Page 53 of Tempt Our Fate

She stares me down, but I don’t back down under her gaze. Eventually, she must deem me trustworthy because she shrugs and pulls an additional cup from next to her. I’m waiting for her to finish writing on the cup and let me pay when she grabs a napkin and begins to write Pippa’s address. With a sigh, she slides it across the counter.

“If I get fired, you owe me a new job.”

I laugh. “You won’t get fired. Thank you.”

She snatches my card from me and runs it through their machine. “Don’t mess it up with her. She’s just now smiling after her mom.” Her tone got serious quickly. The joking tone to it is completely gone.

“I have no intentions of hurting her.” My intentions are exactly the opposite. I want to make her feel good by plucking orgasm after orgasm from her until her body is completely spent from pleasure.

30

PIPPA

A knockon my door pulls me from my sleep. I wipe at the corner of my mouth, finding drool all over my chin. I took NyQuil late last night after I couldn’t get to sleep from my head feeling so full, and apparently, it really knocked me out. I have no idea what time it is.

Reaching for my phone on my nightstand, I find it dead, not helping me to figure out what time it is. It’s late enough in the morning that the sun fully beats through my bedroom curtains.

I rub at my eyes, wondering if I’d dreamed the loud knocking sound when I hear it again. Groaning, I rub my eyes again, trying to adjust to the light that pours in. I slide off the bed and slip my feet into my favorite pair of slippers. Kitty’s tail thumps enthusiastically at the end of the bed, clearly unfazed by whoever is at the door. I look down at my outfit, forgetting what I went to sleep in last night. I should probably change before answering the door in an old sweatshirt and only a pair of underwear underneath, but the sweatshirt is long enough that I should be good. I don’t plan on chatting long with whomever is on the other side of the door.

I’m expecting to find my neighbor Francine. Sometimes she pops by to give me fresh eggs from her chickens. She also enjoys watching Kitty for me when I need help or feel like Kitty needs extra attention. Sometimes she even stops by to ask if she can take Kitty for a walk. Because of that, I swing the door open without looking through the window.

Francine isn’t standing on my doormat. Instead, I come face-to-face with a smirking Camden. My mind immediately goes to the time his full lips were covered with me the other night.

“Camden?” I look over his shoulder to see if anyone is with him or if he’s alone.

He takes a step toward me, pushing a Wake and Bake coffee between us. “I heard you weren’t feeling well, so I brought you this.”

Why does he have to look so good? My hair has to be a rat’s nest, and there’s a good chance there’s drool drying on my chin as he stands in front of me dressed like he could grace the cover of a business magazine while I look like Gollum fromLord of the Rings.

“You brought me coffee?” I ask slowly.

He holds up his own cup. “No, I brought myself coffee. I brought you some sort of special drink from your cafe that is good when you’re sick.”

My heart squeezes in my chest that he remembered about the drink. It wasn’t something I’d expected him to think twice about.

He pushes the drink out a little further, gesturing for me to take it. “Is that okay? I can go back if you want something different.”

I prop a hip against my doorframe as I take the drink from him. I tentatively take a sip, savoring how the warm liquid soothes my throat. “It’s perfect,” I mutter.

He swallows, stuffing his free hand in his pocket. I fight a smile as he uncomfortably shifts from one foot to the next, not knowing what to do.

“I’d offer for you to come in, but I don’t want to get you sick.”

“My tongue was down your throat—among other places—just a couple of days ago. I’ll risk it.”

I’m staring at him in disbelief as he shoves his way into my house, not bothering to wait for an invitation.

Kitty wags her tail enthusiastically as she weaves between his legs. She’s a terrible guard dog.

“Kitty, attack,” I instruct, pointing my finger at her.

She doesn’t even look at me, too content at getting back scratches from Camden to follow directions.

“That’s a good girl,” Camden coos, bending down to pet Kitty’s stomach as she rolls over for him.

I try not to react, my mind remembering when he was callingmea good girl forverydifferent reasons.

“You’re cute but useless,” I scold Kitty, trying not to laugh at her tongue hanging out the side of her mouth.