Chapter 6 - Camilla

“You are beautiful, Camilla…” Sterling’s compliment echoes in my mind as we ride the limo to the restaurant where he’s made reservations for our “date.”

If I can call it that.

I have no reason to believe otherwise since he met me outside my apartment building dressed in the crispest fitted suit. Somehow, we’re matching in black, but his look only defines his smooth, creamy white skin and immaculate features.

A little while ago, his compliment remains swirling in my mind, filling me with the confidence I’d been lacking to go ahead with dinner tonight. I’d spent hours mulling over what I should wear, not sure if any of it was real.

I’d only just formally met him this morning, yet here we are, riding a limo to what I can only guess is a fancy restaurant. Not looking forward to falling asleep only to be faced by the reptilian, fire breathing monster again, I decided that if Sterling asked me to dinner and it was a dream, it was one I’d pick over the others any day.

That’s the only reason I agreed to this. It’s probably not a good idea to accept a dinner invitation from a stranger. I steal a glance at him, wringing my hands on my lap nervously when I’m left breathless from how impossibly handsome he is. With his light blonde hair slicked back, I have the sudden urge to run my fingers through them.

Gosh! What does he want with someone like me, anyway?

The limo slows down when we arrive at our destination. As I expected, it’s an upscale Italian restaurant that my monthly paychecks could never afford.

It’s almost like he’s trying to impress me.

When he steps out and offers me a helping hand, the warmth of his fingers as they wrap around my hand brings about a soothing sense of calm.

It’s actually nice to be doted on this way.

I need to get out of my head and just enjoy this for whatever it is. Even if he’s just here to sell me ideas of his conspiracy theories, I am allowed to enjoy myself.

I love a good alfredo, after all.

With my arm slinked between his curled one, we enter the restaurant. I have to admit that it’s nice to feel wanted, even if it’s only for tonight. I’ll bask in the eye candy, the swirls of musk floating in my airways, and pretend to be interested in his attempt to prove that dragons exist.

It’s far better than wallowing in dread in my bed, wishing I didn’t have to dream about that dreadful creature. Maybe Sterling would offer enough absurdity to make me realize that the dream is nothing more than a bout of loneliness playing into my sleep.

“Thank you for agreeing to this,” he cuts the silence that’s been hanging over us since we entered the limo.

I take my seat, and he does the same before the waiter passes us our menus.

“I guess I’m just curious,” I respond softly, clearing my throat. Instead of gawking at him from across the table, I decided to peruse the menu as a distraction.

“Of course you would be,” he chuckles lightly. “I am a very interesting person.”

“Hm,” I hum, biting my bottom lip behind the menu where he can’t see how nervous I am. “So, what is your theory behind the existence of dragons?”

A moment of silence forces me to look up, only to find him staring at me intently.

“Why the rush, Camilla? Let’s enjoy dinner first.”

I gulp hard, nodding tersely and becoming flustered when he orders both our meals for us.

We share the same taste in Italian, so make no protest about his choice of the main course.

Somehow, the conversation goes to me as Sterling asks me questions about myself and my interests. He seems dedicated to learning more about me. In the back of my mind, there’s a tiny voice that keeps intrusively wondering why he’s interested at all.

I do my best to push her aside, just so that I can enjoy the night for whatever it is. When our meal arrives, I turn my attention to the food, a comfortable silence falling over us. I can’t help but steal a few glances at him now and then.

The eye candy is seated across from me, and I’m mentally drooling over the endless possibilities of what those lips can do.

“I erm—” I clear my throat to clear out those heinous thoughts. “... I noticed you before, at the museum,” I reveal timidly, my eyes following the navigation of my fork as I toy with my dessert without much desire to take a morsel of the appetizing tiramisu between my lips. How can I, when the most delicious man sits across the table, giving me the floor to speak my mind?

I never thought a man could show even an ounce of interest in me.

“You didn’t pay for those tours…”

“Hm,” he hums before a clink of metal rings out when he sets his fork down. Like a signaling beat, my eyes are drawn back to see him steepling his fingers in front of him and propping his chin forward as if he’s about to offer the most profound explanation for why he didn’t pay when he could clearly afford to.

“I was trying to get your attention,” he says.

The unbelievable statement weakens my fingers, and my fork drops out of my hand and onto the table. I blink disbelievingly, my mouth dropping in surprise.

“M-my attention?”

“Yes,” he smirks. “I needed to do something insane to grab your attention. It seems to have worked. I made a lasting impression, didn’t I?”

Woah!

Does he not realize that he’s the walking embodiment of the finest sculpture ever known to history? A walking Adonis.

I want to pinch myself every time I meet the green hazes of his eyes, in case I’m dreaming.

He was vying for my attention?

I don’t believe this.

It must be a dream.

“I—uh—I,” I fumble on my words, but Sterling chuckles nervously, drops his hands, and hangs his head sheepishly.

