Page 30

To give the appropriate pause, thinking time she called it with her sister, Fontana took a cracker, a sliver of cheese before replying.

Chewing, she said, “Your career is based on capturing beauty. You have this amazing talent, you see it first, I guess. Diamonds in the rough, all over the world.” She swallowed.

Another thinking pause. “You can’t see it here? ”

He gazed at her over the rim of his cup, pressing it teasingly against his bottom lip.

Rotating the book her way, he nodded to the page.

“Star trail. Nepal,” he said, taking a relaxed sip.

“Takes hours to get the motion of the stars, an incredibly long exposure. I might show this to the kids in class. Helps you see how much timing matter. Like it does in life.”

“Such exotic places. Such adventure.” She took her own relaxed sip, even as her heartbeat tripped. No guts, no glory . “But no people.”

Campbell slapped his cup down and came to his feet.

He grabbed his camera by the strap and strode to the set of windows gracing the far wall.

“Hitting all the high notes tonight, Quinn.” Lifting the camera, he adjusted the settings, backed up, then in, pressing the shutter half a dozen times.

Crisp cotton stretched across his muscled back, faded denim doing astonishing things for his ass.

The hole at his hip called to her, she swore it did.

He clicked the shutter, humming, something she noticed he did when he didn’t want to speak.

After a charged silence she didn’t attempt to break, he turned, his face wrapped tighter than one of his birthday gifts, dark hair hanging over his eyes, partly shielding his expression.

“When I thought Celia was close to giving me custody of Kit, my cousin Justin and I drew up plans for this place—Promise Cotton. Condos, workspace, retail. I was going to keep the rent as low as I could, do all the photography, manage the design. Good for my family, good for the town. Good for me , not having this place decay, losing money every second. A pretty novel concept, if I do say so myself. Not being done many places. Yet .”

He glanced down at his camera, made a few more adjustments, then the shutter clicked. Moving in a slow circle, he took more shots, the process calming him, she could see. Because it was probably too dark for anything to come out.

“My cousins and I are the perfect team. Justin’s an architect with vast experience in restoration, and for some Godawful reason, he keeps dancing around moving home.

Ransom’s a builder, always wanted to get his hands on this place, even if he’s managing the project from his office in New York.

Dallas is a journalist—war correspondent, he calls it.

Right now, he’s in the middle of some conflict, getting his ass blown off—another worry—but he was in as an investor.

Promised to write all the marketing copy, too. That sorta thing.”

“Ransom, Dallas? Tell me those are nicknames.”

Campbell sputtered a laugh, looking like the sound had surprised him.

“Dallas’ mom loved The Outsiders. ” He shrugged a broad shoulder, cotton molding to muscle in a way he couldn’t possibly know lit her up inside like a match put to kindling.

“She and my uncle were never married. Their affair was a bit of a scandal, and then, when he was twelve, Dallas showed up on our doorstep. Long story. His mom was a headcase—what can I say? The only type of parent the True boys seem to get. Though, if you ask me, the name fits the hazardous lifestyle he keeps. Remember what happened to Dallas in the book?”

“And Ransom?”

“That one is a story,” he said, grinning, his dimples cutting into his cheeks.

He had an amazingly unaffected smile when he let it have free rein.

“William—everyone called him Will back then. Anyway, we helped him compose this ransom note when he was like, eight, so I was nine, I guess. Cut out letters from a magazine. It was pretty simple. Imagine elementary school vocabulary here. The basics: he’d been taken and was never coming back. ”

He lifted his camera, adjusting the settings with an absent touch, the motion second nature.

“Then Will, aka Ransom, went and hid in the field behind the old barn with enough Twinkies to last a week. His mom found the note, called his dad, and made him come home from wherever it was he always ran off to. Hell, maybe with Dallas’ mom.

In very short order, the cops were involved.

The mayor. We were a prominent family, you know?

Jesus , imagine that.” He huffed a laugh.

“Well, my father got his hands on me, wasn’t too nice, and the gig was up.

Much to William Edward True’s dismay, he’s been Ransom ever since.

At least below the Mason-Dixon.” Campbell shrugged, smiling softly.

“I can’t vouch for what they call him in New York. ”

“You love them,” she whispered. “I can hear it in your voice.”

He flicked the comment away, like his relationship with his family was lost…or forgotten.

“What happened to the plan? Promise Cotton?” she whispered, afraid she already knew.

He returned to the wall of windows and placed his hand against a glass pane, fingers spread. Did he ever talk to anyone about his past? From his reaction, she guessed he didn’t.

“This place was supposed to bring my family together, and that includes Kit. My asinine inheritance used for something good. I like to think my mother would have approved.”

