Capturing You (Maple Grove Romance Book 1) Page 8

“Just tonight.” Maddie turned her attention to Lydia, who was looking down at her phone still. “Please?”

  Lydia looked up just in time to catch the widest, pleading eyes she had ever seen. She supposed she did need the time alone with Cam. Time to win him over and gain his trust. Without that, this story would be dead in the water.

  Lydia swallowed and her thoughts rushed back to when she was a child. How every night, she wished her mother would come home early from work—or God forbid, not go on a date. All those nights, Lydia waited for her bedtime eagerly, watching the clock and hoping her mother would walk through the door in time to pull the covers to her chin and read her a story. But of course, even when her mother did make it home for bedtime, she’d lock herself in her study and work until Lydia disappeared for the night.

  How hard could it be to tuck a kid into bed? You pull the covers over them, kiss their forehead and wish them sweet dreams. Done and done. “I don’t mind, Cam—if it’s alright with you?”

  His shoulders rippled from beneath his shirt, tensing up to his ears. There was a moment’s pause, and then he resumed scrubbing the plate with even more fervor. “Sure, of course,” he grunted.

  Maddie squealed and threw her arms around Lydia’s neck, the impact throwing her off balance. She grabbed a hold of the table with one hand to keep from falling out of her chair just in time.

  “Go on up,” Cam instructed. “Brush your teeth, and change into your PJs. Call down when you’re ready.”

  She hopped off of Lydia’s lap and ran to the stairs, much in the same way Lydia ran for the annual B&H photo sale. Just before she got to the bottom of the steps, she turned. “Do you have any stuffed animals back home?”

  Lydia’s face flushed and she thought of Gobbly, a plush turkey she’d had for longer than she could remember. It had been one of a handful of gifts her mom had given her as a kid… even if now, looking back on it, she was fairly certain her grandmother had actually been the one to buy it for her. Nonetheless, Gobbly remained one her absolute favorite toys. She used to spray him with her mother’s perfume and fall asleep with him every night. Now, he sat in a shoebox at the back of her closet and only came out to sit on her dining table around Thanksgiving. Putting a finger to her lips, she winked. “Shhh. Of course… what girl doesn’t?”

  Maddie spun and ran up the stairs, apparently satisfied with the answer.

  Lydia remained at the table while Cam scrubbed the same plate over and over. “I hope it’s okay. She just seemed so… hopeful.”

  “Like I said, it’s fine.”

  Lydia nodded and picked at a bit of nail polish that was chipping off. “She’s a good kid.”

  “The best.”

  The one-word answers, the lack of eye contact. He was avoiding chit-chat. If he kept up at this rate, Lydia would have emotional whiplash by the time she went home on Sunday. It was just minutes ago he was staring at her as if… as if… oh, hell. It sounded ridiculous to even think. But Lydia could have sworn he was going to kiss her. Something that a few months ago, with her dormant hormones, she quite possibly would have said no to. But now? Whatever had changed… or balanced out in her body… holy hell was she grateful for it. “She’s so beautiful.”

  He clanked the dish down on the counter next to him to dry and picked up the next plate. “That’s all Hannah,” he added.

  “I see a lot of you in there, too. But she’s certainly got Hannah’s eyes,” Lydia added. Hannah’s name sat on her tongue like a Jolly Rancher, sweet and tangy.

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose and his chest expanded with a breath. Not knowing what the pull was, she stood and walked over beside him. A hand still rested just below his brow bone, and his bicep was flexed. Lydia’s heart ached for him. She may have never lost a spouse, but heartbreak was no stranger. In fact, it was that pesky neighbor who constantly reared her head at the most inopportune times. “How long has she been gone?”

  His hand lowered to his mouth, covering its tilted corners. “Two years.”

  Lydia wanted more than anything to touch him. To feel his muscular arms around her. His soft t-shirt cradled a firm body and his silence sent butterflies through her stomach—what was in his head? Did he mind her touching him right now? Did he want to just be left alone? Or did he crave her company as much as she craved his?