“Sorry. I know it wasn’t a very impressive first impression,” he shrugs timidly. “I erm—” He clears his throat and meets my eyes again, this time with a glint of earnestly shining through the emerald depths. “I saw you giving a tour before, and I was too nervous to come forward and approach you.”

Something about the intensity of his gaze indicates that he’s being honest right now. It’s just absurd to think that the man I only ogled from the sidelines was too nervous to approach me.

I have so little going for myself.

Does he see something I don’t?

A nervous giggle slips from my lips, the sound treading on the fine line between confusion and utter disbelief.

“Nervous?” I titter, reaching for my wine.

“Uh-huh,” he concedes, leaning back calmly in his seat. “You’re intimidating, Camilla. Any man would become nervous around you.”

Almost choking on the large sip of wine I’d taken, I set my glass down, unable to accept the compliment. I’ve never been able to accept compliments before, let alone one so intense that it has my cheeks burning.

“Uhm…” I gulp, looking for the exit door of this conversation. “... So, about the dragon in the painting…”

Sterling smirks knowingly, a gentle chuckle escaping his lips before he takes a sip of his wine. The air was still dense with the compliment he’d thrown me.

But I have no idea how to flirt with good-looking men.

I’ve never had to before.

“It’s real,” he says in a flat tone.

“Do you have proof?” I quip with a raised brow. Here, this man claims that dragons are real, while I’ve been visited by a dragon in my dreams.

Is it just a coincidence?

“I have solid proof,” he states with a firm nod. “But it’s not proof I can give you now.”

“Then I don’t believe you,” I retort with a huff.

“You don’t have to,” he chuckles. “Not right now, anyway. Besides, I was just trying to get your number this morning.”

Oh.

Oh!

“So, they aren’t real, then?” I giggle nervously, partly relieved because it isn’t true. But the question of his motives remains, and I can’t wrap my head around it.

He chuckles again as he waves our waiter over. “Like I said, I was only trying to get your number, Camilla.”

I gulp on the twist of nerves lifting to the top of my throat as Sterling pays for dinner, and we make to leave the restaurant.

My heart beats uncontrollably in my chest as we enter the limo, the few brisk brushes of his hand against mine as he helps me, sending shockwaves of arousal through my core.

I’ve never been so attracted to any man in my life, and I’ve never felt it being reciprocated to me. I see it in his eyes when he closes the door behind me, a glint of primal hunger evident in the bright glow of the golden specks. For a split second, time stands still, until he enters through the other side and sits comfortably on the seat.

Through my periphery, I notice the way his thighs splay out, the bulge of prominent thigh muscles pulling taut against the black pants. Just a little further, and I notice another very eminent bulge between his muscular thighs.

Gulp…

I quickly turn my face to the dark-tinted window as the buildings we pass become a blur. Or maybe it’s just my mind working overtime to distract me from the sinful thoughts that enter with intentions cruel enough to have heat pooling between my legs.

It doesn’t help that silence surrounds us now, leaving me to hear the raging cries of my womanhood that become intoxicated by the musk notes of his cologne. The scent is subtle but commanding enough to dominate my senses and keep me pressing my thighs together in an attempt not to moan out loud.

When the limo rolls to a stop outside my apartment building, I let out the breath I’d been holding in as soon as Sterling steps out from his side. But the fresh air is only a momentary privilege when he opens my door and offers out a hand.

Even with the soft glow of the moon‘s rays filtering the streets and adding to the dim street lights, I notice how his veins form a map on his hand and disappear beneath the sleeves of his white shirt and black jacket. My mind wanders to a space I hoped it wouldn’t—wondering what the rest of that arm would look like wrapped around my—

“Thank you for tonight, Camilla,” Sterling says when I’ve finally grown enough courage to take his hand and step out.

“I had a great time,” I offer, mentally berating myself for my formal tone. This is why I’ve always chosen to remain indoors.

I’m hopeless when it comes to socializing.

With a nervous half-smile, I gently slip my hand out from his and step onto the pavement. But in an attempt to quiet my mind from all the shouting about my failed attempt to flirt with the handsome man, I lose my footing. My ankle caves in, and I shriek out in horror when I anticipate falling flat on my face.

“Oh, no!” I shut my eyelids and brace my palms out in preparation for the impact with cement.

Instead of the cold, hard floor, my palms meet the hot, firm surface of muscle.

I open my eyes then, realizing that the twist of limbs wasn’t my fall, but my savior nimbly grabbing me and turning me to him. His face is only a few inches from mine as he stares down at me with penetrating green eyes of concern and relief amalgamated in the swirls of gold specks only visible up close. Most of the advantage he has over me with his height is lost from the difference between the road and the pavement, and for the first time, he’s this close.

So close, that I can smell the minty notes rolling off his breath. My eyes flicker to his lips, then back to his eyes where my doe-ish reflection is clear as day in the earthly canvas.

“Are you always tripping over yourself?” he asks almost angrily, but it’s not anger I see in his eyes. Instead, it’s something more primal than anger, like he’s concerned about my clumsiness.

