All Over You (All Falls Down #3) (10 page)

"It's okay, kitten," he murmurs over and over. "You're gonna be okay."

I'm not sure if I believe him or not, but eventually, my cries slow. He doesn't let me go, though. He just holds me, his heart beating a steady rhythm against my ear. He's warm and strong and makes me feel so safe. His tender words ease me, lulling me to the edge of sleep.

"I need you to trust that I will find out who's behind this," he says as I drift in his arms. "I know what I'm doing. You just gotta give me time to do my job, kitten."

"Mm," I mumble.

"Not gonna let anything happen to you."

I wake up disoriented to find that Cam has left. I'm not alone though, not exactly.

He's left a note on the coffee table for me.

Sleep, kitten
, it reads in bold, elegant print.
And stop worrying. Everything will be okay.

I want to ask him how he knows everything will be fine, but he isn't here and it's far too late to call him. Instead, I grab his note and carry it into the bathroom with me. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I quickly strip my clothes off and hit the lights before hesitating. Reaching into the hamper, I grab the shirt I just took off, snatch his note off the counter, and stumble toward my room.

I tuck his note away in the cover of my Kindle, snuggle up with my shirt that smells like him, and fall back to sleep.

My phone wakes me early the next morning. I groan and roll toward my nightstand, reaching blindly for my cell. Once I have it in hand, I snuggle back up beneath the blankets, not ready to leave the warmth and comfort of the bed. Thanks to the shirt wrapped around my pillow, Cam's scent is all over me, and I feel peaceful for the first time in days, as if he watched over me in my sleep, easing my mind.

"Hello?" I mumble, bringing the phone to my ear when it rings again.

"Morning, kitten." Cam's voice is a deep rumble in my ear, sending a pleasurable shiver through me.

"Morning," I whisper, snuggling deeper into the bed as my body comes alive at just the sound of his voice. My nipples harden and heat floods through me in a rush.

"Did I wake you?"

"Mmhmm."

"Bet you're all naked and sexy right now, aren't you?"

I should tell him no, but the word won't come. Instead, I moan, rubbing my thighs together.

"Fuck, I love that sound," he groans. Shuffling sounds down the line, like he's moving around, and then his voice comes again. "Wanna hear you come for me, kitten. Will you do that for me?"

"Cam," I whisper, rolling onto my back. Again, I should tell him no, but I can't seem to form the word to deny his request. The thought of letting him get me off on the phone is too tempting, too naughty, to pass up.

"Come on, kitten. Touch yourself for me."

Without hesitation, I obey him. My hand drifts down my body, over my nipples and then down the smooth plane of my stomach. I'm so turned on, I can't stop myself. The thought of getting off to his voice has me panting softly in his ear.

"Slide that little hand down that gorgeous body and touch your pussy for me."

My core clenches as my fingers drift over my sex.

"Are you wet for me?"

I circle my fingers around my clit, blushing at how wet I already am for him. I'm soaked.

"Answer me."

"Yes," I whimper, arching into my hand. "God, Cam, I'm so wet."

"Good girl," he growls, his voice strained. More shuffling sounds down the line. "Knew you would be. Did you dream about me last night?"

"Yes."

"Bet I made you come all over me, didn't I?"

I whimper wordlessly, adjusting the phone between my ear and shoulder and then sliding my other hand down my body to play with my nipples. A low moan rolls from my lips, pulled out by his soft breaths in my ear. I've barely even started, and I'm already on the edge. "You're going to make me come now," I manage to tell him.

"Not yet, kitten. Not until I say so," he demands.

"Please."

"Put the phone on speaker."

I reluctantly release my nipple and do as instructed.

"Good girl," he croons in my ear when I tell him the task is complete. "Now, up on your knees."

I hesitate.

"Now, kitten."

The sharp, growled command has me jumping to obey. I roll to my knees, letting the blankets fall from around me. The air is cool against my naked skin, pulling another moan from my lips.

"Bet you look incredible with that ass in the air for me," he says, breathing heavily.

"Cam, are you―?"

"Working my cock for you? Fuck yes."

"Oh god."

"Fuck yourself with your fingers, sweetheart. Ride that hand like it's mine. Can you do that for me?"

"Oh god," I groan again, my body undulating at his filthy words. I'm gone, any inhibitions I had left ripped away by that filthy mouth of his. I can't handle the dirty talk rolling from his lips in that sexy, breathless voice. And he has his hand on his cock, too?

I slide one hand down my body, bracing myself with the other against the headboard.

"Do it, kitten. Pretend your hand is mine and ride my fingers." He pauses until I moan loudly, letting him know I'm doing exactly as instructed. "Fuck, listen at you, kitten. Gonna make me come all over myself." He groans, a dull thud coming down the line as if he's dropped his head back against a wall. "You're so tight around my fingers. I can feel your cunt clenching around me, sucking me deeper."

