Chapter 11

“Justin Horton, you didn’t tell us you lived in a hotel!” Baba's jaw dropped after her angry comment.

Camryn rolled her eyes. Only her grandmother could make that sound like an insult.

They exited the car the Hortons had sent for them. Scratch that, the limo they'd sent.

Justin rubbed the back of his neck and turned six shades of red. “Um, well…it’s not that big.”

It was that big. Camryn looked at the sprawling gray brick fortress in front of them. It had taken five minutes on the private driveway to get from the road to the front door, and past a twelve-foot black wrought iron security fence. Easily three floors high, the house had to be ten thousand square feet. Flowering bushes and properly placed gardens added splashes of red, yellow, pink, purple, and blue. The garage alone appeared bigger than her parents’ home. The yard could’ve held a wedding three times the size of Justin and Heather’s. Or the Kentucky Derby. And that was just the part of the estate she could see from the circular drive.

Around the right side, she could just make out the edge of an in-ground pool, another high wrought iron fence encasing it, this one white. It even had a little white pool house with burgundy shutters that matched the main house’s color accents. She sarcastically wondered if there was a pool boy, too. To the left, about an acre from the house and across the vast green lawn, was dense woods teeming with what looked like pine, cyprus, oak, gum, and maple trees. The outskirts had white barked birch.

Despite it being summer and the temperature pleasantly warm, the scent of snow tinged the dry air, she assumed from the mountains in the distance behind the house. Pulling in, they’d been more visible from the driveway. Gray jagged rock with snowcaps jutting from the horizon like a distant mirage and clouded by fog. The cobalt blue sky behind them only punctuated their beauty.

Breathtaking compared to what she was used to. Though she’d been raised in a subdivision in a suburb with its own charms, and eventually had moved to a city with parks, Colorado was an immense cry from her home state. Wisconsin had many lakes, woods, and rivers. Wineries and beer distilleries. Farms and zoos. But, this? The solitude and backdrop was a little slice of heaven. No honking cars or traffic. No skyscrapers to mar the view. No shouting or noise.

Now she understood why Heather had been so nervous.

A woman exited the front door, descended the stone steps, and walked right to Justin. “It’s good to have you home!” Justin looked just like her with light brown hair and a thin, angular face. She wore a mint green suit that cost more than a month of Camryn’s salary. “Oh, Heather. So wonderful to see you again.”

Heather introduced the rest of the family, who blessedly said nothing. Camryn hoped their shock lasted the whole week.

Bernice Horton squatted in front of Cam's niece. “You must be Emily. I had the staff buy you a bunch of movies for while you’re here, in case it rains.”

Emily beamed. “With cockporn? Auntie Cam makes the best cockporn!”

Anna giggled nervously and picked up Emily to set her on her hip. “She means popcorn. Popcorn. Camryn makes her popcorn and…um.”

The horrified look left Bernice’s face as she patted her chest. “Of course. With popcorn, dear.” She turned to Justin. “Your dad is in the study. Why don’t you drag him out and give the family a tour of the house?”

A couple of staff in plain black uniforms came to collect their luggage as everyone walked inside. Camryn and Troy trailed the pack.

He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “At least I’m sharing a room with the woman who makes the best cockporn. Honestly, the things you don’t tell me.”

She tried not to smile and failed. “Shut up, Troy.”

Justin’s father seemed as nice as his mother. Once he saw them come inside, he rose from a desk in a small study near the foyer and shook everyone’s hand. As tall, if not taller than Justin, he had a wiry frame and a pear-shaped face hidden behind large black frames.

The house was amazing. Mahogany floors, ten-foot windows, open architecture. Scarred beam rafters. Vaulted ceiling. Complete with a library and media room, which Emily drooled over, it was something out of a Hollywood set. The entire east side had a beautiful view of the Flatirons and foothills at the base of the mountains. She’d bet it was more gorgeous at sunrise. The south side had an in-ground Olympic-sized pool she’d spotted earlier with a colorful perennial garden to accent along the exterior of the house. Coneflowers and black-eyed Susans with a few lilies tossed in the mix.

The place had six bedrooms, too. Yjaka Harold, Kuma Viola, Uncle Mitch and Tetaka Myrtle were sharing one on the second floor. Mom, Dad, and Baba were across the hall. Fisher, Anna and Emily were on the third floor, along with Justin and Heather, plus Troy and herself. Each bedroom had its own bath. Left to their own devices until lunch, they opted to unpack and settle in.

Troy flopped on the king-sized bed in their room. “I thought the family was very well behaved.”

“Yes, aside from Baba complaining about getting lost.”

The room was nicer than some of the four-star hotels she’d stayed in. The wallpaper was light blue with darker navy stripes. A border print of bluebells matched the bedspread covering the four-poster bed. On the same wall as the bathroom, a bureau held a forty-inch flat screen and blu-ray player. A set of glass French doors led to a balcony over-looking the mountain view.

She opened the closet to hang her clothes before they wrinkled. “I would kill for this closet at home.”

