testing out,” she said, while grabbing a mug and filling it from the carafe.

He took the mug from her hands; the coffee was still steaming, the rich aroma curling up into his senses.

One sip, and his brow lifted.

It was bold—darker than he expected, smooth but with a quiet strength behind it. The kind of brew that didn’t just wake you up; it unfolded in you, warm and grounding. There was a hint of something unexpected too—spice, maybe, or peach—something subtle that made his mouth tingle and his curiosity spark.

“This isn’t just coffee,” he murmured, eyes on the mug, then on her. “This is you in a cup.”

She laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “That bad, huh?”

“No,” he said, a slow smile pulling at his lips. “That real . Strong, surprising, and something I want more of.”

He took another sip, watching her over the rim. She looked away first, cheeks pink, but he didn’t miss the smile tugging at her mouth.

He wondered if she knew what kind of magic she was stirring up—with her beans, her brew . . . and the way she made him feel like home was wherever she was standing.

“Okay . . . so . . . dinner,” she finally said, turning toward her refrigerator to begin pulling out ingredients. Before long she had whipped up a hearty bowl of spaghetti and a batch of garlic bread. The mixture of smells from her small kitchen, which included the heavenly aroma of the coffee and the spices from the dinner she was cooking, felt like a warm embrace.

They sat down at her bistro table and started to eat; upon tasting his first bite, a sound of pure enjoyment escaped his lips. Possessing a seemingly endless array of skills and abilities, the woman continually astonished him with her impressive talents. Her cooking was just the tip of the iceberg, he was sure. A burning curiosity consumed him, urging him to uncover everything about her.

The conversation flowed easily between them. He liked listening to her stories nearly as much as kissing her. “Bubbles, huh?” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he pictured her clumsy, giggling attempts at blowing perfect spheres of iridescent soap. “Wish I could have seen that.” Remarkably, he found that statement to be true. He did feel a pang of disappointment he’d missed her attempt.

“I can try it again sometime,” she promised. “Now that Kaia taught me how, I’ll surely succeed.”

“Kaia?”

“Oh. She’s the cutest little red-head. A spitting image of her mom. I met them both in the park. Kaia was gracious enough to point out what I was doing wrong with my bubbles endeavor.”

“Guess we can learn as much from kids as they can learn from us.”

She giggled, a sound that shot straight to his cock. “Too true.”

When they’d both finished their meals, he stood to grab her plate. “Oh, you don’t have to,” she protested.

“You cooked. I clean.”

“Well, alrighty then.” She put away the leftovers as he rinsed and placed the dishes in the dishwasher. When he was finished, he threw the dishrag he’d been using to dry his hands on the counter and grabbed her by the hips before she could squeeze by him out of the kitchen.

She placed her hands on his chest and smiled up at him. “Hi,” she breathed.

“Hi.”

“Something I can do for you?”

A hungry “Oh yeah,” escaped his lips before he swept down and took her lips in a ravenous kiss. She was so tiny in his arms. Almost too tiny. With a move to save his back from further strain, he swept his hands downwards, cradling her ass, and then lifted her. As her legs instinctively encircled his hips, the hem of her dress rose, pressing her core against his aching cock. They both groaned.

Turning swiftly, he set her on the counter while still devouring her mouth. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, quick and fluttering. The tremor in her body was evident as her small fingers dug into the cotton of his T-shirt where her hands had settled on his chest. He felt the trembling in her body. Her small fingers dug into the fabric of his cotton T-shirt. He sensed her nervousness and apprehension so intensely that it was almost as if he were experiencing those feelings himself. It was a tangible energy radiating from her.

She hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features.

It was subtle—just the way her fingers stilled against his chest, how her breath faltered when their eyes met in the quiet hush of the room.

She pulled back just a little. Just enough to look up at him. He sensed something significant was about to happen, a feeling that hung heavy in the air. That pause before a truth.

“I need to tell you something,” she said, her voice soft, uncertain.