  She trailed her fingertips from the top point of his shoulder, over his bicep and down to his elbow. He jumped at the first contact, but soon relaxed into her touch. His eyes clamped shut, and he stayed frozen in that position. Lydia moved so that her whole hand rested on his forearm, and she twirled her fingers over his skin in small figure eights. His flesh puckered with goose bumps beneath her touch, and he sighed, curling the hand over his mouth into a fist. She ended the caress by resting her hand on his arm, squeezing once in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

  He opened his eyes and slid a glance at her without moving his head. Her other hand rested gently on his lower back. Body angled on a slant, she leaned into him. Her nipple brushing his arm sent a ripple of heat through her belly and spiraling to her limbs like a Fourth of July firecracker.

  With the back of his knuckle, he stroked the side of her face. His touch was soft despite calloused hands. As he caressed her cheekbone, she nuzzled his fingers. A sigh escaped through parted lips, and she closed her eyes, relishing his touch. His thumb brushed lightly over her bottom lip, and as he pulled away she ran her tongue across the same spot.

  “Lydia, what are we doing?” he whispered.

  Desire swirled at the sound of her name from his lips. She moaned, leaning her body into his even more. Pressing into her, he snaked an arm around her waist. She could feel how badly he wanted her too, against her hip.

  “Lydia!” Maddie’s voice boomed from the top of the stairs. “I’m ready!”

  A soft cry escaped her lips as Cam’s grip on her tightened. They each swallowed, holding each other’s eyes for a long moment.

  “She’ll be right up, Mouse.” He released his grip on her, gently pushing her away from the embrace.

  A knot lodged in the back of Lydia’s throat. She hadn’t just imagined their chemistry. It was real. Palpable. But it didn’t change the fact that Cam was the subject of her story. And even if she wasn’t going to be writing the story Mara wanted her to, she needed to remain professional.

  ‡

  Chapter Eight

  There was a twinge of annoyance resonating in Lydia as she climbed the stairs to Maddie’s bedroom. Is this what it’s like to have a kid? At the first whiff of romance, a child screams and demands your attention? As cool a kid as Maddie seemed to be, Lydia couldn’t imagine signing up for something that interfered so drastically with her sex life. Especially now that she finally had a sex drive again.

  Maddie’s door had lavender and yellow daisies painted on it with purple wooden letters spelling out her name. Lydia rapped softly. “You ready?” she asked, silently hoping the kid had already fallen asleep on her own.

  “Yep,” an eager voice called from inside. Sleep sounded miles away.

  Lydia turned the knob, entering the room cautiously. Maddie stood beside her bed in a lavender nightgown, more wide-eyed than Lydia after a double espresso. “Okie dokie,” she said in her best kid voice. “Let’s get you tucked in.”

  Maddie sprang for the bed, belly flopping onto the covers. Make that two double espressos. She burrowed into the blankets, and Lydia pulled them up to her chin. What the hell did tucking a child in entail? Pushing the blankets literally under Maddie’s body, Lydia nestled her into bed like a cocoon. She smacked a kiss on her forehead and patted her belly. “Alright, nighty-night.”

  With a mental pat on the back, she twirled toward the door, her escape mere moments away—only Lydia made the mistake of looking over her shoulder at Maddie just as she was about to hit the light switch. Maddie’s mouth was tilted into a frown, her whole face contorted into a scowl. Before asking, Lydia had an idea what Maddie’s answer would be. “What’s the matt
er?”

  “That’s not the way my dad tucks me in.”

  “Okay…” She trailed off and slowly walked back over to the bed. With a deep breath, she reached the edge and sat next to Maddie’s shoulder. “Well, I might need you to walk me through it. I’ve never done this, you know.”

  Maddie’s chubby cheeks plumped into a grin. “First, he lies down next to me.”

  “Okay, I think I can handle that.” She kicked off her heels and threw her legs up onto the bed. Propping herself on an elbow, she rolled onto her side facing Maddie. “Now what?”

  “He gives me a head pat.”

  “A… head pat? Right. Okay…” What the hell was a head pat? With the pads of her fingers, she tapped Maddie on the top of her head. It felt strangely reminiscent of petting a dog.