"Cam," I whimper. "Cam."

"I know, sweetheart. I know."

I ride my fingers hard, too far gone to care about the filthy noises ripped from somewhere deep within me.

"How many can you take, sweetheart?"

"T-two."

"Ah, kitten. I'm going to split you wide open when I get in there. One more, sweetheart. Give me one more."

I obey him and press another finger inside. I can't stop myself. My body is on fire, burning up every time he opens his mouth. "Cam," I cry out as my juices drip down my hand. I'm soaking everything…my hand, the sheet beneath me. My nipples scrape against the pillow every time I rock backward, thrusting my fingers deeper.

I imagine he's behind me, watching me get myself off on his fingers. They're so much thicker than mine, so much bigger. He plays with my ass with his free hand, his fingers running over my cheeks before dipping between to strum across my back entrance.

"God, Cam. I can't…I can't!"

"Don't you dare stop," he growls. "Your juices are soaking my hand. The entire room smells like you. Can't wait to taste you on my tongue. Wanna watch you ride my face until your thighs shake and your come drips down my chin. Fuck, kitten. Give it to me."

I'm so close, my entire body is shaking. I rock back onto my hand faster, pressing the heel of my palm into my clit on each downward shift. "Cam, please! Please," I sob, unable to hold off any longer.

"That's it, kitten. Gonna leave my mark all over you, sweetheart. Nobody gets to touch you but me. Come for me. Come now!"

Fireworks ignite inside, striking like a bomb detonating, me as soon as he growls the command. I scream his name until my voice is raw, and then I collapse, my heart beating so hard, I can't catch a breath.

He's moaning in my ear, "kitten" rolling from his lips in a reverent chant as he finds his own release.

I close my eyes, focusing on his voice and the way pleasure still radiates through me, curling my toes and arching my back off the bed. Sweat drips down my body, little beads rolling down my stomach.

"Fuck, kitten.
Fuck
," he groans a moment later. "Told you I'd be good and go slow for you, but I can't help it. Can't get you out of my head. All I think about is being inside you. Gotta get in there."

I shiver and reach for the phone, pulling it closer so I don't miss a word he's saying.

"You gonna let me in, kitten?"

"Maybe," I say, smiling.

He growls, the sound wicked and playful at once. "Told you about that smart mouth of ours. Don't make me come over there and fill it."

"Yeah, yeah," I tease him, yawning and stretching. "Where are you?"

"At work."

I bolt upright in the bed with a gasp. "You aren't!"

He laughs at me. "'Fraid so. You got me so hot, I just came all over my hand in my office."

A blush bursts to life on my cheeks, burning like fire. I cover my face, mortified at the thought of his coworkers hearing what just happened between us. "Please tell me no one could hear me," I whisper.

Cam goes quiet, his laughter fading. "Kitten," he says, disapproval in his tone. "Nobody but me gets to hear you, do you understand me? Nobody but me."

"I…" I swallow and then nod, though I know damn well he can't see me. "Nobody but you," I agree.

"You going for a run this morning?" he asks a few seconds later.

"How do you―? Never mind," I mumble, shaking my head and crawling from the bed. After what he told me last night, I have a feeling he knows a hell of a lot more about me and my habits than I'm ready to hear. The man is…well, he's something. "What are you doing today?" I ask him, padding toward my dresser to grab my running gear.

"You let me worry about that," he says.

"I―"

"Kitten," he warns me.

"Fine," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "It's not like whatever you're doing concerns me or anything."

He growls at me and then laughs softly. "Behave, kitten. I got shit to do. Call me if you need me."

Before I can reply, the line goes dead. I pull it away from my ear and glare at it for a moment. I briefly consider texting him to tell him I'm not going to behave, but then think better of it. He'll probably show up here and follow through on his threats to fill my smart mouth or spank my ass.

"Why does that turn me on so much?" I groan aloud, stomping toward the bathroom.

chapter eight

tears don't fall

"Wassup? It's Erin. If you reached this message, you already know I'm not going to listen to your voicemail. Text me!"

"Where are you?" I ask when the phone beeps for me to leave a message. Aside from a text on Tuesday letting me know she was flying straight from the lake to Chicago for her conference, I haven't heard from her since she left town. "Did you make it to Chicago safely? Please call me. I'm worried about you." I hesitate for a moment, torn between telling her what's going on here, and then decide against it.
I'm on the verge of being charged with manslaughter
, probably isn't something best revealed in a voicemail.

With a sigh, I end the call and slip my phone into my pocket before glancing up at the storefront in front of me.
Shae's
is an upscale boutique in the swanky Union Square shopping district in the city, and it's not somewhere I frequent. In fact, I can't remember ever stepping foot inside before.

