He was a flurry of activity as he talked, moving plates to the kitchen table, getting silverware, and taking orange juice out of the refrigerator.
“I told him it reminded me of you, all quiet and fluffy and cute.” He paused before pressing the first pod into the coffeemaker. “‘Not Charity?’ he’d asked. You know how they were always shoving us together, hoping we’d be friends.”
“You’re the same age. My mom and yours used to joke that they’d have to find Xander a good girl for their triple wedding.” I rolled my eyes.
Cam scoffed. “Yeah, I was never going to marry Charity. Not in a million years. Not that she’s not pretty, or smart, or a friend. She’s just…” He paused, his hand on the coffee mug, and my breath held. “Anyway, it stood there—the pika—and it squeaked, and I told Uncle Cal that it was definitely you, because you could get really loud when you were mad.”
I smiled, which was probably a little ridiculous, seeing that he was still comparing me to a rodent. But still. A cute, fluffy one.
He stepped forward, and I moved to get out of his way, only to realize I was his way. My back hit the cool granite counter, and I tilted my head to look up—and up—at him. He wasn’t touching me or even in my personal space, but it felt like he was everywhere, like he eclipsed the rest of the world behind him.
“So I started calling you Pika. The older I got, the more I learned about them, the more it fit.”
“Not because I had really big front teeth.”
He shook his head, then slowly took a strand of my braid that had come loose during the night and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “No. Because pikas are elusive. They’re only seen when they want to be. They don’t hibernate through winter. Instead, they survive under ten or twenty feet of snow, facing each day as it comes.”
He moved closer until our bodies brushed but didn’t collide. My pulse galloped, racing toward some destination I’d never let myself even contemplate.
“But they can only survive at altitude,” he said softly. “They can’t endure the heat of the lower elevations. They’re made for the mountains. They take the rugged terrain and the cold and the impossible, and they make it home. They survive everything nature says they shouldn’t and still stay so soft.” He ran his knuckles down the side of my cheek with the last word.
My eyes fluttered shut at the contact. When he reached my jaw, I put my hand over his to hold it there.
A second passed. Two. He didn’t move. Neither did I.
I drew in a shaky breath and found the courage to open my eyes, knowing he could be wearing that half smirk, ready with a witty, biting little comment.
Instead, his dark-brown eyes looked just as conflicted as I felt.
“Willow,” he whispered, lowering his head inch by slow inch.
“Cam,” I replied, refusing to look at those lips descending toward mine for fear I’d break whatever spell we were held in.
“Say no,” he pleaded, his words hitting my lips in little huffs of peppermint.
“Yes.” It slipped out, that word I’d let dance on the tip of my tongue since I turned sixteen. Maybe even younger, if I was being honest with myself. Maybe even since I understood what that kind of yes meant.
He cursed as my free hand rested on his chest, feeling his heart meet the racing pace of mine.
“Yes, Cam. Yes,” I repeated, in case he didn’t hear me the first time, knowing full well he did. I’d get him a freaking sign if he needed one.
“Wrong answer,” he warned.
A breath later, he kissed me with soft lips that caressed mine gently, almost reverently.
It felt more like a first kiss than my actual first had been. It was the kiss we would have had as much younger, way less experienced teenagers.
Then it happened again and again—light, sipping kisses that had me rising on my toes to get closer to him. He was so tense under my hand, I wondered if he’d snap or shatter.
He pulled back just long enough to look at me, his brow knit together like he was in pain, searching my face for something he didn’t name.
I saw the moment he decided. The strain disappeared from his face, and determination took its place.
Then his mouth was on mine, hard and demanding. I parted my lips, and he sank inside to stroke my tongue with his as his hands gripped my hips and lifted.
My fingers threaded into the silk strands of his hair as I kissed him back with everything I had. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles like I could hold him prisoner, savoring his groan at the contact.
His kiss held an edge of desperation, and it fueled me, seeking more, faster, deeper. If this was the only time I’d kiss Camden Daniels, then I was going to make damn sure he remembered it, because I would.
We were a mile past electric. Past combustible. Past chemistry or anything that could be explained by science. We simply fit, like two halves of completely different shapes that somehow clicked and became whole and new.
He explored the lines of my mouth, teasing with his tongue, biting gently on my lower lip with sharp teeth. Then, before I could take in a full breath to recover, he was kissing me again, robbing me of every thought besides the absolute wildness he stirred in my veins.
I came alive in his kiss, arching into him, taking as much as he gave and then demanding more. He tasted like peppermint and snowy mornings all tangled together with an edge of fire I knew would burn me if I let him close enough.
He growled my name, and heat answered in my belly as I turned liquid. Whatever he wanted, I’d give him. It was that simple. Because this was Cam.
And he was finally kissing me.
His hands shifted so one arm supported me and the other sent jolts of awareness through every nerve in my body as he trailed his fingers up my spine to cradle the base of my head. Those fingers tightened in a light grip, pulling slightly so my neck arched.
“Cam,” I groaned as his lips left mine and sucked a path of kisses down my throat. I was going to die. Right here, right now. There was no way anything got better than this.
His hands gripped me tighter, and—
Ring.
What was…?
Ring.
No cute ringtone for Cam, nope, just the straight-up, jarring blare of an old-school telephone.
He stopped as the third ring sounded, his lips open against the base of my neck. He lifted his glazed eyes to mine on the fourth, then blinked, and just like that, the spell was broken. A flare of panic, of regret widened his eyes.
No. No. No. It was over too soon.
My heart lurched as he set me on the counter, and his arms slackened, letting me go. I fought every instinct to keep him close, to fight his withdrawal, but I uncrossed my ankles, and he literally slipped through my fingers as he retreated.