There was no way Fontana’s prickly nature would allow her to approach withthischarade going on.
It all came down to cross purposes and timing.
He wanted what he couldn’t have. Didn’t want what was handed to him on a silver platter.
The longing shimmering through him sure felt real, though.
Watching his assistant, Dixon, laugh at something Fontana said, Jaime throw his arms over their shoulders and pull them into a seamless circle—as if they’d known each other forever—sent a shaft of melancholy through Campbell.
Talk about pressing your nose against the glass.
If one of his cousins had been able to make it, he’d have had his own crew. Justin had tried to rearrange his schedule but was already due at the gallery next month. Ransom had a project going that he couldn’t leave, though he’d sent this really incredible drying rack he’d made for Campbell’s darkroom. The wood was reclaimed pine and so gorgeous, Campbell had nearly cried when he’d unwrapped it. As for Dallas, he didn’t know when he’d see him again, a worry that sat like a ball of angst in his belly.
Even if theywerehere tonight, this would have been torture.
Because he had no camera to hide behind.
Brilliant, he thought, tossing back his second scotch. He wasn’t any fun at his own goddamn party. All he wanted to do was climb the stairs to his darkroom—but they’d find him.
He was the birthday boy, after all.
Shaking his empty glass at Rhonda and holding up a finger that meantI’m never coming back, he sidestepped people he’d known his entire life as cautiously as a man swimming through sharks. Forced by sharp teeth to stop and mingle, by the time he reached the kitchen, he was really fucking sick of talking about himself.
The back door was open just enough, a slice of moonlight spilling across the floor, beckoning like the yellow brick road.
A gust carrying the acrid scent of a Southern evening sucked him out into the darkness. The temperature was perfect, not too cool, not too humid, the Milky Way a blazingstrip, lighting his path like signals along a runway. Night photography was challenging, he reminded himself as he crossed to an outbuilding that used to be a kitchen back when they were separated from the main house. Not his specialty, but this—he circled his thumb to his middle finger, framing the sky—thiswould be worth the effort.
Never as many stars in Atlanta.
He had to get way out in the country,anycountry, to find this.
Vaulting atop a crumbling brick wall that had once encircled the yard, he set his glass beside him and stared across the distance. Windows glowed. Party sounds. Laughter. The clink of glasses. The scent of cigarette smoke, a delicate tease.
He glanced down at his clenched fist, understanding where the funk was coming from, like he sat on a therapist’s couch and they’d just handed him the answer. His head felt muddled enough to keep the memories at bay, but he couldn’t hold itallinside.
In a twist of fate, perhaps, the hint of honeysuckle drifted to him.
Campbell closed his eyes, drew a much-needed breath, and there she was.
He didn’t assist, and she didn’t need him to, as she hopped atop the wall with little trouble, aided by the combat boots she wore with that astonishing dress. So very Fontana, the mix. He cocked an eye to watch the material flutter and settle around her, moonlight picking up the faintest hint of green and gold, a gossamer shimmer.
“First time I’ve seen you in a dress.” He rotated to face her, propping his ankle on his knee.Whoa, the light did magical things to her hair, bringing out hints of amber in the sable strands. “Not Jaime’s, is it?”
“I think I’m insulted,” she said against the rim of her glass, her gloss leaving a tiny smudge he desperately wanted to wipeaway with his mouth before pulling her into a kiss. She’d gone for champagne—another surprise, another notation in his mental file. He watched her neck flex as she swallowed, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop from her bottom lip.
His stomach tumbled, bottoming out completely.
His head was suddenly full of her: the ragged, terribly distinctive moan she made when her body closed around him, her scent lingering on his fingers, her taste on his tongue. His dreams were full of her.
“Don’t be insulted,” he whispered, the words threadbare. Without revealing anything but a modest hint of cleavage, her dress was a hand-on-cock-soon one. Stripper attire it was not. But so lovely. Enticing. It left much to the imagination, especially when his was in overdrive lately.
A hint of a smile curved her lips, but she pressed them together to contain it. He didn’t know why. He wanted her smiles; he only wished he was sure he was the guy to deserve them.
And he was sonotsure.
“I hope your assistant is possibly open to it, because I think Jaime has a crush.”
Campbell laughed, his first genuine shot of happiness all day. “Let’s just say, Jaime’s luck may be improving.”Damn, she smelled amazing and looked even better. He remembered the cigarette in his pocket, and his hands twitched. Where was a mint toothpick when you needed one? “I meant to tell you, thanks for the biography on Billie Holiday. I adore her. I can’t wait to read it.”