He shifted his weight, pulling his hips away from hers a bit, his pulse picking up for reasons he couldn’t name. “Okay.”

She wouldn’t look at him. Instead, she stared at the scant space between them, like she wasn’t sure she could bridge it. Then, with a shaky breath, she said it:

“I’ve never . . . I mean, I haven’t been with anyone before. At all. I’m—” she swallowed, blinking up at him, her eyes shining with raw vulnerability. “I’m a virgin.”

The words landed between them like a delicate thread—fragile, but strong enough to hold something real.

He let them sit for a second, not rushing to respond. The silence stretched only a heartbeat before he reached up, brushing his thumb along her cheekbone. It wasn’t shock that crossed his mind—it was something softer. Respect. Wonder. A deep, quiet protectiveness that had nothing to do with what she had or hadn’t done.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion he hadn’t expected. “Thank you for telling me.” His thumb lingered where her blush had bloomed.

She looked like she might bolt. Her shoulders were tense, jaw tight, like she was waiting for rejection—or worse, pity.

But all he felt was something deeper than want. Respect.

“That doesn’t change how I see you. If anything . . . it just makes me want to go slower. Make sure you feel safe. Always.”

Her lips parted like she might say something, but no words came. Just a breath. A tremble.

He leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to her forehead. “We’ll take it at your pace. No pressure. No expectations.” She nodded, slowly, a tear slipping down her cheek—not out of sadness, he hoped, but release.

And as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple, then another just beside her lips, he realized something. He didn’t just feel desire—he felt honor. The honor of being the one she chose to trust with her firsts.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Cammie.”

“I’m not,” she said, too quickly. But her voice trembled, and the lie sat awkwardly between them.

She hopped off the counter and backed away slowly, tugging him with her. He followed, fingers laced with hers. The hallway to her bedroom felt longer than it was, like every step shifted the air around them, deeper into something neither of them had planned—but neither wanted to stop.

Jeeves followed her, his footsteps quiet against the hardwood. The glow from the kitchen light faded behind them, replaced by the soft amber of the bedside lamp she’d turned on earlier. Cammie hesitated at the door as if gathering courage.

He slowed behind her, waiting until she turned to look at him. Her expression was a storm of uncertainty and want, vulnerability and trust—and it undid him more than anything else ever had.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, careful.

She nodded, barely. “Yeah. I just . . . I’ve never done this before.”

“I know,” he said gently. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“I want to,” she said, surprising them both. Her voice trembled, but her eyes were steady. “Not because I think I have to. Because it’s you.”

Jeeves stepped closer, slowly lifting his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “That means everything.”

He kissed her again—this time slower, deeper. No rush. No pressure. Just the quiet ache of something building between them.

When she stepped deeper into the room, pulling him with her, it wasn’t about sex. It was about closeness. About trust. The first time she let someone in, not just to her space—but to her heart.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He reached out, touching her cheek with reverence. “You don’t have to know. I’m right here.”

When he kissed her, it was slow. Gentle. A promise, not a demand. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt, sliding under to feel the warmth of his skin. He reached behind his neck and grabbed his shirt, pulling it off over his head. The way her eyes widened, and then the sudden darkening of those same eyes, filled with longing, was utterly captivating. It was in that sudden shift from innocent curiosity to a deep, overwhelming want that her true desires were revealed.

She was beautiful.

Not in the overdone, artificial way the world often demanded. But in the way her eyes softened when she looked at him like she wasn’t afraid anymore. In the way her fingers trembled slightly as they touched his chest, then steadied with growing confidence.

Jeeves stood beside the bed for a moment longer, soaking her in—her flushed cheeks, the nervous rise and fall of her chest, the vulnerability in her gaze that made something crack open inside him.

His hands slid over her waist, across her hips, and down her outer thighs until they found the hem of her dress. He paused, giving her space to stop him. When she nodded, he gathered the skirt in his fists, lifting. Helping her out of the delicate material as his fingers brushed against warm skin, and his breath caught in his throat.

