He shook his head. "Not tonight. I have other plans." "Oh. I should've texted you and asked if I could come over. I just..." Who was this person discharging words from my mouth? It didn't sound like me. But my normal self had never been before aware of someone's every breath, every blink and every word. My normal self had never wanted to jump someone's bones and devour them. And was never sexually frustrated. Until Cameron. "Take a seat. Eat with me." He pulled out the barstool beside him, gestured for me to sit down. "Want me to make one for you?" "A-a barstool?" His mouth twitched into a small smile. "A sandwich." Shit. "I already ate." "You could eat again." "No," I croaked. "I'm good." "You sure?" He picked up the sandwich, took a huge bite. I was obsessed with his hands. He had strong, wide palms, callused and rough from honest hard labor, long fingered. Those hands could crush anything if they wanted to. I was fascinated how they could touch so softly, so teasingly. "What are you staring at?" "Your hands. You have beautiful hands." "Kara," he said thickly. "I should tell you to stop seeing me as something beautiful. I'm not." "Don't—" "It's selfish of me to want you to see me this way, but I don't want you to stop." "Then what are you waiting for?" Suddenly his eyes hardened as though he had pulled himself back. His moods were so mercurial that they confused me. And, I grudgingly admitted, made him more fascinating. Deep down I knew he was harboring a deep pain from his childhood and however he dealt his cards after that was influenced by it. Just like my dad said, the absence of my mother played a huge part in my life. I could see it with the way I dealt with people leaving my life. I wondered how much Cameron's childhood affected his. Besides he was probably angry at me for ghosting him this week. Maybe that's all it was. Maybe I was analyzing it too much. I curbed my tongue, because it desperately wanted to demand why he was putting his walls up again and let him eat in silence. Let him chew on his thoughts for a while before I started pulling them out. He scarfed the sandwich down in three bites. I worked with men most of my life and I'd seen them eat. None of them attracted me as much as Cameron. I watched as his pink tongue peeked out and licked the sauce from his bottom lip. I felt a flutter in my stomach. "I hate going to the movies," he said, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He rose, washed his hands, put the beer back in the fridge. I watched as he pulled out a glass from the cupboard, poured water from the tap and drank. "I don't like people," he continued, his back to me as he washed dishes. I was right. He washed them as soon as he finished eating. "Especially if they're in my space." When he was done, he turned to face me. "You like me," I pointed out. His mouth twitched. "Yeah. Just you." "You like Caleb too." "Yeah, but I don't want to sleep with him." "Hallelujah." He laughed softly. "Caleb knows his limits. You don't." "And?" "And that makes you dangerous to me." "Me?" "Because I'd let you run me to the ground if that's what you wanted." "Cameron." Slowly I walked to him, stopped a few inches. "I'm sorry. For being a no-show this week." Undeterred, I lifted on my toes, trying to reach his mouth, but he was so tall I ended up kissing his chin. Unless I grabbed a chair and stand on it, there was no way I'd succeed. "Are you still mad at me?" I whispered on his neck. "I was never mad at you." I looked up. He hadn't shifted his head down, but his eyes were looking at me now. Blue and piercing. "But?" "I have no right to tell you this, especially after the shit I pulled on you before, but damn it all to hell, it was hard not seeing you."