I hesitate on the sidewalk as two women step outside in thousand dollar suits, their hair perfectly coiffed. Their driver follows behind, his arms loaded down with bags. The two look at me as he holds the door for me, their gazes shifting up and down, taking in my simple A-line skirt and blouse, before summarily dismissing me as irrelevant.

Taking a deep breath, I march forward, refusing to be intimidated by this place or haughty women. This is my fourth stop of the day, and I've received the same looks at each.

"Thank you," I murmur to their driver with a bright smile.

He nods his head and grins at me as I duck inside and then stop. Like the other places I've visited today, the décor screams luxury. High-end clothing hangs in limited quantities on the cream-colored walls. A grouping of posh chairs sits in the middle, with a large chandelier sparkling overhead. Aside from an elderly lady trying on extravagant hats on the far side of the boutique, the boutique is empty of shoppers.

"Welcome to
Shae's
. Can I help you?" a saleswoman asks, materializing in front of me. Dressed smartly in a business suit and heels with a haughty smile on her face, she looks every bit as at home here as the two women outside.

"Um, yeah. I'm trying to find some information."

Her blue eyes immediately glaze over as if she's bored. It's the same look I've gotten all morning, and it's starting to irritate me. Is it that hard to imagine someone like me might actually shop in a place like this?

"We're not hiring right now," she says, already turning away.

"I'm not looking for a job," I hurry to say before she can wander off.

"Okay?" she says, impatience in her tone.

"My name is Ivy Kendall. Someone stole my identity, and I think the person responsible may have been in here a few weeks ago. Is there any way you can look that up and see if there's an account here under my name?" No one else has been willing to even look for me, telling me I should let the police handle the matter. Hoping this woman will do me this favor is a long shot, but I don't really know what else to do.

Every time I've talked to Cam in the last few days, he's told me not to worry, and that he's working on it. When he comes over, he distracts me with his dirty mouth or roving hands. We haven't done anything more than kiss since he made me come for him, but he's a master at diverting my attention.

The sales lady stares at me for a long moment as if she isn't sure whether she wants to help me or not.

"Please," I whisper, not above begging at this point. If I can find someone who remembers Fake Ivy, maybe they can confirm to Cam that she isn't me, and he can pass that on to whoever is officially in charge of the case, clearing my name.

"Can I see your ID?" she finally asks.

A little, hopeful thrill goes through me. "Of course," I say, digging in my pocket where I shoved my ID and keys when I parked to take the trolley three hours ago. I hand it over to her with trembling hands.

She examines the little square of plastic for a full minute, glancing between me and the photograph in the bottom left corner as if to compare. "Follow me," she says then, holding the ID out to me. "I'll check and see what I can find."

"Thank you so much." I resist the urge to do a happy dance in the middle of the store and trail behind her as she strides toward the counter, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Standing to the side, I fidget restlessly as she begins to pull up information on the computer. I don't want to get my hopes up, but I can't help but pray she'll find something that will help me clear my name and end this entire nightmare. It's only been a week, and I already miss my life.

I watch as the elderly lady across the room tries on a massive white hat adorned with a grouping of black and white feathers. It should look ridiculous, but she looks regal in it, like the Queen. If the pleased expression on her lined face is any indication, she thinks so, too.

"Do you know what day she was in here?" the sales lady asks.

"It was a Tuesday." I give her the date and time, my gaze drifting to the jewelry displayed in the case near the counter. An assortment of necklaces, rings, and bracelets rests on a bed of silk, catching the light cast from the chandelier overhead. The gold and silver bands gleam; the diamonds and other jewels cast a prism of light into the case. I lean closer, looking at a princess cut diamond ring placed beside those five times more ostentatious. Smaller diamonds line the infinity twist in a beautiful display. It's absolutely gorgeous, and more expensive than I'll ever be able to afford.

"I don't see anything under your name," the sales lady says, recalling my attention.

I straighten up, frowning. "What about under Ivy Wade?"

She hits a few more keys and then shakes her head. "I'm afraid not."

Dammit.
I try to hide the dejection rushing through me, but I don't think I succeed. Tears of frustration and disappointment pool in my eyes, forcing me to blink rapidly to hold them back.

"What time did you say she was here again?" she asks, pursing her lips as she watches me.

"Eleven thirty," I mumble.

"We had three guests in at that time on that day," she says, pitching her voice low as her gaze darts toward the elderly lady to ensure she isn't listening in to our conversation. "Alyssa Parks, Miranda Maurice, and Rory Clark."

"Rory Clark?" My eyes widen, excitement firing through me. "He was here?"

"According to our sales log."

"Were you here that day?"

She shakes her head no.

"Do you have security cameras?" I ask, digging into my pocket for my phone.

The sales lady watches me warily for a long moment as if trying to decide whether I'm going to use the knowledge to rob them blind, and then seemingly decides that she trusts me or that doesn't care one way or another what I do with what she tells me. "We place cameras outside only. Our guests like their privacy."