She was stunning—all soft curves and newly exposed skin, and she didn’t try to hide. That alone made his chest ache.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough.

“I’m really not,” she whispered back, almost smiling.

“You are to me.”

Her breath hitched, and that was the moment—the shift. Her guard lowered, her hand went behind his neck, and she pulled him down to her.

They moved together slowly, hands learning, mouths exploring. Jeeves kissed down her neck, over her collarbone, savoring every inch. When he reached for the clasp in her bra, he gave her another pause, another choice. She exhaled and nodded. He flicked the clasp open, and she let the lace drop to the floor.

She was shaking slightly. Not from fear, but anticipation. Emotion. Trust.

It made him slow down even more, taking his time, touching her like she was made of glass—and not because she was fragile, but because she mattered.

Small but perky, her tits had rosy nipples that seemed to call out for attention. He obliged, bending to take one firm peak in his mouth. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him close, holding him to her. As if he wanted to be anywhere else. The scent of her filled his senses, that intoxicating mix of peaches and spice. Moving to the other, he gave it equal attention, licking, flicking, nipping. The sounds she made flooded his ears and made his cock rock hard.

Slowly, he dropped to his knees in front of her, his lips moving down her stomach till they reached the top of her panties.

Another pause. Another glance into her eyes, seeking permission.

She bit her lip, but nodded.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled the delicate lace down over her hips, her thighs, her calves, until he helped her step out of them. He took her in. All of her. Bared before him.

Pure perfection. Pure beauty.

And all his.

His gaze moved from the top of her head, down past her swollen lips, her engorged nipples, to the small patch of hair at the apex of her thighs. Trimmed into a neat triangle, it called to him. He threaded his fingers through it, then cupped her mound. The smell of her arousal lingered in the air, enticing and alluring. He wanted more.

Fingers seeking. Searching. Exploring. He dipped between her folds. A searing heat rushed over his fingers, her arousal coating them as he teased her opening.

He had to have a taste. He had to know if she was as spicy sweet as she smelled. His tongue couldn’t be stopped as it swiped through her slit. Her hips jerked, and she cried out, her knees buckling. He paused and helped her sit on the edge of the bed. Pushing her legs open, he quickly dived back in, flicking his tongue over her clit. She fell back on the bed, her hips arching to meet his mouth. A flood of arousal hit his tongue, causing him to groan.

He played. He teased. He nipped. Then he added his fingers. They flirted with her opening. Frolicking through her wetness until she was mindless with pleasure. Then he slipped one finger inside her tight sheath. His cock wept at the tightness, the heat. He kept his mouth on her clit as he pumped his finger in and out of her, keeping her primed and mindless.

Her fingers clutched at the comforter on her bed as her legs went over his shoulders. A groan slipped from him at the feel of her thighs against his face. He kissed one, then the other before sliding a second finger into her, stretching her.

She whimpered. She cried out. She bit her lip. But he didn’t let up. He flicked her clit and pumped his fingers. Harder. Faster. She was arching up to meet him, pushing herself into his mouth. Until she broke with a keening cry and his name on her lips. He lapped at her. At all she was giving him as she slowly returned to earth.

When he finally felt her body relax, he glanced up at her. Her body laid bare before him, her skin flush with the aftereffects of her orgasm, was a stunning sight.

“Oh my God,” she muttered. “I’ve never . . . I never knew . . . was that real?”

As he rose above her, a soft chuckle escaped his lips. On either side of her head, his hands supported his weight as he hovered over her, the mattress yielding slightly under the pressure. He looked down at the beauty underneath him. “You tell me.”

“It was out of this world, so I’m not sure.”

“I aim to please,” he teased.

“I am very well pleased.” Though utterly absurd, the words possessed a peculiar and undeniable rightness, a strange sort of nonsensical perfection.

He kissed her temple, breathing her in. Her skin was warm, her body relaxed, and she gave a small, contented sigh. “You okay?”

She hummed a reply then said, “I just have one thing to say.”

His lips twitched with a smile. “Oh yeah. What’s that?”

“More.”