Chapter 12

We exchange words, although I can't tell you what was said. I guide Cameron back to the patio, and we take a seat next to Wells and his entourage.

"Where did you go, man?" his brother asks.

I'm at a loss. How was I on the highest cloud five minutes ago and now, I feel like I've been in the dungeons of purgatory? Elena looked exactly like Phoebe. I'll never be free of her death. She follows me everywhere.

Cameron saves me. "On my way to the bathroom, a jerk spilled a drink on me and then hit on me, so it took a while to try to get out the stain."

Wells raises his glass of blue alcohol. "Hmm. You both look a little flushed. Maybe you should call it a night." My little brother winks at me. It's obvious we just had sex, and he believes I should have more of it. Having sex with a plethora of women has always been Wells David Worthington's modus operandi.

Five minutes ago, taking Cameron home with me and having an endless amount of sex was top on my priority list. Now, I feel sick to my stomach—like I've betrayed Phoebe.

I've had sex since she passed, but I never wanted someone so much I couldn't wait until we got to a room. Cameron brings out the risk-taker side of me that has been reserved for business. In that environment, I can weigh the risk versus reward easily—money. It's quantifiable and although we have a loss department, I usually go with my gut whether or not the numbers agree.

Right now, I'm completely lost, thinking about Phoebe, who would never have sex in a public place or go fishing or paddleboard on the shallows of the ocean.

Since I'm no longer in the mood to party, I say, "Cameron, I'll take you home." I take my phone out, texting Barclay that we're ready.

I do my best not to look at Cameron, but I can sense her disappointment. She stands. "Nice to meet you, Wells."

"Hope to see you again." Once again, he tips his glass to her before swallowing the rest of the alcohol in one gulp, and she gives him a tight-lipped smile.

Shaking my head at how fucking unfair I'm being, I place my hand lightly on the small of her back as we wind through the restaurant to the valet stand where Barclay is parked.

I open the door for her. "No, thanks. I'll call for a pickup. Obviously, you regret what just happened."

"Quit being stubborn. I'll take you home."

"I don't need your charity. God, I'm such a fool."

This time, I peer into her golden eyes. "You're not," I whisper. "I just… just. You don't know what I've been through."

"We both wanted the sex. But I never expected you to turn on a dime like that. You instantly went from eating me to telling me you'll take me home. Either you're out of practice, or I'm just not what you want." Tears fill her eyes.

Defying all the feelings of loss, I pull her into me. "You're coming with me."

"I want to go home."

"I'll take you home after I explain." I kiss her lightly, again, and then again. Eventually, her body relaxes into mine for a split second before she stiffens. It's as if she caught herself being vulnerable, and she didn't like it.

"This is your last chance… Winnie." A hint of sarcasm laces through her tone.

When we arrive at my building, I open the door and slide out, extending my hand. Her gorgeous face peeks out the door. "Where are we?"

"My place. Give me a chance to explain, and then Barclay will take you home."

Her eyes shift from left to right, and her mouth tugs to one side before she steps out the car.

"Good evening, Mr. Worthington," the doorman greets me.

I want to say, I hope so. I hope this beautiful woman will give me an opportunity to tell her my story. Instead, I say, "It is."

Cameron keeps her distance from me in the elevator. Gone is the I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off Cameron, replaced by I-can't-believe-I-let-you-fuck-me-in-a-bathroom Cameron.

Swiping my key card, she takes a hesitant step inside. There's no indication she's "wowed." She simply stands, waiting for me.

"Wine?"

"No."

I uncork a bottle anyway because whether she needs it or not, I do. I pour both of us a glass and set it on the glass coffee table.

"Have a seat." I gesture towards the warm brown leather couch.

She settles onto the cushions, her expression guarded. "I understand. You feel like you lost control, and now, you regret having sex with me. So, tell me, why am I here?"

"You're here because I've never had a rendezvous in a bathroom that wasn't my own," I admit candidly, my voice tinged with a hint of regret.

Her eyes widen in surprise before she responds, "And you think I have?"

"I see you as a free spirit," I reply, studying her carefully. "Someone who takes risks and follows her desires without hesitation."

She nods thoughtfully, grabbing the glass of wine and taking a sip. A subtle grin tugs at my lips as I watch her reaction.

"I mean that as a compliment."

"Is that what this was for you—a daring adventure?" Her question hangs in the air, and she seems to be offended.

Inching closer to her, I cover her hand with mine. "Honestly, I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since the day we met. But tonight is the first time I've felt alive."

A line crinkles between her brows as my thumb rubs over her skin.

"Cameron, have you ever had anything happen in your life that changed the way you went through life? Something that was so devastating, you forgot how to live?"

My throat swells, thinking about the day I lost my fiancée.

She swallows hard. "I have," she says, and she expels a heavy sigh. "My grandfather died on a fishing boat while I was with him—alone."

"Fuck. How old were you?"

"Fifteen."

"So that's why you chose your career." I pull her to my side, and she lays her head on my shoulder. All of her anger at me is replaced with sadness.

