Bringing Home Mr. Wrong (Bringing Home Trouble)

Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

John

I step into the festively decorated foyer, breathing in the scent of cinnamon and pine. My heart races as Camila emerges from the living room, her chestnut hair cascading over the shoulders of her emerald dress that hugs her petite frame. Her hazel eyes meet mine, sparkling with a mix of joy and trepidation.

Before we can exchange more than a tentative smile, her father bounds over, beaming. "John, my old friend! So glad you could make it." He claps me on the back.

I plaster on a grin, trying to ignore the guilt twisting in my gut as I glance between him and Camila. "Wouldn't miss it, Frank. Thanks for having me."

Camila opens her mouth to speak, but Frank ushers us into the dining room. "Come, come, dinner's about to be served!"

As everyone takes their seats around the long oak table, I slip into the chair beside Camila. She leans in close, her jasmine perfume enveloping me. "We'll find a moment to tell him...together," she whispers, resting a hand on my knee under the table.

I nod subtly, covering her hand with mine. Even that simple touch sends electricity arcing through my veins. "Of course. Let's just get through dinner first."

Relaxed chatter fills the room as Frank carves the turkey, but every nerve in my body is attuned to Camila's presence at my side. I'm hyperaware of each brush of her arm, every knowing look from beneath her long lashes. The secret of our forbidden romance hangs heavily between us, a delicious tension ready to snap.

As dishes are passed, my fingers graze Camila's, lingering a moment too long. Frank raises an eyebrow at me from across the table. I quickly look away, focusing intently on scooping mashed potatoes onto my plate.

"John, I meant to say, it means the world to have you here." Frank's voice cuts through the din of clattering silverware. "Lord knows you've been like a brother to me all these years. I couldn't ask for a better man to have my back."

His words twist the knife of betrayal deeper into my chest. I meet his earnest gaze, forcing a smile. "I'm honored, Frank. Your friendship has always meant a lot to me too."

Camila squeezes my knee reassuringly. I chance a look at her and the tenderness shimmering in her eyes momentarily calms the storm inside me. Beneath the table, hidden from view, I lace my fingers through hers.

Her touch grounds me, even as my heart wages war with my head. I know every stolen glance, every secret caress only compounds my dishonesty. But damn me to hell, I cannot deny the way this brilliant, passionate woman has utterly bewitched me, body and soul.

Conversation continues to flow around us, but Camila and I are lost in our own world. With every passing minute, the need to confess the depths of our feelings grows, a living thing pulsing between us.

I only hope that when the truth finally comes to light, the strength of our love will weather the storm of a father's fury and a friend's crushing disappointment.

***

Later that night, I pace the hardwood floors of my dimly lit living room, a tumbler of whiskey in hand. The warm amber glow of the lamp casts long shadows across the room, as tortured as my own thoughts.

A soft knock at the door makes my pulse leap. I set down my drink and cross the room in a few swift strides, easing open the door. Camila slips inside, snowflakes clinging to her hair like a crown of crystals. In the low light, her eyes glimmer with a mix of longing and uncertainty that mirrors my own.

"John," she breathes, stepping into my arms. I enfold her in my embrace, savoring the way her curves melt against me, her face buried in the crook of my neck. For a moment, the world falls away and there is only her—the heat of her body, the intoxicating scent of her hair, the drum of her heartbeat against my chest.

I tilt her chin up and capture her lips in a searing kiss, pouring all my pent-up desire into the crush of my mouth on hers. She responds with equal fervor, her fingers raking through my hair, nails grazing my scalp.

A groan escapes me as I walk her backward, never breaking the kiss, until her back meets the wall. My hands skim over her sides, her hips, hungry to map every dip and swell I've been aching to touch all evening.

She breaks away with a gasp. "John, wait..."

I pull back slightly, my chest heaving. "What's wrong?"

Camila bites her kiss-swollen lip. "I've been thinking. Maybe...maybe we should wait to tell Dad. Until after the holidays."

An icy tendril of dread curls in my stomach. I search her face for clues, trying to decipher the hesitation in her eyes. "Camila, I thought you wanted this. To stop hiding. To finally be together, openly and honestly."

She cups my face in her delicate hands. "I do, John. More than anything. But I saw how happy Dad was tonight, having us all together under one roof. I don't want to ruin Christmas for him."

I exhale heavily, pulling away to rake a hand through my hair. "And after? What then? We just go back to sneaking around, lying to everyone we care about?"

Hurt flashes across her features and I instantly regret my harsh tone. "No, of course not," she says softly. "But a few more days...is that so much to ask? To give us time to find the right words?"

I turn to stare out the frost-limned window, jaw clenched. The city sparkles beyond the glass like a thousand fallen stars, cold and distant. Camila's reflection appears beside mine, her brow creased with worry.

"John, please. I'm not having second thoughts.”

Camila's fingers brush the small of my back as she steps closer, her warmth radiating through my shirt. "I could never doubt this, doubt us. But I need to do this the right way. Can you understand that?" Her voice is barely a whisper, threaded with raw emotion.

I turn to face her, the ache in my chest eclipsing the anger simmering in my veins. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, vulnerability etched into every line of her beloved face. I reach out to trace the delicate curve of her cheekbone. "I do understand. It's just...I'm tired of pretending, Camila. Of acting like you don't mean everything to me."

She leans into my touch, her lips grazing my palm. "I know. God, John, every second we're apart feels like an eternity. Having you so close tonight, but not being able to really be with you...it's torture." A single tear slips free, trailing a glistening path down her cheek.

