Page 45

chapter

twenty-two

There She Goes – The La’s

FONTANA

She was nervous.

And annoyed.

And happier than she’d ever been in her life.

Because maybe the man she loved with everything she had, if he’d give her the chance to return the sentiment, wasn’t going to vanish in one of the million ways she’d imagined he would.

Poof , like he’d never been there.

An awkward goodbye in the Rise’s drive while he loaded the black bullet with boxes and Kit, the boy she’d come to love almost as much as she loved his big brother.

A note left on her windshield, this time filled with heartbreak instead of hope.

A phone call—no tantalizing orgasms involved—just sorrow and guilt as he explained why he had to leave Promise.

Leave her.

Instead, he sat next to her, one hand centered on the wheel, the other clutching hers with just enough tension to say he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

The truck’s open window sent dark hair dancing across his brow.

He hadn’t shaved, and she was dying to trail her lips over that incredibly sexy, dense stubble.

Form-fitting cashmere and jeans with a ragged hole at the thigh—one she longed to slip her finger into—made for an intriguing mix.

Elegant grunge, if she had to name it.

He looked like a Greek god, while she was rocking mismatched clothes someone else had picked out for her.

Screw it. No makeup, hair a disaster, outfit completely out of whack, but the way Campbell had looked at her across the truck’s roof before they slid inside? Oh, wow. No woman on Earth could miss that kind of heat. His eyes had gone nearly black with it.

He might be mine .

Fontana patted her belly, a shout-out to the butterflies bumping around inside.

How like a man to drop the love bomb and bolt—even with a demon-eyed nurse breathing down his neck and a rent-a-cop lurking at the end of the hall, ready to pounce on any visitor who broke the rules.

The pain meds had rendered the whole thing fuzzy and dreamlike.

What if he never said it again?

Was she supposed to bring it up? Did you mean what you said? That sounded like something an eighth-grade girl would ask. She wasn’t going back to middle school, even for the love of her life.

Nothing was ever easy with this man. Magnificent but torturous.

So Campbell True, it hurt.

He squeezed her hand, grin cocky as hell. “Stewing about me again, Hellcat?”

She opened her mouth, thought better of it, shook her head, sighed.

When he laughed, she fought the powerful urge to smack him.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked, once it was clear they weren’t headed to the cottage or the Rise.

They were driving out of town, racing sunset to its close.

It matched her emotions, glorious and blustery, streaks of cobalt cutting through a marigold sky.

He glanced at the clouds, then at her for one blistering second, before snapping his gaze back to the road.

“It’s a phenomenon called scattering. Sunsets, I mean.

Molecules and small particles in the atmosphere bend light rays, make them scatter.

You see red so easily because it has the longest wavelength of any visible light.

Violet’s harder, our eyes can’t catch it.

But a camera can. A lens picks it up without hesitation. ”

She turned to face him. “Oh my God, you were a science geek.”

He blinked, took his hand off the wheel long enough to give his glasses a bolstering shove. “Well, um, I guess. A lot of photography is light and angles, physics, so I minored in it. Figured it’d give me a leg up.”

“I think geeks are sexy.”

His hand flexed around hers, his top lip dragging over his bottom in a move that sent a dart of heat straight between her thighs like it had a target. A dimple flickered to life on the side she could see and held. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, resting her cheek against the seat as she let everything she felt for him flow through her.

No more barriers. No more roadblocks.

It would take time to lean on him, to let him carry even a piece of the weight she’d hauled alone. That was why he’d been hurt: he thought she didn’t trust him. But she did. With her life .

Campbell was protective, and that melted her heart, but she loved him too much—loved Hannah and Jaime too much—to put them in the line of fire. Her line of fire.

She would never regret going after that bastard alone.

Maybe it was better to keep this to herself.

Gravel crunched as he pulled into the mill’s deserted lot, the truck shuddering with the downshift. He caught her grimace and patted the dashboard, his hooded gaze sweeping deliberately from her face to her scuffed, well-loved boots. “Good bones. History. Not seeking perfection.”

The laugh came from deep inside, surprising her. His answering one was all she desired. No need to ask what he had planned. Her future was unfurling before her like silk sheets on a sun-warmed bed. Sheets she wanted to drag him onto, flushed and bare.

