Prescription For Love (The Kingsley Series) (19 page)

He turned the bike into her driveway and dropped his feet to keep them steady, turning his head to ask what she wanted to do. Sitting back, she lifted the helmet from her head and shook out her curls, making him imagine what she would look like tangled up in his bed. He cleared his throat. "Wanna take your car? Or was the bike okay?"

"I like it!" she exclaimed, excitement flaring in her eyes. Her smile was contagious, and in the moment, she looked free of the burdens she usually carried. "It's like horses, but, you know, different."

Laughing, he propped an elbow on her knee and leaned back, resting in the cloud of vanilla scent that followed wherever she went. "So, you want to take your car, or ride with me? The carnival rides await, my lady."

"You know what? We'll take the bike. It's actually kind of fun," she laughed. Raising the helmet and settling it back on her head, she lay against him, snaking her arms around his body again, and they were off.

By evening, they'd both ingested enough carnival food to turn both their stomachs. They'd flipped and twisted on the tilt-a-whirl, they'd chatted comfortably on the Ferris wheel, and they'd clenched hands, screaming on a dozen other rides. They'd played midway games, they'd wandered aimlessly, and they were flat-out exhausted.

The carefree fun of the evening had taken Cameron's hormones down memory lane, to a time when she'd felt free to explore her sexual nature and her longing for romance. On the quiet ride back from the carnival, she'd pressed the roundness of her helmet to Mac's shoulder, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the feeling of his chest working under her hands. He maneuvered the bike with skilled finesse, and for the first time in over a decade, Cameron felt safe with a man she wasn't related to.

Pulling up in front of her house, Mac dropped his feet and waited for Cameron to slip away from him, the cool evening air on his back as her body left his motorcycle. He turned, reaching up to remove his helmet and prop it on the bike as he swung his leg over. Propping the kickstand to hold the bike, he waited for Cameron to remove her helmet and shake out her hair, fighting the urge to step forward and take her in his arms.

He didn't have to fight for long, she stepped forward on her own, coming closer to him as she reached to prop her helmet next to his. When she turned her face to his, Mac thought he might choke on his own breath in surprise, and his chest tightened as she placed her hands flat on the planes of his stomach. Stepping closer, she brought her eyes to his, her bottom lip nervously slipping between her teeth.

"I had a really good time, Mac. It's been so long since I really felt like I could let go and have fun," she murmured, her eyes wide as his hands settled on her hips.

"I'm glad you feel safe with me," he choked, trying not to throw her over his shoulder like a caveman and take her right there in the yard.

"Thank you," she said, leaning forward. Her breasts pressed lightly to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt, she tilted her face and pressed her lips to his. Hearing his desperate groan as he struggled for control, Cameron smiled to herself against his kiss.

"And that's why I feel safe with you," she whispered. Her hands slipped up over the muscles of his chest, over his shoulders, and her fingers laced loosely behind his neck, the close-cut ends of his hair tickling her thumbs. "I know you'll be careful with me, that this will never go anywhere that I don't want it to go." His breath tickled her cheek as she tipped her head and kissed the square edge of his jaw.

"God, Cameron," he whispered, his breath catching and then spilling out in a rush. Realizing how tightly he was clenching her hips, he forced his fingers to loosen, and dipped his head to press his forehead to hers. "You'd better go inside," he gasped. "There's a monster in your driveway that wants to devour you."

She laughed. "He won't," she said, "I know he won't. He's a pussycat. Still, I'll go on, just in case." She touched the tip of her tongue to the corner of his mouth, running it along the curve of his bottom lip, tasting him as he stood desperately rigid against her. Pressing one last kiss to his mouth, she turned and walked to her door.

***

Pulling away from Cameron's house, Mac struggled to contain his thoughts and focus on controlling his motorcycle, eventually giving up and parking the bike next to the walkway along the river.

The sound of the water flowing followed him as he walked, drawing on his training as he focused on his relationship with Cameron. She was a bundle of contradiction; one moment so fragile in the wake of her tragedies that he feared watching her shatter, and the next moment, so strong and bold and brave that he was almost glad she'd been broken, if only because her brokenness allowed her to build such strength of character.

She reminded him of Alex as he'd watched her die, as the cancerous tumor had devoured her brain and taken her life. She'd spent her days bravely raising their son for as long as she could, and spent the nights melting in his arms, kissing him goodbye instead of goodnight, always afraid that the next morning would not give life to her stricken body.

There was one vital difference between them, though, and that was the fact that Cameron's brokenness would not take her life, it had not crushed her spirit or left her without the strength of her will. She had been determined to go on, and she had spent the last ten years of her life building a life that she could love.

"Stupid bastards," Mac muttered, his thoughts turning to the men who had betrayed Cameron, who had traded her like a favor, like a toy to be shared. Cameron had said that the boys who'd violated her trust had been people she knew well, an ex-boyfriend who'd been impatient with Cameron's innocence, and a friend of his who'd been abusing women for a long, long time.

That was the thing that bothered him. It wasn't that Cameron was kidnapped, drugged, raped, and branded with a tattoo, but that even that didn't make her feel special. It didn't make her feel singled out; it didn't make her feel targeted. It made her feel cheap, disposable. Insignificant. She wasn't alone even in the brutal ordeal that she'd suffered through; she was one of many. Jake, the ex-boyfriend, had walked in on one of Kevin's dirty rape games, and in exchange for Jake's silence, Kevin had taken Cameron's innocence, her trust, her belief in men and love.

