“No. That’s not it at all.” He stared at her incredulously, shocked at how wrong she’d gotten it. He’d only been trying to—He cut himself off before he could so much as think the word that she’d found so offensive. “I just want to be involved.”
“Don’t you mean you just want to be in control?”
It was his turn to walk away as fury pounded through him. What the hell was wrong with her? Most women wanted their baby’s fathers to take an interest, to be involved. Yet Camille viewed everything he did as an attack. As some kind of power trip. How was he supposed to convince her otherwise? And why the hell should he have to? She was the one who had twisted him into knots over her and then just walked away. So why was he suddenly the one who had to prove himself to her?
CAMILLE WATCHED AS MATT clenched and unclenched his fists. There was temper in the sharp line of his spine, in his taut jaw and curled fingers. A small part of her—one that she’d thought she’d buried long before—was afraid that he would take that anger out on her, and that only made her more upset. More confused. Matt was the most gentle, controlled man she’d ever met and yet he looked on the verge of punching a hole through the wall. Because of her. Because she’d dared to disagree with him.
For a minute, memories of her mother, of her father—of everything they’d put each other through—rose up from the dead and haunted her. But she pushed them back, pushed it all back, into the tidy compartment at the back of her mind. And tried to see the situation from Matt’s point of view.It wasn’t easy when she’d felt as if he’d been telling her what to do from the moment he’d shown up at her motel room door.
“Look, Matt, I’m sorry if I misread your intentions. I just feel like you’ve been pushing at me since I told you about the baby and I don’t like to be pushed. I’m not ready to make decisions yet.”
She saw his shoulders rise and fall as he took one deep breath after another. Silence stretched between them, long seconds ticking by as Matt tried to rein in his temper. It must have worked, because when he turned to face her she couldn’t find any sign of the anger that had all but set the room on fire a few minutes before.
His eyes were clear and his voice steady as he answered, “That’s why I thought moving in here would be perfect for you. If it works out, great. If it doesn’t, then you can move out—no harm, no foul. But it gives you time to breathe, time you don’t necessarily have sitting in a motel room.”
She studied him, saw nothing but sincerity in his expression, and let herself relax, just a little bit. What he was saying made sense, to a degree. But at the same time, she couldn’t help feeling a little like Alice after she’d fallen down the rabbit hole.
Move in with Matt? Be exposed to all that smoldering sensuality every day of her life? Some women didn’t find competence sexy—hell, she’d always considered herself one of those women—but there was something to be said for feeling taken care of. Cherished. Matt was a decent guy in every sense and she was beginning to believe that she could rely on him to be there for her, no matter what.
Not that she needed him, she assured herself as she gathered up the pizza box and assorted other trash and carried it into the kitchen. She didn’t need anyone to take care of her—she never had.
But still, it would be nice not to have to sweat the details.
To not have to apartment hunt.
To just go with the flow, for once, instead of always swimming upstream—just to prove that she could.
It wasn’t like moving in with Matt would exactly be a hardship. He had a lovely house, with a great big loft upstairs that had fantastic light. It would be ideal for her painting, and though he currently used it for his own office, she was sure she could get him to share. She’d always had better than average persuasive skills and he was generous to a fault—or at least he had been, before she’d left three months before. And nothing he’d done in the past few days had shown her any differently.
As she walked back into the living room, she was incredibly conscious of Matt beside her. He was only a few feet away and the urge to go to him, to ask him to hold her for a minute, was nearly overwhelming. A few months ago she would have done it without thinking twice—but then, a few months ago it wouldn’t have meant anything.
Not that it would mean anything now, she reminded herself. Not to Matt, who was determined to keep things on an even footing. And not to her. For years, she’d used sex to keep men she cared about at a distance—it was so much easier to concentrate on physical sensations instead of her true emotions. And for years it had worked.
Yet even as she reassured herself of that fact, she couldn’t help wondering if it was still true. She’d thought the wild, crazy sex she’d had with Matt three months before had helped keep things from getting serious between them, but now she wasn’t so sure. There was a connection between them—even after all these weeks—that had nothing to do with the baby inside her. Suddenly she was having a terrible time holding on to her usual sense of distance. If they were to add sex back into the equation… Would it help her regain her perspective or make her lose it completely?
She couldn’t take the risk—not when her feelings for Matt were so complicated. And not when she had a baby to think about.
No, it was better to remain friends only. Platonic friends who just happened to share a baby. Her traitorous mind went back to the kiss in his car a few days before and Camille could feel herself flush. But she refused to give in to it. One minor setback did not a relationship define.
“You know,” she said as she crossed to him, making sure to keep her hands firmly in her pockets. “You can still have a role in the pregnancy without giving up your home to me, Matt.”
“I know that, but it wouldn’t be the same. I wouldn’t be there for all the little things—”
“What little things? You’re the father—no offense, but you really don’t have that much to do for the next six months. Especially since we’re not—you know—together.”
