So, yeah, with all this shit from the past taking up residence in his brain, it had been a mostly sleepless night, and he was pissed. Not at Jane, though he did sort of feel like her questioning had been the impetus for his insomnia, but at himself. He’d had his balls thoroughly milked—several times. He had a warm, soft, naked woman who did not want to become his girlfriend curled up next to him in a comfy bed.
So what was wrong with him? He should have been sleeping the sleep of the dead.
The blaring of Jane’s phone on the nightstand cut short his existential crisis. She had insisted on setting it for the ass crack of dawn in case Jay came home before going to work.
She reached out, patting the edge of the bed as if searching around for an alarm clock that wasn’t there. When she didn’t find it, the pats became faster, more insistent, even a little frantic. A rush of tenderness toward her had him tightening his arms around her, reassuring her. “Shhh. We’re at Jay’s, remember?” She had been dead asleep—as any reasonable person would be, given that they’d gone at it until two in the morning.
“What?” She lifted her head from where it had been resting on his chest, squinted her eyes like she was looking into the blinding sun, and did her nose-scrunching thing. Her befuddlement was awfully cute. His dick took notice, pulsing a little as she opened her eyes all the way. “Oh,” she said. “Oh.”
Watching her remember where she was—and what she’d done—was funny. The befuddlement was replaced by a wash of pink. She was delicious—the perfect antidote to all his maudlin thoughts.
Where should he start? Letting a lazy hand slide between her legs, he planted a kiss on her forehead.
She reared back, not from surprise this time, though. It was more like she was…trying to get away from him? That couldn’t be right, not after the stuff they’d done last night. Maybe she was truly embarrassed. There was no call for that. He’d show her how not-embarrassed she should be. He moved back just enough to make room to burrow under the covers. His mouth started to water at the mere idea of her.
“I…ah, can’t,” she said, hopping off the bed and pulling the top sheet around her like a robe.
He narrowed his eyes. What was going on? Why was she hiding herself from him?
“I’ve got to get home,” she said, spinning around the room, probably looking for her clothes. “Last day of work before we hit the road for Prince Edward County.”
He wanted to tell her to drop the sheet, that he’d seen it all already. Tasted it all. But she seemed genuinely agitated.
“I think your clothes are still by the front door,” he said gently. When she nodded and started to turn, he added, “Although, remember, I can do fast. I can have you out of here in twenty minutes, ten if it comes to that.” He shook his head. Listen to him: he was bragging now about how fast he could be? Damn. She had him all turned around. But he couldn’t help it. He’d pretty much do anything to get his hands on Jane again.
Also, he just really didn’t want her to leave yet. He was about to suggest that they at least have a quick cuddle, but stopped himself in time, because a quick cuddle? What the hell?
She shook her head. “I can’t…sleep with you.”
Uh, what? Did she mean she couldn’t sleep with him right now? Or in general? Because the way she’d said it was weird. As if they hadn’t already slept together a bunch of times. He blinked, trying to think how to ask her to clarify without making himself look desperate. After a few awkward moments elapsed, she turned and opened the door, the sheet still wrapped around her. He hopped out of bed—what else could he do?—and said, “I’ll get your clothes for you.”
“Thanks,” she said, changing direction and heading down the hallway toward the bathroom. “If you can just shove them through the bathroom door, that would be great.”
Shove them through the bathroom door? What the hell? Something had happened, though he couldn’t say what. Well, that wasn’t true: he knew exactly what had happened. Jane had changed her mind about him.
He’d always known she was smart.
Panic.
Jane was not a panicker. All her life, she had made decisions about what she wanted to do, how she was going to be, and she had done and been those things. She’d never experienced any of the symptoms she’d read about as associated with panic attacks.
But that must have been what had happened to her earlier this morning, she decided, as she sat on the streetcar, on her way to meet the girls for a “last night in the city” drink.