It ate at Mac, knowing that Cameron had to walk around feeling ordinary. She'd told him everything the night she'd had her panic attack, the night she'd shown him the tattoo inked into the smooth flesh of her body. She'd cried, quietly pretending that she wasn't, as she'd explained the many women who'd taken the stand in court, the women who'd testified against Kevin about what had happened to them. The many women, all able to lift the left sides of their shirts and reveal the matching tattoos that made them each a part of Kevin's personal victim collection.

Mac found a bench and sat, twitching his feet through the weedy grass growing wild next to the river. Leaning back, he stretched his arm over the back of the bench and breathed in the scent of the water and the fresh air, the carrying smells of nature and the sounds of night settling in around him. And still the fury flowed through him.

He could still remember the shock on her face when he'd told her that the tattoo was kind of pretty, asking if she'd thought of covering it or changing it in some way, making it her own.

"What?!" she'd asked, crossing her arms under her breasts and turning to face him with fire in her eyes.

"Well, I just mean it isn't ugly to look at, much as the meaning behind it is ugly," he'd answered. "Maybe you could tweak it some, make it your own. Reclaiming the landscape, so to speak."

"Hmph," she'd grunted, retreating for a moment into her own thoughts. "That really hadn't occurred to me. It's not a bad idea." And they'd walked on.

Now he wondered if she would do it, if she would be able, emotionally, to lie flat on her back on a table, with a strange man leaning over her, the buzzing of the tattoo gun sounding off in the background. That in itself would be an ordeal for her, and with her PTSD, it could trigger another strike of panic; it could, conceivably, send her back - in her mind - to the day she'd lain helpless and paralyzed. It could be something that would strengthen her and help her to regain some sense of self-possession, or it could be just similar enough to her tragic past to break her completely.

"Stupid bastard," he muttered again, but this time, he was referring to himself. He certainly couldn't go to her, couldn't stop her from going to have the tattoo changed. He had no claim over her, no right to ask her not to do it. But had he unwittingly sent her on the path to an emotional breakdown? Groaning, he ran his fingers through his hair.

All he could do was wait, and be there, and hope that she was strong enough to stand under the weight of whatever she chose to do.

Still, her behavior during their date that night definitely indicated some emotional healing. It had to; a girl with her memories certainly wouldn't fall into trusting any man as fast as Cameron seemed to be trusting him, warming to him. The memory of her kiss rose up in his mind, his bottom lip tingling with the memory of her tongue, tentatively tasting his mouth.

It wasn't even the kiss, really, that had knocked him to his proverbial knees; he'd kissed her plenty of times before, gently, slowly growing more and more able to touch her without frightening her with his nearness. But she'd never initiated any intimate contact with him before, never reached for him on her own; she'd certainly never pressed the curves of her body tightly against his with her soft touch slowly skimming the planes of his chest and shoulders.

Remembering the way she'd clenched him with her thighs as they'd ridden together on his motorcycle, the way her fingertips had dug slightly into the muscles of his chest, he hardened, one hand going unconsciously to his chest, resting where her hands had rested.

"Damn, I am a damn mess," he muttered. He closed his eyes, willing his body back under his control; he tipped his head back, looking for the stars. Sighing, he reached into his jacket, feeling for the vibrating cell phone tucked into the pocket close to his chest.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Dad?"

"Logan, what are you still doing up? Gran didn't put you to bed yet?"

"No, we watched movies. Are you gonna be home soon, Dad?"

Mac sighed, a grin widening his mouth. He stood and started back toward his motorcycle. "I'm on my way, son ... love you, too. Bye."

***

I'm doing it. Oh my goodness, I'm doing it. I'm really doing it,
Cameron thought, fighting back the excited nausea that rose up the back of her throat as she listened to the ringtone in her ear.

"Hello?" Tabitha asked, the musical ringing abruptly ending as she picked up the call.

"Still want to go with me?" Cameron asked, flipping the turn signal with the edge of her finger and taking a breath as she waited for the red light to change.

"Go with you? Go where?" Tabitha asked, answering the question with a question of her own as her voice took on a cautious tone.

"To the tattoo place," Cameron said, holding her breath as she waited to see what Tabitha would say.

"Oh my God, for real? Cameron? For real? You're gonna do it?!" Tabitha squealed.

"I'm gonna do it, but I have to do it now or I'll get scared and not go," Cameron laughed. "It's not far from your house, the place I'm using. You want to come with me? I can pick you up."

"Uh, yeah I’m totally coming! How long do I have before you get here?" A thud sounded in the background, Tabitha grunted, and then there was a louder thud. "Stupid freaking table," Tabitha muttered.

Cameron laughed. "It's not like I have an appointment. How 'bout you get dressed, and I'll be there in a few. When you're ready, come out and we'll go, silly. And I don't see why you don't get rid of that coffee table. You trip over it every time you walk by."

"I know," Tabitha groaned. "But we always had a coffee table, so now I feel like I'm supposed to have a coffee table. I know, it's stupid. Anyway, I gotta go get dressed. I'm still in my pajamas."

"Well, I'm turning onto your street, so just come out when you're done," Cameron answered, disconnecting the call and dropping her cell phone into the cup holder. Turning the radio up, she listened to a news report as she turned into the driveway and waited for Tabitha to come out. It wasn't a good distraction; when Tabitha came smiling through the front door of her house, Cameron was still trying to ignore the fact that she was about to go to a strange place and expose herself to what would likely be strange people.