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Rubbing his eyes, he gazed up at her. If she were foolish, his stunned expression might have tugged at her heartstrings. “ Is this some kind of foreplay”—he untangled his camera from the twisted strap—“I haven’t heard about?”

“Like there’s any foreplay you haven’t heard about.”

Laughing, he rose, plucking bits of straw from his jeans and shooting her pointed looks in between. “Did I get it all?” he asked, presenting his amazing ass, and a depraved smile.

An image of his lips circling her nipple, tugging and sucking hard, flashed through her mind. Disgusted with herself—and him, the arrogant bastard—she headed for the house and a lock against temptation.

A flimsy lock, but a lock nonetheless.

“You’re insulted,” he said, falling in beside her.

“Good deduction, Einstein.”

He muttered an oath as he stepped on something sharp and hopped on one foot for two strides. “I phrased it poorly. Or brought it up at the wrong time. I’m not even sure exactly what I said, to tell the truth. I’m turned inside out when I’m near you, goddammit.”

She halted, cautious but hopeful. Apparently, her optimism wasn’t completely doused. “You mean you didn’t just ask me to agree with you about moving Kit and John Nelson to Atlanta? To act like I think it’s for the best?”

Campbell’s lids lowered as he fiddled with his camera, popping the lens cap on and off. Somewhere along the way, his usually probing gaze drifted.

“I get it. You want my stamp of approval. One negative word from me and, you're right, he’ll start to doubt. And a doubting eleven-year-old is the last thing you need, isn’t it?

” She grappled with the screen door, letting it slap against the wall as she strode into the kitchen.

“You want my agreement? Okay, fine. I’ll tell you what you have to do to get it. ”

“Why do I feel like I’m about to take a blow to the solar plexus?” Campbell muttered, following closely behind.

“Kit has a Christmas play he’s excited about.

He’s hoping to get the part of one of the Wise Men.

There’s fall baseball to finish and a construction class at the center with Henry he wants to take.

” Entering her bedroom, Fontana avoided looking at the bed they’d destroyed in their passion.

Too bad she couldn’t do anything about the smell of sex lingering like an old song she didn’t want to hear—one that stirred up too many memories, both maddening and addictive.

“Go on, I’m listening,” he said, lingering hesitantly in her doorway.

“You stay in Promise through the holidays. Agree to teach a photography class at the center. Too much free time for these kids creates trouble. Hold off on selling the studio. Sign the papers if you have to but tell the buyers they can’t take possession until January.

” Turning her back on him, she yanked off his T-shirt, wadded it into a ball, and threw it at him.

“Sounds like a shitty deal. What do I get in return?”

“In return? You get a glorified cheerleader, that’s what.”

“Blackmail becomes you.” His words were muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. “Very sexy.”

She struggled into a sweatshirt. It was foolish to be so desperate to cover up when he’d seen, tasted , everything she had to offer. “I guess I learned more than I expected to last night. Should I thank you now or later?”

The silence crackled like a live current, and Fontana squashed the tremor of panic. She hadn’t pushed a man this far since that last argument with her father.

And her back was turned.

However, even if she struggled to understand Campbell’s confusing approach to Kit and his rather dismissive view of relationships, he wasn’t a violent man. Compassion was there—buried beneath layers his parents had painted over, again and again, with a broad brush.

Finally, he sighed, the floorboard creaking beneath him as he rocked back on his heels. “And if I refuse? ”

“Then I guess I’m honest with Kit.” Tears pricked her eyes, and she swallowed them down. She would never follow through, never do anything to hurt Kit. Or the man filling her bedroom with his overwhelming presence, a man she suspected had been hurt enough for one lifetime.

But Kit needed time to readjust, and she needed time to find a new home.

Campbell True was going to give them both.

She heard him searching frantically. “Your wallet’s under the orange pillow with the pink braid.”

The pillow bounced off her leg, another off the wall.

“I underestimated you, Hellcat, but I won’t make that mistake again.

To think I actually believed there was one woman in the world without an angle.

I must be getting soft in my old age.” His belt buckle clinked as he fastened it.

“Regardless, to show good faith, I’ll teach the class.

I’ll even throw in the rent for this place for the rest of your time here.

But every leaf, every goddamned groovy knickknack, every frilly rag rug better be out by January first.”

Fontana turned, clutching a pillow protectively to her chest. Campbell stood in profile, his face devoid of emotion. When his eyes met hers, they glimmered, the space between them bellowing like an angry sea.

“I won’t accept your money,” she whispered. Even if I need it badly . “Not after this.”

“Fine, take the high road.”

Then he was gone and, like always, she was left questioning how she could have handled a situation better. She’d bought herself time. Bought Kit time. But she’d hurt everyone in the process.

Knees buckling, Fontana slid down the wall. Face mashed into the pillow, she registered the sound of a ticking clock, a bird chirping outside her window, the slam of her front door .

A steady inhalation held to a count of seven. Release. Repeat.

The dizziness would pass. The nausea, too. This exercise had served her well in childhood, hiding in a darkened closet. Only, her father wasn’t looking for her with liquor on his breath and bible scriptures on his tongue.

This time her fear stemmed from wondering if she’d let someone wonderful walk away.