His eyes narrowed. “What would I do differently if we were—you know—together?” He mimicked her words.
“I don’t know.” She looked over his shoulder at the television, pretended an interest in the crowd he knew she didn’t give a damn about. “It’s not like I’ve done this before.”
“Exactly! Neither of us has done this before, so who cares what we’re supposed to do? Or what other people do? Or what my role is supposed to be? It’s not like either of us has ever been big on convention.”
Her look was skeptical. “And you think my moving in with you is a good precedent for us to set?”
“Absolutely—it solves your problem of where to live. You can come and go as you please, and if you decide you want to take off for a while—” he nearly choked on the words, on the idea of her taking off with his child inside her, but somehow managed to continue “—then that’s fine, too. You don’t have to worry about what to do with the baby stuff or how to juggle your lease or any of the other problems. You can just go.”
“And, I assume, come back.”
“Well, yes. I mean, I will have visitation rights, won’t I?”
She sighed, shocked at how much his uncertainty hurt her—especially since he had every right to his distrust. “That’s not even an issue, Matt. I think we’re both adult enough to deal with that side of things.”
“I’m glad.”
He didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to pressure her to see his point of view, and that, more than anything else, convinced her to take a leap of faith.
“So, if I decided to move in, where would I stay?” she asked.
Matt’s sudden smile was so wide that it made her heart skip a beat—or three. “I’ve got two guest rooms—you can take whichever one you want.”
“And where would I work?”
He snorted. “You already know the answer to that. You’ve been lusting after my office for months.”
“You’ll clear out space for my canvasses?”
“I’ll let you hav
e the whole thing—one of the guest rooms has pretty good light. I can make it my office for the time being.”
Was she really thinking about doing this? she wondered a little frantically. Was she really going to commit to—No harm, no foul. Matt’s words came back to her, calmed her down as nothing else could have at that point. This didn’t have to be permanent. It wasn’t permanent. It was just for a while, until the baby was born. Until she knew what she wanted to do next.
“I guess I only have one question then.”
“Which is?”
“How much rent do you charge?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WHAT ARE YOU STOCKING UP for, World War Three?” Camille asked a few weeks later as Matt loaded their grocery cart with three different types of apples.
“I’ve got a busy week ahead—I don’t have time to come back here.” He dropped two heads of broccoli in a bag, then laid them gently on top of the apples.“Yes, but I happen to have an almost completely open schedule this week—I can stop in and pick something up anytime.”
“Why would you want to?” he asked as he headed toward the dairy section. “It’s easier to just get whatever we need for the week in one trip.”
“But how do you know what you’re in the mood for all week? What if I suddenly get a craving for fettuccine Alfredo on Thursday and all we’ve got is chicken and broccoli?”
He looked at her sharply. “Are you craving fettuccini?”
“No. That was just an example.”
“Are you sure?” He wheeled down the pasta aisle, pulled a box of the thick pasta off the shelf. “Because we can get some—”
“Matt, you’re missing the whole point.” She let out a disgusted sigh.
“No, I’m not. You don’t want to be tied down, even to something as basic as chicken on Thursday night.”
“It’s not about being tied down—it’s about not knowing what I’ll be in the mood for.”
“It’s about the fact that you can’t commit to anything more than forty-eight hours in the future.”
“I’ve committed to having this baby, haven’t I? And to living with you.”
“Yeah, but for how long?” Matt smirked at her, and though his tone said he was clearly teasing, the look in his eyes had an edge of seriousness that made her uncomfortable.
“You don’t really worry about that, do you? Me walking out?”
“Come on, Camille. Let’s just get the shopping done.”
“No.” She reached out, put a hand on his arm and felt the familiar zing as his energy rushed through her. When was she going to get used to it? To him? They’d been living together for almost a month and he still curled her toes whenever he looked at her. “I want to talk about this.”
He glanced around the busy supermarket. “Not now.”
“Why not now? If you’re really concerned—”
“Concerned? Shopping more than forty-eight hours in advance is too much commitment for you. Why wouldn’t I worry about you getting bored and taking off on me?”
She stopped dead in the middle of the aisle, tried to assimilate his words. “I wouldn’t do that, just take—” She paused in midsentence as Matt skewered her with a patently disbelieving look. And she guessed she couldn’t blame him. She had left him high and dry once before—was it any wonder he thought she’d do it again?
But this was different. She was happy living with Matt, happy with the commissions she’d picked up to do portraits instead of having to struggle to sell her art on the streets of each brand-new city. Her restless feet had lost their urge to run, and though she didn’t know how long it would last—surely she’d get the itch to move on sometime—for once she was in no hurry.
It took her a minute to sort her thoughts out and by the time she worked herself around to what she wanted to say, Matt had already turned the corner on the next aisle and she was forced to rush to keep up with him.
