And of course, since he’d been in Toronto, Jane had frustrated all his attempts to get lucky.
Jane. Jane who had walked right up to him after this extraordinary day, grabbed his head, pulled it down, and pressed her lips against his.
Probably he would have had the sense to stop her if it hadn’t been for the ear-splitting rushing of the falls. Realistically, they were several yards from it, but it felt like it was right behind them, like they were inside it even, suspended in a world where the normal rules and consequences didn’t apply. He hadn’t been kidding before when he’d said that his mental picture of “waterfall” had not done justice to this particular example. It comforted him somehow. The knowledge that no matter what stupid shit all the petty humans on this Earth got up to, these falls were impervious to it. It was strangely soothing. People could betray each other, disappoint each other, assault each other, even kill each other, and this water would keep rushing over this cliff. None of it mattered.
And if none of it mattered, he could say, “Fuck doing the right thing,” and kiss Jane back.
And holy shit. Maybe he was out of practice, but he was pretty sure that Jane was planting on him what was, objectively, the best kiss he had ever had.
The kiss was just like her: strong but a little tentative. Was it wrong that he found that slight hesitancy attractive? It was like she had to overcome her own doubts first, and for some reason, that made his dick as hard as the rocks these tunnels were carved into. Like she was choosing him despite her better judgment. She was full of contradictions, this one. Scared and brave—look at the last two days. Compelling and maddening.
Sexy and sweet: that was Jane. That was this kiss.
And her lips. Oh God, her lips. It was like he’d been crawling through the desert dying of thirst, staring at a waterfall but unable to touch it, and then there was Jane, bearing water. Bearing absolution it felt like even, which was ridiculous.
She’d been holding his cheeks, and when she let go, he had a flash of panic that she was going to pull away. He wasn’t ready for this to be done yet—he hadn’t drunk his fill—so he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him.
She sighed into his mouth, and her body relaxed. It was like she was giving herself over to his care, and it drove him wild. They had been kissing with slightly open mouths. He’d been letting her tongue make tentative incursions into his mouth. But it was no longer enough. He wanted more. He needed more, so he angled her head back and plunged his tongue into her mouth, relishing the whimper the maneuver summoned from her. Normally, in a situation like this, he would try not to be too overt about his hard-on. He certainly wouldn’t be enough of a jerk to rub it against the lady in question. But hot damn, he couldn’t help it. He wanted her to feel it. Wanted her to know what she was doing to him. So he pressed their bodies together even harder. He would stop the moment she asked, but until then, he was lost in her.
Her whimpers became moans, and he wanted to pump his fists in victory to celebrate having cracked the reserve of composed, demure Jane. To have made those sounds come from his goddamned babysitter—it was making him crazy.
He became aware only gradually of a tapping on his shoulder, a tapping that wasn’t coming from Jane. He tried to shrug it off, but it grew more insistent. With a groan, he broke the kiss, dragging his lips from hers, gratified that she hugged him tighter as he did so. She didn’t want it to be over any more than he did.
It was a family of tourists. “You’re blocking the view,” the father said.
“Also, there are children here,” said the mother, frowning at them.
Jane took a step back and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”
Right. That was his cue. He had to get her out of here before embarrassment took over. He could embarrass Jane, but he’d be damned if anyone else did.
Chapter Nine
He bought her dinner. She tried to protest. “I didn’t make it through the haunted house.”
“Yes, you did,” he said.
“Because you carried me.”
He shrugged. “You’re not on that stupid chicken list, are you?” Though he wasn’t sure why he was arguing. What was the point of a bet if you started actively campaigning against your own position? “Anyway, it’s done.”
And it was. He’d slipped the waitress his credit card when she delivered their dessert.
Jane lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Well, thank you,” she said. “This has been surprisingly good for a tourist trap.”
It had been. They’d found a mom-and-pop Italian joint, complete with red gingham tablecloths and Chianti-bottle candles, and had consumed vast quantities of pasta and veal Parmesan. It turned out that confronting demons—whether of the fake-blood-and-strobe-lights variety or of the more insidious psychological sort—worked up quite the appetite.
And, man, he loved watching Jane eat. That first day, at the steakhouse, she’d said that she “really, really enjoyed eating.” And she had. He remembered how she had moaned when she’d taken a bite of his steak. Tonight, unlike then, she hadn’t been cautious about her intake. There was none of that cutting everything up into smaller-than-bite-size pieces. No shoving the bread basket away like it was made of fire. She hadn’t been squeamish over the idea of veal like so many women were—they’d ordered pasta and veal parm and shared both. She’d acted like each dish their server brought was the greatest thing she’d ever laid eyes on, even going so far as to clap her hands in glee when their molten chocolate cake arrived. It was almost like she’d forgotten about—
“Oh my God!” Her fork clattered to the table. “I forgot about my dress.” She let her head fall forward so it was cradled in her hands and wailed, “Noooooo!”
Cam dropped his own fork, which drew her attention. He didn’t know if he was annoyed at her, or at Elise, or at, like, the patriarchy (and that would be a first). He only knew he was annoyed. They’d been having a perfectly nice time—dare he say even a great time?—and now they had to stop and have this conversation again.
Well, best to get on with it. “Jane, who the hell cares about the dress? You’re going to wear it for one day. One day in which presumably everyone will be looking at Elise and my brother.” Though that might not be true. If Jane was in what he’d come to think of as “goddess mode,” a term he’d come up with after her spin outside the CN Tower but had seen displayed again as she’d stalked toward him and kissed him at the falls, how could anyone not stare at her? He wasn’t really sure how he’d gone from thinking of her as plain, muddy Jane to a goddess, but he didn’t feel like analyzing it.
“Yes, but, Cameron,” she said, emphasizing his name in a way that made his dick twinge—“let’s assume for one minute that I don’t care that I’m going to look like a ruffly, purple hippo. I still have to actually fit into the dress. It has to physically zip up.”
“You are not going to look like a hippo.” There went that eyebrow and, with it, his annoyance at having to have this conversation. It was replaced by outright anger—though he still wasn’t sure at whom, or what, it was directed. “Jane, you are as sexy as they come, so shut the hell up.”
She had her mouth pre-opened to lob her next argument at him, but she clamped it shut as her eyes widened. He tried not to laugh. He probably shouldn’t have said it like that, but it was true.
And it sure as hell shut her up because she stopped arguing about the bill. Didn’t say much of anything, really, as they walked back to the car. The silence continued as they navigated to the highway and settled in for the drive home.
But it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, which was a little surprising because they hadn’t said one word about their kiss behind the falls. Not that there was anything to say. They’d had a moment. A hot moment, but moments were by definition fleeting. The fact that she didn’t want to “talk about it,” as most girls would, was actually awesome. And she’d already heard his “I’m not looking for a relationship right now speech” in the car ride on the way up, so it wasn’t like she hadn’t known the score when she’d kissed him.
So companionable silence was more than fine by him. It gave him time to appreciate that, despite his haunted house freak-out, he’d had a really good day. That was…a novelty.
Then she started yawning.
Then he started yawning.
Then they started laughing.
“I’m sorry!” she said, covering her mouth and trying to stifle another yawn. “They’re contagious.”
“No problem,” he said—or tried to. It came out all garbled as another one hit him. “I should have taken the top down. That would have kept us awake.”
“I’m not sure it would make a difference in my case. Getting the shit scared out of you, then stuffing yourself with carbs: it makes a girl sleepy.”
He noticed she didn’t mention “making out like the world was about to end.”
Which was fine, he reminded himself, because hadn’t he just been thinking about how he was glad she didn’t want to talk about that? He cleared his throat. “Feel free to nap.”