All I can do is nod tentatively, unable to respond coherently to his question. My mind is too inebriated by his closeness and the way his strong hands grip my arms.

“You’re gonna have to be more careful…” he rasps, drawing a dangerous inch closer. I can barely breathe—not because I don’t want to, but because his closeness just stole the air from my lungs.

This time, I can see his mole so clearly that it almost looks like a bunch of hearts forming the petals of a flower.

“... At least until I’ve made you mine.”

It’s as if those words are a command for me to melt in his arms and close my eyes, my lips parting in response to what he’d just said. Fully surrendered to whatever the implications of that claim were, my lips were captured by the passion of his own.

Did he read my mind from before, when I imagined what his lips would feel like if I kissed him?

Somehow, the kiss exceeds my wildest expectations, igniting and breathing life into my very soul. It’s as soft as it is hungry, his tongue plunging into the cavity of my mouth to taste me with a heady groan as his fingers burn on my skin and he pulls me closer.

His lips are electrifying, melting me with a moan as I completely let go of any inhibitions and throw caution to the wind. For a fleeting moment, I cannot tell where I end or begin, and something feels so right about the kiss.

Until he abruptly breaks it, connecting our foreheads as our breaths come out in hot, heavy pants.

“We—” he starts breathlessly, his voice coarse and darkly arousing. “We should take things slowly,” he’s finally able to say, his eyes closing on a huge gulp.

Take things slowly…?

It takes my mind an unbridled moment to come to my senses and realize the magnitude of what he’d just said.

I nod timidly, prompting him to gently pull me away and steady me on my feet. When he’s satisfied that I won’t fall over, he releases the strong grip on my arms and smiles.

“I’ll see you soon, Camilla,” he says as he steps behind the limo door as if he’s using it as a shield to protect himself from coming forward.

If it wasn’t for the way his chest heaved uncontrollably, I would have thought he was not interested in me and allowed the ghastly talons of my low self-esteem to take me, prisoner, once again.

But there’s something about the transfixed glint of arousal in his eyes that puts to rest my doubts as a blush instead creeps along my cheeks.

Perhaps it’s because the kiss lingers on my lips with the promise that he’ll see me again.

***

I can barely get the kiss out of my head, even as I go about my day at work and lead the scheduled morning tours. Sterling hasn’t made an appearance, but the strength of that kiss douses my doubts and allows me to stay away from falling into old habits of berating myself.

“Good day, Miss,” a male voice comes from behind me when I’ve just rounded up my first tour and gathered my notes on my clipboard.

It’s not the voice I was hoping to hear today, but I plaster a smile on my face and turn to the man, only to be stunned by how handsome he is.

He’s a stark contrast to Sterling, with darker features and a much less friendly smile. The more I stare at him, the more I realize that he isn’t as ethereally stunning as Sterling.

But he’s gorgeous, nonetheless.

Perhaps my energy is heightened, attracting more handsome men toward me like bees to a hive. The only trouble is that I’m not remotely interested in this one.

It’s just a worthy note to make.

“That was a lovely tour you gave there,” the man appreciates in a thick Australian accent.

That’s when I realized he’d been on this morning’s museum tour, but I hadn’t even noticed him. I was so caught up basking in the glory of last night’s date with Sterling that I couldn’t possibly pay attention to anyone else until they came up to me.

“Thanks,” I reply with a courteous smile before turning to gesture around the room. “Just spreading the love I have for the museum. And the knowledge, too.”

“So, you like your job?” the man asks, prompting me to turn back to him as I wonder why he'd ask me that question.

“Of course I do.”

“Hm…” he laments with a crooked smile. “You seem rather passionate. I wonder if you're like that with everything else in your life…”

A frown flits past my face, and I straighten it out only because we're in the museum.

Is he…

Is he trying to flirt with me?

The unnerving suspicion has a cold shiver running down my spine. If that's his intention, it's not something I can stomach.

He's not Sterling. His attention isn’t the one I seek.

“I—erm—” I stammer uncomfortably. “I suppose it depends on the circumstances. The museum does warrant that kind of passion.”

“I'm sure it does,” the man says as he reaches into his tailored suit jacket and produces a card he holds out to me.

“I believe I have a better endeavor to direct that passion toward,” he smirks. “Come work for me, Miss Torres.”

“Work for you?” I startle, taking the card with a terse hand and frowning. The name “Brandon Hawk” sticks out like a sore thumb in bold, with the words “Fine Art Dealer” printed below.

It’s quite obvious why he wants me to work for him, though I’ve never received such a proposal before.

“You’d be perfect as my assistant, Miss Torres,” the man announces. “I’m willing to double the amount you’re getting here.”

My eyes go back and forth between the man and his business card, a cluster of unruly knots beginning to coil in the pit of my belly. With my frown deepening, I can’t help but wonder why he’d want me to work for him.