That made her uncomfortable; Matt’s penchant for taking the lead was too reminiscent of her parents’ relationship for her to brush it off. She’d spent her whole adult life blazing new trails and she resented the fact that Matt expected her to follow him blindly, even as he was insulting her. She wasn’t some meek little housewife to follow behind her man, no matter what he said or did.
She watched as he turned along yet another aisle, not even glancing behind him to see if she was following, and the little itch between her shoulder blades ratcheted up a notch. Turning on her heel, she walked in the opposite direction, toward the store entrance, and then out the big, sliding glass doors at the front of the building. If she remembered correctly, there was a little jewelry and handbag place over to the right….
Camille spent the next few minutes browsing through purses and earrings, two of her favorite things. Though she only owned one bag—how many could she carry, after all?—she’d had a love affair with earrings since she was a kid. She had a train case full of the dangly, sparkly things.
Her cell phone rang as she was holding a pair of bright red chandelier earrings up to her ear, trying to get an idea of how they would look. For a second, she contemplated letting it ring, but figured there was no need to be bitchy. Surely, she’d made her point.
Fishing the small, purple phone out of her bag, she wasn’t the least surprised to see Matt’s number on the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Where are you? I’ve searched the entire store for you.”
“I’m next door, at the accessory store.”
There was a long silence. “You’re where?”
She made sure there was a shrug in her voice when she answered, “You didn’t seem to need me, not the way you were blazing trails up and down the aisles.”
“You couldn’t tell me you were leaving?”
“I would have had to run to catch up with you.”
“And God forbid you should do that, right? Camille Arraby doesn’t chase after any man.”
His voice was ripe with annoyance, but there was something else there—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. But it made her feel guilty for leaving, even though he’d been the one behaving like an ass. The guilt didn’t sit well, so she found herself resorting to the flippant answers she’d used for years, to keep people—and emotions—at bay.
“Aww, don’t get your panties in a wad, sweets. It’s nothing personal.”
“Believe me, I never thought it was.” He paused, and she could almost see him running a hand through his hair as he struggled for control. What would it be like, she wondered, if he ever really let go? If he ever just did what his instincts told him to without trying to temper it with logic first?
“I’m going to check out. I should be at the car in about five minutes—is that enough time for you to look for accessories or do you need a few more minutes?” His voice was level, even, calm, and if she hadn’t been listening closely, she never would have heard the sarcasm in his words. But she did hear it, this time, and couldn’t help wondering what else she’d missed these past few weeks.
The uncertainty was enough to make her tone down her own attitude. “I’ll meet you at the car.”
“Fine.” He clicked off without another word and she slowly let out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding.
She put the earrings back on the shelf where she’d found them, then slowly worked her way toward the front door of the shop—killing time as she waited for Matt to finish. Even though she knew it was stupid, she refused to be sitting by the car, waiting for him, like some recalcitrant schoolchild. She didn’t have that much give in her.
By the time she got to the car, Matt was already there, loading the trunk. She reached for a bag, started to help him, but he snatched it away before she could pick it up. “That one’s heavy.”
“I’m not an invalid, Matt.”
“I never said you were, but why lift heavy stuff if you don’t have to?”
She reached for another bag, this one filled with whole wheat bread and bagels, and waited for him to say something abou
t it being too heavy, as well. He didn’t, just kept loading the other bags, so she placed the bread carefully in the trunk then made her way around to the passenger seat.
Her disappearing act had obviously made her point—and she’d upset Matt as much as he’d upset her. Why then did her victory feel so hollow?
Matt didn’t say a word when he climbed into the car, and the trip home was one of the most uncomfortable of her life, the tension in the air so thick she could feel it.
Should she apologize, she wondered, tell him that taking off had been a stupid thing to do? But he was the one who’d been leveling barbs at her, and left her standing in the middle of the grocery store, even as she tried to talk to him. Shouldn’t he apologize first?
Ugh. This was so why she didn’t do relationships. All this jockeying for position, trying to decide all the time who was right and who was wrong. It was irritating and stressful and took far more energy than the stupid relationship was usually worth.
Matt pulled into the garage and she was out of the car before he’d so much as put the thing in Park. If he didn’t want her help carrying bags, then fine, he could do it all himself. She had better things to do than to put away a month’s worth of groceries, anyway.
She made her way up to her studio, but as she heard Matt bringing in the bags—he was always the responsible one—guilt assailed her. She hadn’t paid for her half of the groceries and now she was acting like a child, leaving him to do everything on his own.
With a sigh, she decided it didn’t matter who was right or wrong in their stupid fight—she couldn’t keep acting like a witch all night because of it.
Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her wallet and made her way to the kitchen. Matt was in the garage, gathering up more bags, as she started to put the fresh produce away in the refrigerator.
“I can do that,” he said on his final trip into the kitchen, then closed and locked the garage door behind him.
“I can help—I assume all this green stuff is for me, after all.” She shot him a little smile, but he wasn’t looking at her.