  Maddie laughed and wiggled one hand free from beneath the covers. “No, not like that. Like this.” She reached up and stroked her fingers down the length of Lydia’s hair, combing it gently from scalp to tip.

  “Oh, I see.” Lydia mimicked the gentle movement, taking her time to run her fingernails along Maddie’s hairline. “Like this?

  Her eyes blinked heavy, and Lydia inspected her long eyelashes and smooth, rosy skin. “Mm-hmm.” She nodded.

  Lydia dropped her voice to even more of a whisper. “And now what does your daddy do?”

  Her breathing was growing heavier, and her answer took seconds longer. “He tells me a story…”

  Lydia looked around. The bookshelf was on the other side of the room, next to the window. “From a book?”

  Like two butterflies, Maddie’s eyes fluttered open, and she shook her head. “No. He makes one up.” Those two brown eyes were heavy, and sleep was only moments away. Though a writer, Lydia was never any good at fiction—give her the facts and she could tell you a compelling true story. But ask her to make up one? She was at a loss.

  “Um, do I have to tell a story? How about a song?”

  “Okay.” Maddie stared up at Lydia, eyelids drooping like two falling curtains.

  It had been a while since she sang in front of an audience, but a half-asleep ten-year-old didn’t really count, now did it? She launched into her favorite Bob Marley song, Three Little Birds. If only she could take the lyrics’ advice herself and ease her mind. She sang softly, caring very little about hitting the exact notes. And even though Maddie slipped off into a deep sleep within the first verse, Lydia laid there beside her, fingers entwined in her dark hair while she finished the entire song.

  *

  Pushing Lydia away might have been the most physically difficult thing Cam had to do in a long time. Her delicate footsteps treaded up the stairs. More than anything he wanted to grab her—pull her into him and wrap his lips around hers. Pushing off the kitchen counter, he wiped down the table, tossing the pizza box in the recycling bin. Lydia’s phone clattered against the wood table, vibrating. Who the hell was calling her so much? The screen was facing up… he could just take a little peek. In fact, it was hard not to see who was calling.

  After only a second’s hesitation, he flicked a glance down. The name Jason lit up and Cam recalled Lydia’s grimace when it rang earlier. An irrational swell of protectiveness for her seethed through his chest. Who was this guy? Was he bothering her? It was a ridiculous thought. For all he knew, this was her friend or a lover. And yet, he couldn’t ignore that crippling instinct that it was someone she didn’t want to be hearing from.

  But Lydia wasn’t his to protect. She wasn’t his to fight for… or kiss, for that matter. As much as he wanted to. He had to keep his hands off her. There was a little bit of chatter coming from Maddie’s bedroom, and he walked over to the base of the stairs.

  Cameron leaned against the banister, careful not to disturb their moment. Maddie’s door was just off to the right of the top step and so he waited a few steps down, listening. Lydia sang a Bob Marley song—her voice like a breeze weaving through the trees. She sang so quietly, Cam imagined the words just floating off her tongue and past her teeth, a natural trill to it. His head fell against the wall. After a couple of minutes, his heart couldn’t take anymore. She would be gone soon. She was only here for the weekend and only here to write and photograph a story. And in the Tripp family? Journalists almost always spelled disaster. He slipped back into the kitchen, snatching the sponge and yet another plate.

  *

  Lydia slipped out of the room. Closing the door, she cringed at the soft click. Breath held, she waited, listening a moment more. No noise stirred behind the door, and Lydia crept down the stairs where Cam was waiting. Lydia descended slowly, taking him in. Rumpled hair stuck out as though he had been running his hands through it.

  God, he was handsome. Heat coiled low in her belly and what started as a small pulsation between her legs gradually grew to an aching throb. Sweat gathered between her breasts and she resisted the urge to fan herself. When in the hell would these hot flashes end? Maybe the hormones had worked too well, because she sure as hell didn’t remember ever feeling like this before. This level of arousal, of desire for a man, wasn’t something she was used to, not even back when she was a teenager.

  Tightness squeezed her chest with the desire to both hold him as well as strip off his clothes and explore his tanned flesh with her tongue.