“Cam,” she breathed, aching.

He leaned in, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip, his breath a whisper against her skin. He smelled of citrus and smoky winters, and beneath that, the sharp trace of darkroom chemicals.

He smelled like Campbell Loman True. Her one and only.

The kiss was gentle. Tentative. An appeal.

Forgiveness. Acceptance. Desire .

He toyed with her—advance, retreat—not teasing, but hesitant, slightly uncertain. To steady them both, to anchor her faith in what they were building, she sank into the moment and let him lead.

I trust you. I want you. I need you.

His fingers tangled in her hair as their tongues slid, circled, entwined. He dropped his hands to either side of her, pinning her in. “What’s this?” he asked, voice ragged, his chest hitching beneath that gorgeous sweater. “My girl’s letting me drive? I’m stunned.”

His eyes were the color of oak when they met hers, the amber flecks she loved so much glowing like embers over dry brush. Words were lost to the sound of the wind and branches colliding in the distance. Uneven breaths, gentle moans, and the squeak of aged leather as they tried to get closer .

“Uh-huh, Quinn. You and your wildly hypnotic kisses aren’t throwing me off my game,” Campbell whispered, already out and rounding the front of the truck with that easy, grounded stride, an overnight bag he’d grabbed from the back clutched in his fist.

He opened her door just as she got it ajar, lifting a brow.

She arched one in return, the silent exchange sparking a crooked smile from him.

Then they were moving—around broken brick, fallen branches, bits of windblown trash.

She tried not to stare at his impossibly broad shoulders, at the way faded denim clung to an ass she could’ve bounced a quarter off.

No geek she’d ever known had a body like his.

They strolled through the gate he’d once shattered with a swift kick, and the possibilities hit her. Soft, scattered, and unexpected, like raindrops.

She frowned as they stepped into the mill, scanning for answers. Rooms she’d walked through just days ago were now in a strange state of restoration, caught between ruin and revival.

The sound of Campbell’s other girl, Etta James, drifted like smoke through the air.

Fontana stepped into what she liked to call her greenhouse and stopped so fast he bumped into her.

Candles flickered on the floor and along the narrow window ledges, casting flushed shadows over pitted planks.

A quilt and pillows, ones she recognized from her cottage, were spread across the floor.

And flowers. Not roses—Campbell wasn’t the conventional type—but at least five vases spilled over with wild blooms, the kind that curled her toes just to look at them.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her smile miles wide. “You had help.”

Nodding, he circled around her. “I did, indeed.”

She took in the romance of the room, her mind capturing a snapshot she knew she’d never forget. “Your camera?” she asked softly.

She couldn’t remember ever seeing him without it.

He dropped to one knee on the quilt and held out his hand, inviting her into his world.

Golden light slid across his skin, leaving him half-lost in rosy shadow.

“Tonight, I wanted to go it alone.” Color rose in his cheeks, one of those unexpected blushes that made her imagine the adorable boy he’d been. “You and me, I mean.”

His apprehension cleared hers like morning sun burning through fog.

There was food, so she nibbled—cheese and crackers, sliced fruit, apple juice.

“No alcohol. Pain meds,” he said, tossing a pointed glance at her arm. “And the gallery incident.”

She swallowed a laugh at that but played dumb. No need to knock him down a peg for getting tanked with his cousin in full view of half of Promise, South Carolina. She definitely wasn’t going to mention that she’d heard he fell off a desk in Justin’s gallery.

“You couldn’t get a blanket from the Rise?” she asked, running her fingers over the patchwork quilt she’d snagged at a thrift store for four bucks, if she remembered right. It had lost its luster ages ago, but it was still charming.

Campbell had drifted to his elbows, his legs a long, mouthwatering stretch in front of him.

Forget the crackers— he looked good enough to eat.

“Bring John Nelson into this bit of enchantment?” he asked, releasing a sound somewhere between a groan and a snort.

“Kill me now.” He gave her a wicked smile that made her press her thighs together to stop the quiver.

His grin deepened, fingers twitching around his glass.

Shameless, he knew exactly what those ardent looks did to her. “Plus, Jaime has a key to the studio.”

“Romantic fool, slash conspirator. ”