Last night, with Cameron, a niggling sense that something was wrong had kept dogging her. It was like trying to remember a dream after you woke up, even as it was sliding from your grasp. But in this case, waking up had brought clarity. Absolute, utter clarity.
She was falling for Cameron. She’d woken up in his bed—in his arms—and she’d known it with utter certainty.
Somewhere along the way, in a matter of mere days, the shit-talking, arrogant, testosterone-overdosed, bad-boy soldier had gotten under her skin. Look at her: she was riding roller coasters, dangling off buildings, and having sex with a human like it was no big deal. Hell, she wasn’t just having sex, she was sexting, which, somehow was a bigger deal than the actual deed.
But all of that was okay. Well, she could have made it okay.
But then she told him everything. What. The. Hell? Objectively, she could understand the circumstances that had led to her impulsive gut-spilling. He’d been surprisingly forthright about the stories behind his tattoos. He’d made her feel safe, not only with his own confession, but with his conduct all week. He’d made her feel wanted. Like she was a person worth having around, and listening to.
But she couldn’t let herself go there. Couldn’t get used to waking up in his arms. Couldn’t crave it…crave him.
Because the other amazing thing about Cameron? He had never lied to her. He made it clear he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Heck, so had she. Because she wasn’t. He had a return-to-civilian-life list, and she was merely an item on it.
“Hey, sweets!” As Jane disembarked the streetcar, there was Gia, strolling down the street. Damn. Jane had been aiming to get to the bar before everyone else. She’d been restless in her house, going a bit cuckoo, in fact, and had resigned herself to the fact that no writing was going to get done until after the wedding. Well, until after Cam was gone, if she was being honest with herself—and being honest with herself was absolutely what she was doing now, as painful as it was.
So she’d left her house early, thinking maybe a change of scenery—and a few Diet Cokes’ worth of caffeine to compensate for her late night—would do her some good.
Gia had obviously come armed with a similar plan because she looped her arm through Jane’s and said, “I thought I’d sneak in early and get a buzz on before Elise—God bless her—gets here.”
Jane smiled. She had to admit that one unforeseen benefit of the wedding was that she was spending more time with Gia, who was usually somewhere else in the world working. The four girls had been tight since university. But because the rest of them had only overlapped with Gia there for one year, Gia was like the plus-one that came with Elise to their friendship group. She and Jane hadn’t ever had an independent relationship, and Jane had to admit that she’d always been a little intimidated by the model’s beauty and jet-setting life.
So she let herself be led to the bar, where she ordered her Diet Coke.
“How come you hardly ever drink?” Gia asked after their drinks arrived.
“Because my dad was an alcoholic.”
What the hell? How had she let that slip again? She didn’t talk about that. Wendy knew, but only in general terms. It certainly wasn’t something she talked about with people she’d met later in life. Elise didn’t know, either.
“Ah.” Gia nodded. “I see.”
Jane was a little surprised at how mild Gia’s reaction was. She was sipping her vodka soda like what Jane had told her wasn’t a big deal.
“He died driving drunk,” Jane added, watching Gia out of the corner of her eye to see what a little more truth would do to her friend’s reaction.
“I’m sorry,” said Gia simply. “I’d known he died in a car accident, but not that it was related to drunk driving.”
“Yeah,” Jane said, her stupid heart pounding like she was back on one of the roller coasters at Canada’s Wonderland instead of telling a close friend about something that had happened twenty years ago.
“There’s a lot of drinking in the fashion world,” Gia said. “Too much, a lot of the time, I think. When you have to stay a size zero or two, you sometimes have to pick and choose what you consume. A lot of models choose to drink their calories.”
Wow. Jane had always imagined Gia’s life like one of the magazine spreads she posed in. “So there’s not, like, hot guys feeding you bonbons all the time?”
Gia scoffed. “Try creepy middle-aged art directors feeding you chocolate-flavored laxatives.”
“And here I am stressed about trying to fit into my dress this week.” Jane hated to think what it would be like to live with that shadow over her head all the time.