We sit for a long time before she gets up to look out the window. "It's beautiful here. The water reflects the aqua and pink signs from the clubs and businesses. Do you have a place on the water too?"

"I don't." I press the button that opens the sliding glass doors that retreat inside the walls, awarding us the much-needed fresh air. She steps onto the balcony, resting her elbows on the wrought-iron railing. "This is as close as I could get."

Cameron rotates towards me. "What do you mean?"

My hand hovers over the ends of her hair before gently pulling the ends. When I release them, the shiny strands snap back into place.

"You know I was engaged. What you don't know is five years ago, she passed away." Her hands fly over her mouth. "It's… the worst thing I've ever been through."

"I'm so sorry." Her hand caresses my forearm.

My heart rattles against my rib cage. I don't want this to end up in me breaking down like I did in the weeks after she died, but I know I must confront the reason behind my abrupt shift from the heated passion in the bathroom to the chilling detachment when we emerged.

I touch her face. "My fiancée was terrified of the ocean. This was as close as she wanted to be. She enjoyed sunbathing on the terrace."

"Do you like the ocean?"

I take a heavy breath. "I love it."

"So, you gave it up for your girlfriend, sorry… fiancée."

"Mostly. If we were at the beach, I'd jump in and swim. It made her anxious, so I never stayed in long. It was important for me to accept her and her fears."

Her hands slide up my arms, and she cups my jaws. "I'm sorry I snapped at you on the boat."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I was wrestling with being on the boat. It stirred up feelings that I keep pushed down. Then tonight. God, being with you. Inside you felt amazing."

"Was that your first time since she died?" she asks with a strained voice.

Shaking my head, I grab her hands from my face but hold them between us. "No. But it was the first time I wanted the person more than the release."

"You seemed to enjoy our performance." Cameron laughs, breaking the tension.

I can't help but let out a small chuckle. "I wanted to be buried deep inside you all night."

"So, what made you change your mind?" Cameron's smile melts away.

"I saw her standing outside the bathroom," I begin, my voice tinged with a hint of regret.

"Who, the woman from the boat?"

I nod slowly, the memories resurfacing as I speak. "Yes, Elena… she bears a striking resemblance to Phoebe. The night Phoebe passed away, she was dressed in red. So different from what Elena wore tonight, but the similarity in their features…" I let out a sigh, my gaze distant.

"Elena reminded you of what you had lost."

The slight movement of my head is all I can manage. "I was hit with a pang of guilt and betrayal."

I take her face in my hands. "I loved her, but you make me want to live the life I wanted for myself. Taking chances. Will you take a chance and stay with me tonight?"

I inch closer. My lips suspended slightly above hers, waiting for an answer. She's so fucking beautiful, and it's time I move forward, though never forgetting the past.

"Yes," she mutters as our mouths dance together. It's soft and slow, the opposite of our bathroom encounter. She unbuttons my shirt without ever losing contact with my lips. Her hands slide over the ridges of my torso. "Were you born with these?" she asks as her short nails roam over my abdominal muscles.

"Ha. I wish."

Cameron rakes the shirt off my shoulders, and it softly lands on the weather-resistant tile. Without warning, she sinks to her knees and continues to undress me. I watch her with such joy, as she takes out my erection and inspects it.

"It doesn't have abs, if you're looking for some," I joke.

"It has ridges." Then with the flat of her tongue, she runs up the length of me. She licks and sucks until I'm on the precipice of blowing my load.

I fist her hair in my hand, guiding her at the pace I need. "Fuck, Cam… I love the way you suck me."

She takes me so far she gags but continues. Her mascara runs down her cheeks, and she's stunning like a priceless black and white photo. I pull out, and she gasps for air.

"Come here, Bella."

I kiss her so fully, so completely, that nothing or no one crosses my mind but the risk-taking entrepreneur in front of me.

It occurs to me that she's fully dressed, and my pants are wrapped around my ankles, so I step out of them and lead her into my bedroom. There, I move her straps, suckling the skin of her shoulders, and the dress falls.

I lay her on the bed and graze her legs with my lips all the way to her neck. Warring within me is the need to fuck her senseless or to go slow and steady. The need to be close to her and look into her eyes wins out. I run my hands between the apex of her thighs to find her dripping wet.

Before I push into her, I admit, "I plan on getting lost in you—for hours."

"I won't let you down," she says, giving me a mischievous grin.

I slip my hand beneath the small of her back as I rock into her, enjoying the feel of velvety muscles and the glimmer in her eyes. With every thrust, her chest heaves and with each withdrawal, she whimpers, "Don't stop."

The sensation of slick skin, sweet sound of moans filling the air, and exclamations of pure exhilaration last throughout the night.

God, sex is so enjoyable with her.

After I clean the sticky substance from our bodies, I scoot in behind her and ask her to stay the night.

Cameron is the first woman to have sex in this bed, much less sleep in it, since Phoebe. It's time I let myself live.