to still the shaking in my hands. A keen sense of awareness kept me searching the roads the entire drive home.
He drove his expensive sportscar too fast, like life is irrelevant. That would make sense, since he said we couldn’t afford IVF, then he bought this car …
“You think someone broke in?” I ask. I stare at our house through the windshield.
The house is serene, untouched.
“Stay here,” Camden says, reaching over not to reassure me but to dig through the glove compartment. He extracts a flashlight and climbs out, leaving me to close the compartment door for him.
My knees bounce as I watch him slip through the front door without turning on any lights.
I’ve offered to put the alarm service on my bills before, so a company is contacted if it’s triggered, but Camden has always refused. He refused again tonight when I tried to bring it up. He hushed me and set a timer for five minutes before disarming the alarm from his phone.
This isn’t safe. Not having backup. Trusting the blare of an alarm to do the work of police. Who does he think he is right now, anyway? John McClane?
The longer he’s in there, the tighter my muscles get. When he finally flicks on the front room light and steps onto the porch, my body is aching.
He gestures for me to come inside. It would have been nice if he’d come to get me so I’m not in the dark. Alone.
I take deep breaths in the security of the car, then step out. My eyes travel the edges of our property, searching through the bushes and trees along the fence line. As I race to the door, nothing jumps out to attack me. I’m alone.
So alone.
Right now, I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Once I’m over the threshold, I stop, daring to inch forward into the house that’s supposed to be my safe place. This is one more reason that it isn’t. Two—because dinner tonight was jarring.
“Not sure what tripped it,” Camden calls from down the hall.
A door creaks, and his feet thud downstairs.
I gulp and pull my hands together, one finger finding the thumbnail of the other.
The basement.
Elle.
Her jewelry. If it’s missing … if someone stole it, I’ll be out of business. She’ll refuse to help me.
My body urges me not to follow, but I move forward down the hall. I descend the stairs with caution, and come around the corner, into the storage room.
Camden is kneeling by the black bins with the locked red lids, checking them for damage. My gaze flashes to the wall with old cardboard boxes.
It’s still here and looks undisturbed, but I’ll have to take a closer look later. I don’t dare check with Camden here.
“Everything okay?” I ask timidly, a shiver coursing through me.
As he nods, my gaze drifts to the wall again. Do I remember the box correctly? I can’t be sure. Did I leave the corner hanging off the shelf instead of tucking it against the back wall?
My vision blurs as I realize I shouldn’t be fearing what Elle will do if the jewelry is stolen.
I should be concerned that she’s the one who tried to steal it.
Could she be capable of breaking and entering? I don’t really know her. I only know that she can forge jewelry and that she wants mine. Rather, she wants the jewelry that resides in my basement.
I step back, slipping out of the room to separate myself from the cardboard box.
It wasn’t Elle. There’s no reason—we have an agreement.
Camden stands, walking toward me. He stops inches from me, touching my cheek.
“You’re trembling,” he whispers.
“I’m scared.”
“No need to be.” A smile dances on his lips. “I’d never let anything happen to you.”
His words smooth over my emotions but leave a slight question in their wake.
Camden brushes his lips across mine and pulls me against his body. He’s hard. His hands slide down my waist, pressing my hips against him. I grab his neck, needing him closer, needing his lips against mine.
As our tongues lock, our breathing shallow, frantic, my throat constricts.
He’s turned on by the potential intrusion, by the risk—the thrill—of being unsafe.
Charlie.
Charlie is that for him.
I push away, taking a breath. He tries to pull me back, but I place my hand on his chest.
“Can we check the house one more time?” It’s a perfect excuse to collect my thoughts.
He grins and releases me.
“Sure,” he says, then turns and climbs the stairs.
I follow him, waiting in the kitchen as he clears one room at a time, turning on the lights as he does.
When he returns, he laces his arms around my hips and lightly kisses me. I don’t protest. I don’t ask the thousands of questions running through my mind.
Instead, I let him hold me. I ask him to keep me safe. And I lead him to our bed.
Tonight, it just might be enough.