I catch the salty drop with my thumb, gently wiping it away. "Shh, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push. I just love you so damn much." The words catch in my throat, rough with feeling.

Camila rises up on her toes, her mouth finding mine in a gentle, yielding kiss. I pour every ounce of devotion into the careful slide of my lips over hers, memorizing the plush give of her flesh, the honeyed taste of her tongue.

She melts into me, fingers twisting in the fabric of my shirt. I walk us backwards until my calves hit the sofa. Sinking down onto the cushions, I gather her into my lap, never breaking the drugging kiss. She straddles my hips, the hem of her dress riding up to reveal the creamy expanse of her thighs.

I run my palms reverently over the exposed skin, relishing the way her breath hitches as I graze the lace edge of her panties. She rocks subtly against me, kindling a fire low in my belly. I nip at her bottom lip, soothing the sting with a languid lick.

"I love you too, John. So much it terrifies me." The hushed words ghost across my cheek as she trails open-mouthed kisses along my jaw, down the column of my throat. "I promise, as soon as Christmas is over, we'll sit down with Dad. Come clean about everything."

I hum in agreement, tilting my head back to give her better access. She laves her tongue over my pulse point and I shudder, my grip tightening on her hips. "And then," I rasp, fighting for coherence as she grinds sinuously against my hardening cock, "no more hiding. No more secrets."

"No more secrets," she echoes, her fingers deftly working open the buttons of my shirt. She pushes the fabric aside, exposing my heated skin to the cool air. Her lips blaze a trail down my chest as her hips rock maddeningly against mine, stoking the flames of my desire.

"Camila," I groan, my voice strained. "If you keep that up, I won't be able to control myself."

She lifts her head, eyes dark with want, a wicked smile playing at the corners of her kiss-bruised mouth. "Maybe I don't want you to control yourself." Her husky words send a jolt of pure, carnal need straight to my core.

With a low growl, I surge forward, capturing her mouth in a fierce, demanding kiss. I tangle one hand in her silken hair, the other splaying across the small of her back to crush her body flush against mine. She whimpers into the kiss, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

I strip her of her dress with urgent, fumbling hands, desperate to feel every inch of her. She shivers as the cool air kisses her fevered skin, clad now only in scraps of emerald lace. My hungry gaze rakes over her, drinking in the sight I've been starving for all night.

"You are so beautiful," I breathe, reverence and desire warring in my tone. I skim my fingers up her ribcage to cup the weight of her breasts, feeling her nipples pebble against my palms through the delicate fabric.

Camila arches into my touch with a breathy moan, her head falling back in abandon. I take advantage, ducking my head to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to the column of her throat. She writhes in my lap, seeking friction, and I oblige, thrusting my cloth-covered erection against her damp heat.

"Please, John," she keens, her nails scoring my back. "I need you."

Those words, raw and aching, shred the last of my restraint. I stand abruptly, lifting her with me. She locks her legs around my waist as I navigate us blindly to the bedroom, our lips locked in a messy, desperate tangle.

I lay her down on the bed like an offering, stepping back to shed my clothes with haste. She watches me through heavy-lidded eyes, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Once divested, I crawl up her body, trailing worshipful kisses along her quivering stomach, the valley between her breasts, the delicate line of her collarbone.

"I love you," I murmur into her skin, a prayer and a promise. "No matter what happens, that will never change."

Tears glimmer in Camila's eyes as she pulls me down into a searing, soul-deep kiss. And as I finally sink into her welcoming heat, our bodies moving as one, I know that this—right here, right now—is worth fighting for. Worth weathering any storm, enduring any trial. Because a love like this, so raw and real it steals the breath from my lungs and sets my very soul ablaze, is the kind of love that only comes along once in a lifetime. If even that.

As our bodies move in perfect sync, skin sliding against sweat-slicked skin, breathy moans and whispered adorations filling the air, I lose myself in her. In this moment. This connection, profound and unbreakable.

Her silken heat grips me like a vice as I plunge into her depths, and I know I will never have my fill of her. Of this. Our rhythm builds, faster, harder, more urgent, rushing toward that precipice of ecstasy. Camila throws her head back with a keening cry, her inner muscles fluttering around my length as she comes undone beneath me.

I follow her over the edge with a guttural groan, burying my face in the crook of her neck as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, threatening to pull me under. I spill myself inside her, marking her, claiming her as mine in the most primal way.

As the aftershocks fade, I gather her trembling body close, pressing tender kisses to her damp brow, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. She curls into me with a contented sigh, fitting her curves to my angles as if we were made for each other. Perhaps we were.

"I love you," she murmurs drowsily, her fingers idly tracing patterns on my sweat-cooled chest. "No matter what happens when we tell my dad, that won't change. You're my forever, John Hawkins."

Emotion swells in my chest, so acute it borders on pain. I tilt her chin up to meet her heavy-lidded gaze, my thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. "Forever," I echo solemnly. "I promise you, Camila, I will never stop fighting for us. For this love. Come what may."

She seals that vow with a soft, lingering kiss. We drift off tangled together, content in our bubble of blissful afterglow. But even as slumber claims me, a niggling unease persists. The knowledge that reality awaits us come morning, cold and unforgiving.

Lying to Frank, even by omission, eats at me like a cancer. This man who is like a brother to me, who trusts me implicitly. Am I not betraying that sacred bond with every forbidden touch, every passionate embrace? The weight of my deceit threatens to crush me.

But as I look down at Camila, her face relaxed in sleep, dark lashes fanning over porcelain cheeks, kiss-swollen lips curved in a secret smile, I know I could never give her up. Not even for my best friend.