  “Maddie really seems to like you,” he said.

  “She’s a sweet kid.” The banister groaned against her elbow. “And as you recall, I don’t even like kids.”

  “Something tells me that’s not entirely true.”

  “You think you have me figured out, don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “Enough to admit my first impression might have been wrong about you. But, wait… nope, you’re still a reporter.”

  That pang of sorrow twisted just beneath her ribs even though she knew he was just kidding. Even still, it was an ache she’d long learned to ignore, shrugging it away.

  He moved to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of white wine. “Want a glass?”

  “Got anything a little harder?”

  He lifted a brow, closing the fridge and stretched to a top shelf, pulling a bottle of gin down. “Martini, maybe?”

  “Make it dry and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Cam started making the martinis. “Jason called while you were upstairs.”

  Her spine straightened like a steel rod. “What?”

  “I saw his name flashing when the phone rang.”

  She dropped her face into her hands. The incessant calling was getting to be a bit much. A call now and then to check in? Fine. Not ideal, but understandable. Three calls in one day? Stalker. “God, maybe you should have answered it for me. Maybe he’d finally get the message if a man answered my phone for once.”

  When she peeked through her fingers, Cam was sitting perpendicular to her, two chilled martinis perched in front of them. Lydia pinched the stemware between her fingers and carefully tapped the edge of her glass to his. “I didn’t mean to steer the conversation into personal territory. He’s just been calling a lot lately.”

  Cam sipped his drink, eyeing her from over the rim. “Ex-boyfriend?”

  “Yeah. We only dated for a month. It’s actually the guy I met when I first saw you—” Lydia stopped herself, but it was too late.

  Cam’s eyes twinkled as two dimples formed beside those full lips of his. “Ah, yes. The coffee shop. I was wondering if you remembered me.”

  “I do. And I kind of hate myself for it.”

  “Ouch.” Cam clutched his heart, mocking pain.

  Lydia stared into her half-empty martini glass, if anything just to escape that searing gaze. “How much do you remember about that day at the coffee shop?”

  “Enough.”

  Phh, what a typical man response, she thought. Did he remember her tears? Remember what he said to her that day—you can do this. “Well, this may be seven months too late, but I just wanted to say thanks. Your… kindness helped me realize that what I thought was an unclimbable mountain
was actually just a speed bump.”

  “Good. Everything okay now?”

  “Getting there.” Lydia fiddled with a penny that was on the kitchen table. “Would you have more kids if given the chance?”

  He looked taken aback for a moment. “Awfully personal question.”

  She didn’t respond. A journalism tactic to keep your subject talking. And almost as though seeing right through the charade, he cocked an eyebrow, prefacing his statement. “This is off the record. But with the right woman? I’d love more kids. Hell, if they were anything like Maddie, I’d take a dozen more.” Lydia’s heart dropped to her stomach. What had she expected him to say? Of course he wanted more children. “But,” he continued, breaking her thoughts, “being a single dad is exhausting. I just can’t imagine even finding the time to date. You?”

  “I can’t have kids.” The words came out easily, and even though Lydia should have felt a hesitancy in being so honest… she didn’t. Not even a little. “The doctor told me I had options, but even then, my chances are really slim.” She felt the soft weight of Cam’s hand over hers. With a heavy sigh, she raised her gaze to his, jaw clenching just before he spoke.

  “I’m so sorry, Lydia,” he said. He didn’t say anything more. Didn’t ask any questions or offer any advice on a topic he probably knew nothing about. He just sat there, holding her hand and listening. The exact reaction she’d wanted from Jason… hell, from anyone. Her girlfriends went right into cheerleader mode. Brunches morphed from discussions about sample sales to You can do it! speeches.

  Her entire body relaxed with those four words. “You know what Jason said when I told him?” A bitter laugh broke through and she shook her head. “He was thrilled. Asked how soon we could get tested and stop wearing condoms. There was no regard for me or questions about if my health was okay. That’s when I dumped his ass.”

  Cam’s hand hadn’t moved from hers and he tightened his hold on her fingers. “I’d say you made a good choice.” He tilted his chin toward her empty glass. “Want another?”