I’m a highly sexed man, and when I’m not busy keeping things running smoothly, I’m indulging my sex drive.
The fact that I’d been going without—besides that empty coupling with Sophie, that had in no way diminished my lust—tells me that I am in deep with Shaw Mallory.
Do I want her? Yes. Do I want to want her? The answer is—most emphatically—a no and if I could have slaked my lust with another, I would most definitely never have laid a finger on her.
But it seems my dick has become more discerning in recent months, and I’ve finally given in. Now I just need to find a way to get what I need from her without my parents knowing and without putting more in than I am willing to give.
“Stop thinking so hard. I’m not gonna run out and start scouting rings,” she mumbles from her pillow, her mouth curved in a rueful smile.
“No?”
Why am I offended by that rejection?
“Nope. That was good sex, but I’m not dumb enough to see it as more than it is, so you can chill out. Oh God, I need to go back to my room, but I’m not sure my legs agree with me.” She groans, struggling to a seated position on the side of the bed. “Could I ask you to get my gown? Please? I can’t bend that low without embarrassing myself.”
I do as she asks, stifling my disappointment that she’s leaving me to sleep alone. Surely she can stay for a while? Enjoy the afterglow and maybe another round.
“You should stay a little longer.”
“Look out the window, Cameron. It’ll be dawn soon, and I doubt you want your mom finding me sneaking out of here.”
I look to my left and curse when I see that the sky is indeed just starting to turn a lighter shade than pitch black.
“Oh, you’re right. Should I walk you?”
“No. Thanks. I’m good.”
When she walks to the door and pauses, I prepare for histrionics.
“You know, I never wanted anything more out of life than to have a good job that I worked for and maybe an apartment in a good side of town. I don’t want or need your money for me. This baby may not be planned, but I love him enough to shame myself if it means giving him the best that I possibly can.”
She’s gone before I can say a word, and I feel the euphoria I’d been nursing slip away to leave a bitter regret behind.
I want to believe her, and that is perhaps more dangerous than wanting her body because it means that I could want something more, and more, I don’t do.
Ever.
Chapter Eleven
Shaw
Breakfast is the same old process. Marge talks non-stop, Vic smiles indulgently, and I listen as best as I can as she chatters on a mile a minute.
Only this morning it’s an added struggle, as I try to ignore Cameron’s heated stares and the way his tongue keeps flicking at his bottom lip.
“You have an appointment today, Ducky. Oh! I’m so excited. We’ll get a photo of the ultrasound, and the doctor says that with these 3-D scans you can see just what the baby looks like. Isn’t it exciting!”
I notice Cameron tense before his head dips, and he makes a noncommittal sound that sounds like a grunt.
“Well, I for one am quite curious to see if the little tyke will have the Stone mouth or take more after Margie’s side. The Maxwells have less lip and more nose.”
“Oh you!” she chides, her eyes shining brightly. “You know full well the lads are only as handsome as they are because of me.”
She must realize what she said because her eyes get moist and soon she’s sniffling into her napkin.
I feel so guilty for some reason that it’s physically painful not to jump up and run away. It’s hard to commiserate when I didn’t love her son and he didn’t love me. I can’t even have one of those ‘Remember Rob liked to…’ kinds of talks because as far as I remember he liked drinking, dancing, and sex.
And no commitment.
“Oh hush, you old watering pot; you’re upsetting the poor girl. You alright, Ducky?”
“Yeah, I just don’t like it when Marge gets sad, but I understand. This must be hard for her since…”
I don’t finish, and when I look up Cameron is glaring at me. I ignore him and smile at Marge before digging into my breakfast.
I can’t believe I slept with him just hours ago, and here he is, right back to his old nastiness. I shouldn’t be surprised; he is a dick after all, and I freaking know it, I just didn’t expect…
Whom am I kidding? Like Cameron getting some from me would magically change his opinion. It’s probably the opposite. Now he just thinks I’m an easy lay. Or maybe a glutton for punishment, because really, who in their right mind gives it up for a guy who can’t stand them.
Me apparently.
***
“Oh goodness! Would you look at that?!”
I smile indulgently at Marge and watch as she looks at the ultrasound photo and exclaims for the millionth time. We’re on our way home now, and she hasn’t stopped gushing since that wand touched my belly and the very clear picture of the baby popped up on screen.
I think the poor kid looks like a goblin, but Marge is in raptures about the eye shape and the ‘proud Stone nose.’
We don’t know what to call it yet since the stubborn baggage wasn’t showing winky or cookie, so we’re surmising, maybe hoping on Marge’s part that it’s a boy.
“He’s so beautiful, Ducky. So perfect. Why I don’t think my lads were this adorable.”
“Okay, now I know you’re just full of it. I’ve seen both your sons, and from what they are today, I can guess they were little cherubs when they came out of the womb.” I snort, giggling when she blushes and shrugs.
“Robbie was big and red and chubby, with this shock of blonde spikes that made him look like he got a shock. Cameron, well, that boy came out as quiet and serious as he is today, but Lord, was he gorgeous. He takes after my side with all that dark coloring. Looks just like my dad.”
“They’re so different. I couldn’t believe they’re brothers. Robert was…well, he was light and quick to jump into anything. Once we went out to dinner and he saw an ad for a theater production. I shake my head with the memory because I’d spent three hours trying to stop my stomach growling. When we’d finally got done—the production was not my kind of thing—he’d dropped me at home having forgotten dinner and I’d been forced to eat a can of tuna before falling into bed.”
Cameron would never do that. After that first day when Marge had pointed out that he’d forgotten to feed me, he’s never allowed me to forget meals—even if he just calls Marge to remind her.
It had irritated me at first, but now I realize it’s his silent way of making that episode up. To me. To himself more than likely.
“Aah, Robbie was a cad and an incorrigible scamp. He was ever getting into scrapes and such, and we indulged him most of the time. I think I told myself that he was just free spirited, but I’ve come to accept that he was a little selfish in his pursuits especially with—”
I know what she’s going to say and part of me wants to press for information now that I’ve slept with Cameron, but it’s not my business and what’s more, I’d chop off a limb before causing this woman distress.