"Thank you so much," I tell her again, scrolling through my cell for Cam's phone number. As soon as I find it, I hit the button to dial, already hurrying toward the front door. "Cam, I think I found something," I blurt out as soon as he answers, not even giving him a chance to say a word. "Rory Clark was supposedly at
Shae's
the week before he went missing, at the exact same time Fake Ivy posted she was here, shopping. How much do you want to bet that she was using his name and financial information?"

Cam doesn't respond for a long moment. "You're at
Shae's
?" he asks then.

"Obviously. I couldn't just sit around and wait for something to happen," I say, rolling my eyes. No way in hell am I going to just sit back and hope everything works out in my favor. "Did you hear what I said? I think Fake Ivy was here, using Rory's name. Or he was here with her, which means he might actually know who she really is."

"I'll look into it," he says.

My steps slow and then halt altogether as his terse tone registers. Why isn't he excited about this?

"Something's wrong," I guess.

"I need you to go back to your apartment and wait for me."

"Cam―"

"Kitten," he says with a sigh. "Go home and wait for me."

"Tell me," I say, pushing my way outside into the sunshine. My feet drag as I start down the sidewalk, my excitement from just moments ago long gone.

"Kitten."

"Don't growl at me, Cam. This is
my
life," I remind him quietly. People push past me, brushing against me as they hurry along on their errands, oblivious to the way I stand there, waiting for him to drop a bomb on me.

"Fuck." His voice grows faint for a moment, his curses muffled, and then he comes back on the line. "Two hours ago, a body washed up at West Bluff."

I toss out a hand, latching onto the side of the building to keep myself upright when my knees weaken, a wave of dizziness rolling through me. "Is it―Was it―?" I can't get the words out to ask if it's Rory Clark. My tongue feels thick and heavy, my mouth completely dry.

"I don't know yet, kitten," he murmurs, his voice softening as if he knows I'm on the verge of losing it. "I'm on my way there now. I need you to go to your apartment and wait for me." He pauses. "Do I need to send someone to pick you up, sweetheart?"

"I…no. I'll be okay." That's so far from the truth, it's not even in the same stratosphere, but I can't afford to fall apart. Now, more than ever, I have to stay calm and figure this out.

"Be there for you as soon as I can get free, kitten," he murmurs after a moment. "Everything's going to be fine. Just trust me, okay?"

I do trust him. And that's the problem. I want to lean on him, but part of me resists, refusing to believe he can fix this for me. Ever since my mom and sister died, I've been on my own, taking care of my father and myself. Even when things were at the worst, I held it together. I got myself through college, and made sure my dad had the best care possible until he died. I'll get myself through this, too. I don't have a choice. If this is Rory's body, I'm going to be charged with his death sooner rather than later.

Cam is a good guy…a great guy. He doesn't deserve to go down with me, and if anyone finds out he's been spending time with me, he could be in serious trouble.

I can't let that happen. I won't.

Drawing on the strength that got me through losing my family, I take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "I don't think that's a good idea," I say, curling my hands into tight fists, fighting to keep my voice level and steady. I don't want him to hear the regret in my words. I don't want him to know that he's become important to me. In a few short days, he's wriggled his way in, and I don't want to kick him out now. "I appreciate all of your help, but I don't think we should see each other anymore."

"Kitten," he growls in warning, but I don't let him say anything else. I can't.

"Goodbye, Detective Lewis. Thank you for everything," I whisper into the phone, and then I hang up. I turn my phone off and stumble away from the building. My mind spins, nausea rolling through me with each step. I steel myself against the feeling, trying to think. I have to figure this out. And I have to do it without Cam.

Was Rory the one at
Shae's,
or was it Fake Ivy? Has he ever met her before? Or did she string him along the entire time, making up stories about why she couldn't meet him like Daphne did with Jay?

I don't have time to wait for Cam to request to view the security tapes to find out who was in the store. Not now, when what is more than likely Rory's body has washed up on shore. I have to find out if Rory ever met Fake Ivy, and I know only one way to do that. I have to go to Los Angeles.

Ducking into a bank at the corner, I make my way to the short line for the ATM, my mind racing as a plan begins to form. I'll drive to L.A. tonight and head to the UCLA campus first thing in the morning. Surely someone there would know if Rory ever met Fake Ivy in person.

My checking account is woefully depleted, leaving me barely enough to pay my bills. There's no way I can use any of it, not if I plan to survive when I get home. I regretfully withdraw every penny I have in savings and then make my way back to the trolley and then to my car.

Once inside, I hesitate, torn between running home to pack a bag and driving straight to Los Angeles. And then I think of Cam and realize I can't go home. If I do, he'll find me there, and try to convince me to let him help me. And I can't let that happen. For his sake.

Backing out of my parking spot, I head toward the freeway.