“Come on.” Fontana didn’t think tender was the right approach with a man who looked this tortured. “Spill.”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. Tapped his camera lens against his hip, debating. His gaze darted to her, golden eyes wide in a pale face. “I don’t want to tell you anything that’ll change your mind about me. Go with your gut. It’s correct.”

Pressing her knuckles to the floor, she pushed up onto her knees. “I’m sorry for the things?—”

“ Stop ,” Campbell said, waving her off. “Just stop.”

He paced the room, lifted his camera, looked through the viewfinder at least ten times.

The current between them was shifting, like sands through a narrow inlet—base attraction deepening into something more.

Low tide to high, treacherous enough to pull you under, sweep you away.

Every story he told revealed more of his soul.

Every word, and she understood him better. Liked him more.

She felt raw and bet he did, too.

It was disconcerting, frightening, exhilarating.

With a sigh, he threw himself down beside her—closer than before, but not close enough to touch. She didn’t try to stop him when he grabbed the wine and drank straight from the bottle.

“The looks started when I was fifteen. The comments, maybe a year later. I almost thought I’d imagined it until she started talking.”

Fontana held out her cup and he poured. Her hand trembled, but she got it to her lips without missing a beat. “Celia?”

Campbell’s gaze cut through her, sharp enough to injure. He took another drink, his throat working. “Who else?” She shivered, and he leaned in, brow creasing. “Are you cold? I forgot my jacket. Drafty damned place.”

“No,” she whispered. “No, I’m angry . How old was she?”

He rolled to his side, propped an elbow on the floor, and dropped his chin into his hand. Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, he gave it some thought. “I guess about twenty-five then.”

“Cam, that’s horrible. You were just a boy.”

He stilled, his gaze meeting hers.

Cam .

She’d called him Cam .

Color swept his cheeks—one of those adorable blushes—and he blinked before shaking himself out of it, lifting the bottle to his mouth.

“I was ashamed to be affected, even a little, by someone I despised. God , I hated her. And the older I got, the worse she got. The demands, the lies, the innuendos. Until leaving was the only option. I couldn’t stay and make this—Promise—work. For Kit’s sake, if nothing else.”

Seconds ticked by, the wind striking the windowpanes the only sound. Until he whispered, “As it was, my father went to his grave believing the worst.”

The sympathy on her face must have been too much for her new friend to accept.

So he reverted to the man he understood best.

Placing the wine bottle out of reach, Campbell leaned in to cradle Fontana’s face, pulling her close.

His lids fluttered as his hand slid into her hair, his fingers quivering against her scalp, as if he’d been keeping himself from touching her.

“I could kiss you and send the past right where it belongs, into the past. If you’ll let me, I’ll make it all go away.

Fuck you until we see stars and not just through a glass ceiling. ”

Fontana’s breath faltered. She should have said something, but words felt impossible with his fingers threading through her hair, his voice scraping over her skin.

“The way you look at me…” His sigh whispered across her cheek. His eyes were gilded pools, the amber edges glowing, drawing her into a circle of fire, into his orbit. “If you knew how often I’ve thought of you. That night was awe-inspiring. The most extraordinary of my life.”

Fontana wanted to invite him in, take the easy road. The wildly pleasurable road. Because it had been the most extraordinary night of her life, too.

But she wanted to help him more.

Which plunged them both into dangerous territory neither was ready to face.

Helpless, her finger found the hole in his jeans, slipping inside with a little wiggle. “Friend, not lover. Remember?” Although her touch said the opposite. She wasn’t that strong.

His lips brushed hers, lingering, then he groaned and rolled onto his back. “I remember.”

“There’s more. To this story.”

“Yeah, sure. Isn’t there always?” He threw an arm over his eyes, and she felt him slipping away. “How about we make a deal? You tell me who hurt you, I’ll tell you why I don’t photograph people.”

She traced the scar on his finger, a remnant from the famous baseball incident , refusing to bite. Campbell pushed people away with ugly statements. She knew that now. But she didn’t dislike him nearly enough to be ugly back. “Not now, Atlanta. But someday, I will.”

He lifted his elbow just enough to see her. His white-hot gaze melted her courage, and she drew her hand back. “Good idea. Because I can’t handle you touching me right now.”

His arm dropped, shading his eyes. “By the way, I called Kit once a week, sent anything he needed. Never missed Christmas, a birthday. No matter where I was, the kid knew I loved him. Or I thought he did. But I messed up somehow. He needed more than fucking phone calls and a brother trying to make peace.”

Her breath left her in a rush. “I didn’t know.”

He grunted, nothing more to share.

Fontana rolled onto her back beside him, not touching, as he’d asked. Despite their night together, she didn’t know Campbell True at all. And he didn’t know her.

But she knew herself .

A complicated woman who liked to fix things falling for a complicated guy who needing fixing.