Page 39

chapter

nineteen

Under the Bridge – Red Hot Chili Peppers

FONTANA

The woman was smoky cool, if Fontana had to describe her.

Standing in the Rise’s drive, watching the stunning couple on the veranda talk, sifting through a tangle of emotions for the one that would get her through this, she supposed she did.

‘Nothing Special’ had arrived—and she was so Campbell’s type.

Leggy blonde, artifice aplenty. The convertible Mustang parked out front had to be hers.

The smile she gave Campbell—tipped at one corner, like the past held so many delicacies she wasn’t sure which one to select—tumbled through Fontana like a pebble down a barren well.

Almost as tall as he was, her delicately rounded chin hit him right at Adam’s apple level.

A sensitive area Fontana had kissed, bitten, and sucked as he’d thrust inside her last night beneath a sky bleeding stars, his moan vibrating through her lips and down her throat.

She had little rationale for the possessive greed churning through her.

Foolish girl .

Just because they’d spent the past two weeks climbing in and out of each other’s beds. The gazebo. The loft in the old barn. The mill, on a blanket spread beneath a glass roof he seemed to love as much as she did.

What did days of sexual bliss really mean to a man like him?

It was her problem, her fault, if she’d let thoughts of where this was going—or could go—lead her down a garden path.

Sex wasn’t the snag, either.

It was the movies with Kit and Luca, candlelit dinners across her shaky kitchen table, going to the shelter with the boys to adopt a dog, walking the fields with him and debating what crop could go where, what the soil might need to make that happen.

It was Campbell taking her hand, so sweet and simple a gesture she couldn’t help but lose her heart and part of her mind.

As she crossed the yard, because it was too late to slink away, Fontana slipped off her hairband, letting the strands trail over her shoulders and fall into her face. Campbell liked it down, he liked it tangled, he liked it sweaty, and she needed all the fortification she could get.

She was a mess, unprepared for lover-to-lover presentations—her jeans smeared with dirt, blood on her shirt from a stubborn rosebush. Naturally beautiful, my ass.

Closing in on the house, she viewed the couple as if they were a romcom running in slow motion, finding nothing heartwarming about it.

Her, leaning into him, a flower bending toward sunlight.

Both of them smiling. Nothing obscene or obvious.

They weren’t touching, but there was a closeness, a familiarity no meager space between them could erase.

This would be his world when he left. Beautiful women and meaningless charm.

She was almost upon them and feeling like she had a grip, was prepared, doing A-okay. Then ‘Nothing Special’ plucked the toothpick from between Campbell’s lips and slipped it between her own. A sly grin followed to hold it in place.

And for the first time in her life—over an idiot man —Fontana’s vision flooded crimson.

CAMPBELL

One look at her, and Campbell knew he was fucked.

Marching down the pebbled path that snaked through winter-dead grass, her hideous combat boots kicked up dust like a car barreling down a dirt lane.

Oh , she looked incredible, hot and a little undone.

Like she had after two hours of ferocious sex on the bed of his truck last night, beneath a sky he could have yanked a thousand stars from.

Memories of the last two weeks crashed over him like a strong tide, his body kicking into gear as he shifted from one foot to the other.

His dick was set on embarrassing him—not playing nice at all.

Damn, did she tear him up. And damn, did he have it bad .

He was pretty sure he was in love with a woman who looked like she wanted to kick his ass from here to her cottage across the field.

“Yikes, she looks mad.”

Campbell sighed and slid a pained glance Jessica’s way, momentarily forgetting she was there, observing the entire production.

Flawless hair, flawless clothes, flawless teeth.

Nothing he wanted , but packaged perfectly enough to set any woman off.

“I’m happy to see you, Jess, but frankly, your timing sucks. ”

It was the toothpick. Somehow, he just knew it was the damn toothpick.

How could he argue with Fontana’s jealousy when he’d blown a gasket after Henry called her last week? The second she hung up, he made her say his name as he took her against the kitchen wall like they had moments left to live, to breathe.

Like he was losing it.

Which, he supposed, he was.

The clock was ticking, and it was starting to make him crazy.

Jessica looked at him closely before stepping back, out of reach. His expression must have said, I’m in big trouble . “So, this is why you haven’t returned my calls. Gorgeous, dirty girl in Jeep.”

“No. Maybe.” He cursed under his breath. “ Yes .”

Jessica laughed, a husky sound he prayed to God didn’t travel.

“What’s up?” he asked when Fontana reached them.

What’s up? What was he, in high school?

Her eyes sparked, the tiny gold pinpricks at the outer edges glittering. A delicate gust carried the scent of honeysuckle his way, scrambling his plan to escape this confrontation unscathed. “Oh, you know, nothing special . ”

He exhaled, raking his fingers through his hair. Yep. Mad as hell .

Jessica chose that moment to step into the fray, because women, after all, were sadistic creatures. “Jessica Waters,” she said, thrusting out a hand, “a friend of Campbell’s.”

Fontana’s expression was as pointed as barbed wire when it swung away from him. “Fontana Quinn. Campbell’s…tenant.”

Tenant ? he mouthed to her.

The conversation between the women was brief and almost painless.

As he’d told Fontana more than once, Jessica wasn’t in this for a fight.

She cared more about her nude pumps than she did about him.

Excusing herself to find Dix—who’d thought it was a good idea to invite an Atlanta gallery owner to Promise in the first place, the jerk—she left them standing in awkward silence.

