Page 22 of Best Laid Plans
But she’d come here with a plan, and damned if she was going to be derailed. Whatever he was cooking smelled incredible, and she inhaled reflexively as he walked over to the prep station and stood across from her.
She cleared her throat and stood up straighter. “Right, the chowder fest. Were you planning to mention that to me at any point, given that we’re sharing an apartment?”
This was good, she told herself.Focus on how annoyed you arewith him. You don’t picture annoying people pushing you down and fucking you within an inch of your life.
Cam furrowed his brows and focused on drizzling what smelled like a lemon sauce over the perfectly seared scallops on one of the plates. “It wasn’t a secret or anything. I didn’t think cooking was really your thing.” He glanced up at her as he started putting the dish together. He moved with so much purpose and ease, like this is what he was born to do. His hands were dexterous as he plucked herbs from the various plates, and she couldn’t help wondering if he gave that attention and focus to all areas of his life.
No. Elle was not doing this. She let the seed of frustration take root in her chest, blossoming until it pushed out how physically attuned she was to him so close to her.
She pressed her hands down on the cold metal to get her bearings back. “I just think it’s interesting, given that you held me while I sobbed the other night,” she said, acknowledging the elephant in the room, “knowing how upset I was about what was going on with my parents.”
Those big hands stilled, and now it was Cam’s turn to clear his throat. “I didn’t know this was supposed to be a group project. I’m sorry.” Only, he didn’t sound sorry, as he picked up the pan and walked it over to one of the industrial sinks.
Elle was hot on his heels as he was dropping it into the tub of soapy water. “This whole lone wolf thing you have going on is pretty tiring. I’m just trying to help my parents.” Mr. Perfect could deal with a dose of reality, as far as she was concerned.
When he turned, which happened faster than Elle was prepared for, she found herself looking at his solid chest. “And you wanting to blame me because your family didn’t tell you what was going on is pretty tiring, too.”
She let out an indignant huff. “My problems with you have nothing to do with my family.”
“And what problems would those be?” Cam asked, his voicedripping with a challenge that was pulling Elle in like quicksand.
She took a step backwards, toward the prep table. “Your whole…” She waved her arm, gesturing back and forth in his direction. “Hero thing.”
One of Cam’s eyebrows shot upward, a smirk playing across his face. He took a small step forward, cocking his head to the side. He was amused by this. Asshole. “Hero thing? I didn’t realize helping people that have been good to me made me a hero but thanks for letting me know. Don’t worry, I put my pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else. Gotta keep it humble.”
She didn’t even try to stop the derisive snort she let out. “So humble.Ultimate Chefwinner. Big shot Boston chef. Savior of struggling restaurants. What are you even doing here? I figured you’d be on some media circuit to milk your celebrity status for all its worth,” she challenged. Lining up his accomplishments magnified her own personal failures, as of late.
Refusing to look at him, she turned around and closed the few feet of space until she stood in front of the prep table. She didn’t want to give him her attention for another second. And with her absolute focus on the food in front of her, she realized something. Small bites. That’s what Cam was doing. It became clear, as she looked at the individual scallops, the shrimp that were stuffed with crackers and… maybe tarragon?
Seafood tapas, basically. It was brilliant and would set them apart from the other restaurants at the festival.
For as much as he frustrated her, she could admit that it was a good idea. And then her ire against him started to wane, just like it always seemed to do.
She felt him, then, enveloped by his scent as much as his presence. If she leaned back an inch, she’d be pressed up against all that solidness, and she couldn’t promise herself that she wouldn’t let it hold her up. “What do you have against me usingmy skills and experience to be helpful?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting along the shell of her ear.
She felt his words everywhere, rushing through her body, her nerve endings alight and impossibly sensitive. And still, he stayed where he was, his chest brushing against her back as he breathed evenly.
They shouldn’t be this close, she thought dimly, unable to move. And he needed to stop talking about his ‘skills and experience’ when he could easily slip his arm around her and pull her against him, working those fingers into where she was throbbing.
He was attractive. And clearly competent in the kitchen. And, for whatever reason, insistent on pushing every one of Elle’s nerves. But if that included her clit, it might be worth the frustration.
“It’s the way you do it,” she breathed out, remembering that she hadn’t answered him. “So annoying.”
Elle’s breath caught in her throat when Cam’s arm wrapped around her, his right hand splaying against her hip. He held her in place as he reached around with his other arm to pluck one of the freshly dressed scallops off the plate. “Try it. Tell me what you think.”
He lifted the scallop to her mouth with a confidence that spoke of him already knowing the answer, his thumb running along her bottom lip as she bit into the firm sear.
Elle moaned when the flavors hit her tongue, and she felt Cam’s hand grip tighter against her hip, fingertips digging into the exposed skin between her shorts and t-shirt. She was throbbing, unable to process how they’d gone from zero-to-sixty in the blink of an eye. But it felt so fucking good. And she didn’t want it to stop. She didn’t know if she could make herself stop.
“So good,” she breathed out, the press of Cam’s body drawing her closer.
His hand inched inward along her thigh, her clit beginningto pulse with the possibility of relief. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?” he asked, his fingers stopping, waiting for her answer.
Elle pressed her ass against him, needing to find some relief for the pressure that was building through her body, winding her up tighter and tighter. And when she was met with the hardened swell in his pants, she could feel wetness dripping down the inside of her thighs. “Not mad,” she pushed out, willing Cam to start moving his hands again. “Annoyed.”
Cam slid his fingers down to the hem of her shorts and played with the edges of the fabric. “Are you still annoyed?”
Her knees buckled, his strong arm the only thing keeping her standing. “Cam,” she panted, self-control forgotten. She was seconds away from begging him to fuck her, to fill the aching, wanting feeling in her center.