“A woman and her wardrobe. No closet is big enough.”

“My apartment is the size of this closet.” She turned and stared at him, a thought looming. “We’re going to have to share the bed.”

Troy looked around. “It's big enough. No big deal. I hear you don’t snore, so we should be fine.” His smile went to full amp.

There may be a certain comfort level with Troy, but she thought she drew the line at sharing a bed, king-sized or not. Unless one of them took the floor, they were stuck. She couldn’t ask him to do that, and she’d never walk upright if she slept on these hardwood floors.

And what was with everyone’s obsession on snoring?

“Relax, Cam. I won’t touch you.”

No doubt there. She couldn’t handle him even if he did lose his mind and try. Last night at his house, she’d nearly come undone at his touch. Troy hadn't even meant anything by it. He'd just been trying to help. But it still had her skin heated.

She needed her mind off that. “What are you going to do while we have our final dress fitting this afternoon?”

“I plan on beating the crap out of Justin and Fisher at Grand Theft Auto. Should be fun in that media room.”

Video games. Men.

He got up and walked to the French doors, dark denim molding to his tight rearend and yellow tee slightly wrinkled from the flight. His sandy blond hair was disheveled, probably from laying down, but sunlight bathed the strands making him resemble the Greek gods her aunts and uncles joked about.

“They’re setting up lunch outside. Ready to head down?”

She didn’t know where this sudden wave of awareness had come from, but she needed to get over it. “Aren’t you going to hang up your clothes?”

One eyebrow popped up in confusion. “Why?”

She sighed. It was a darn good thing they weren’t really a couple.

They made their way downstairs and out a set of patio doors to where they thought the family was sitting, only to find themselves the length of the house away on the north side, near the rear.

Condensation coated the acre of emerald grass between the house and the dense woods in the distance. Filtered sunlight beat down through a thin cloud cover. Pine mixed with snow and rain scented the dry air. A hawk circled overhead in a clearing and the rumble of voices drifted on a mild breeze. Closer to the front of the house were tables where the family was standing around talking. Emily spun circles with a bubble wand.

“Wow, this house is big.” She started to walk toward the tables when Troy grabbed her arm to stop her and shook his head.

She looked at him, confused. His blond hair was several shades lighter in the hot, dry sun, his brown eyes showing little golden flecks she'd never noticed before.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, worried the heat or altitude was getting to him. When they'd first exited the car, she'd noticed how much thinner the air was here. Perhaps he hadn’t adjusted yet.

“I have an idea, and you won’t like it.” The tentative quality to his tone should’ve been enough warning.

“Then my answer is no.”

Deadpan expression. “You haven’t heard the idea yet.”

“I don’t need to. If you think it’s a bad one--”

“I didn’t say it was a bad idea. I said you wouldn’t like it.”

She crossed her arms. “Same difference.”

He appeared unamused. “Everyone is sitting across the yard over there. We can see them, which means they can see us. We need a public display of affection.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. But before she could process fully, he slid a solid arm around her waist and drew her to him. Boom, boom. All covert and natural like that was an everyday thing.

And, wow. Hard chest. Wall of hard chest. Now there was no air.

“Act like we’ve done this before,” he whispered.

“Done what?”

“Kiss, Cam. Act like you’ve kissed me before.”

Huh? “How am I supposed to do--”

The words died in her throat as his mouth closed over hers. At first, she froze, disoriented as the world spun off axis, but then their noses brushed, he tilted his head, and her eyes drifted shut. She grabbed his arms for balance. Muscled, firm arms that tensed beneath her fingers. Warm skin. She remembered the sinew and bulge from him going shirtless last night, but they felt so much better. Different. Like safety and comfort.

Troy had mad, mad skills. She somehow knew he would with all his experience. God in Heaven, did he ever. She didn’t think she had the ability to respond this strongly, though. A sharp, satisfying tremor rocked her center and she couldn’t get enough.

His lips parted and he slid his tongue against hers. Once. Twice. Long, slow, languid strokes meant to seduce and coax. As the kiss deepened, his hands came up to cup her cheeks and she leaned into him. She lost feeling from the neck down.

Troy Lansky was kissing her. With witnesses. Because he was pretending to be her…

He broke away, hands still cupping her cheeks, and stared down at her. “What in the hell was that?” he whispered, his voice harsh, his eyes wide.

She thought it had been a kiss. A darn good one. She may not have his experience or his expertise, but she wasn’t so daft she didn’t know when she'd just been kissed. Properly.

His jaw clenched as his mouth firmed into a thin line. He dropped his hands and stepped back as if angry.

She’d never been a believer in spontaneous combustion but, by God, she’d implode right now from embarrassment if he made fun of her. She wasn’t beautiful like his other women. In fact, she was the South Pole of sexy. Her heart lurched, threatened to stop beating.

“You are not a fish,” he ground out.

Maxwell’s ultimate insult from Troy’s lips sobered her. He may as well have slapped her. Except, had he said…?

Turning, he motioned to walk away, but he must've remembered they'd come out together because he came back, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the awaiting tables.