Page 52 of Unwrapped
“It’s easy to say the right thing when you speak the truth.”
“Camille.”
Their heads dart in my direction.
“Dean. You’re back,” she blurts, her widened eyes darting between Jude and me.
Knowing I overheard him, Jude holds my gaze like he’s driving home his point. That’s why he’s been so successful in life. He doesn’t need to say a word—his silence holds a power others can only dream about. Heownshis convictions and has no problem backing them up with actions.
But he won’t need to this time.
“I’ve been back for few minutes.” I close the distance between us and cup her jaw. Brushing my thumbs over her cheeks, I stare deep into her beautiful green eyes. “And Jude said it far better than I could.”
He chuckles. “I usually do.”
I glance at him. “Don’t gloat.”
“It’s not gloating when it’s a fact.”
“What happened with Ryan?” Camille whispers.
“We came to an understanding.”
“And that was?”
I kiss her instead of answering, pouring my soul into it.
Jude clears his throat. “So, um, yeah. I think I hear a lobster tail calling my name.”
Flushing, Camille breaks the kiss. “Sorry, Jude.”
“I’m not.” Dipping her body old Hollywood style, I kiss her again, deeper this time.
“OK, nowthat’spretty hot.” He claps my back. “Wanna be brother husbands?”
“Nope,” I say between kisses.
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Not a chance, Holland. Now get the fuck out of here so I can kiss my woman in peace.”
“Point taken.” He laughs. “Have fun, lovebirds. Cami, I’m eating your food.”
“Go for it,” she says on a gasp.
He gives us a wave and heads for the ballroom.
I meet her gaze and lick my lips. “He can eat your food. I’m having somethingelse.”
Three sets of eyes watch my every move with varying degrees of interest. Camille’s cats clearly aren’t used to seeing men in her home, a fact which more than pleases me. There’s an orange one peering out from beneath the couch, a black Persian guarding the kitchen doorway, and a huge Maine Coon weaving between my legs.
I lean down to scratch its head. “This one’s friendly.”
“Rupert is a sweetheart. He’ll probably wind up on your lap at some point. Good luck. He’s a meatball.” Camille points to the couch. “As you can see, Alastair is kinda shy. He’ll come around eventually. He likes to burrow under the covers.” She juts her chin toward the Persian. “And Nigel, well, he’s unpredictable.”
“He’s scowling at me.”
“That’s his normal face. He always looks like he’s disgusted with the world.” She hangs her coat on a hook by the door, then does the same with mine. “Don’t expect much warmth from him. I’m the only one he likes.”