They stared for a full minute, locked in battle, the silence so charged he was afraid it would shatter the afternoon into a million pieces. Two stubborn fools did not make for an easy relationship.

“Are you testing yourself, Cam? Is that it?”

Not about to go there, he wedged his shoulder against the column, crossing one boot over the other in a move he hoped looked relaxed, even as his stomach knotted. “Does this seem like a test?”

She pressed her lips together and looked toward the cottage; her cottage, he’d come to think of it. No longer his mother’s studio, and there was some peace in that.

A lot of peace in that.

When her gaze traveled back to him, it was filled with hard purpose, and a sizzle of dread curled in his belly.

“I’m not suited to your world. Maybe my dreams are simple, but Promise is enough for me.

Landscaping, the children’s center, Jaime, Hannah.

Your dreams are larger than life. Grand.

I respect that, I do. And you need”—she gestured to the house, to Jessica—“well, not me. I can’t be someone I’m not.

I refuse to after finally finding myself again.

And I guess, if I’m honest, in the bargain only accepting a small part of you. ”

He shoved off the cool marble so swiftly she took a stumbling step back. “Who said anything about the part you own being small ?”

“So I own something, do I?” She stalked him, closing the space until their knees brushed, until her gaze crisped his blood and his thoughts.

The urge to kiss her gripped him but he forced it back.

Dragging her to his bedroom wasn’t going to repair the foundation crumbling beneath them.

“Are you leaving? Taking Kit and John Nelson with you? I know I’m insane because I keep asking the same damn question . ”

Swallowing, he pressed his back against the column, suddenly craving distance. “Fon?—”

She cut him off. “You are. No change in plans.”

She was grinding him down, smoothing his rough edges, uncovering things he didn’t want exposed. Getting angry wasn’t going to help him think clearly, but the emotion pulsed beneath his skin. Hot and getting hotter.

He was so fucking distracted lately, trying to imagine what life would be like without her—what he had to give up to keep her.

What he wanted versus what he needed . How to quit running when running was all he knew.

How to take care of everyone and keep the balls in the air.

“Can you slow down a sec, Hellcat? I want to talk to you, but you’re pissed off, and I’m getting there pretty quickly myself. ”

“I know why you want to sell me the art studio. Soothing of the soul, less guilt when you leave.” Her lips parted like she might say more, but instead, she bit the inside of her cheek and squared her shoulders.

“Congratulations, I’ve decided to accept your offer.

Because I love the house, and the land, and if you’re going to flush your heritage down the toilet anyway, I want it.

It’s my home, and I suppose that’s more than you can say about anything. ”

“ Fon ,” he whispered, trying to draw her out of this.

She lifted her chin, eyes flashing. “Go. Run . Back to ‘Nothing Special’. And the next. And so on.”

Campbell grasped her shoulders and shook her, gently, but with fury driving it. Her hair fluttered, bringing to mind the mahogany spill over his sheets, his skin. “You don’t understand what I’d have to give up, goddammit. What’d I have to allow back in!”

Yanking her hair from her eyes, Fontana caught his gaze. He expected to see fear. After what her father had done to her, how could he touch her like this and get anything else?

His stomach sank. He was pushing her away, feet at a time, and he knew it.

Yet, it wasn’t panic hardening her features, it was courage.

“What you’d have to give up?” She frowned, and he saw the moment understanding hit, a realization he feared he’d led her to.

“A relationship is only as good as what you put into it. And you’re not sure this one is worth it.

” She crossed her arms over her chest, a defensive move that lifted her breasts.

And because he was weak, his mind went straight to her nipples.

How much he loved them, how he was working himself into a corner where she’d never let him touch them again. “Interesting.”

“You’re mixing this?—”

“No, Campbell, I’m actually quite clear. The pieces are falling solidly into place. Don’t ruin everything by pushing us where we can’t go.”

He didn’t need anyone telling him how he’d fucked up his life. Wasted opportunities, ruined a good thing. Taken the wrong path. Blown his natural talent to bits. His father had gone there, over and over, until practically the day he died.

If Fontana Quinn had had enough of him—if she didn’t understand what this place meant to him, how hard it was to think about losing it, losing her— fine . Fine and goddamn dandy. But he grabbed her wrist, his heart pulling her closer even as his temper pushed her away.

See, the thing is, I’m in love with you.

And I’ll tell you as soon as I figure out how.

“Campbell!”

Startled, he turned to see Luca racing across the yard, his foster mom’s rusted Bronco already backing down the drive.

She never hung around long enough to ask questions or get answers when he was doing a sleepover, about dinner, homework, bedtime.

Like a decent parent would. Bugged the shit out of Campbell, the way nothing connected to the boy seemed to matter to her, but he had little experience as a parent and was scrambling every day to make it work with Kit.

So who was he to judge?

But he judged just the same.

Fontana shook off his hold and was down the stairs like a shot.

He was about to go after her when she huffed a breath, cut a scathing glance over her shoulder, and let her words forge a divide as wide as the Grand Canyon between them.

“Forget everything else. Your home, your family. Forget me. But what are you going to tell that lonely boy, already attached to you, when you leave?”

He sank to the top step, watched her climb into her Jeep and peel away without a backward glance. Wind ripped across the field, filling him with the smell and taste of this place—harsh sensory punishment he didn’t need.

What was he going to tell Luca?

Shit, what was he going to tell himself?