CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Miramar, Mallorca
December 10
As he had done for the past three nights, Cam bypassed the front gates and entered the March villa through the olive grove that bordered the south end of the property. Moving like a wraith, he cut through the trees and across the lawn, slipped around the pool, and climbed the broad stone steps that stopped at the retractable wall to the shower and sauna. The windows in the wall were wired to the alarm system, but the wall itself was not as it was impossible to open from the outside. Anticipating his need for a shower after these excursions, Cam had left it open just enough to slide his hand through and hit the button. The wall retracted silently, and Cam slipped inside. After sealing the room shut, he rinsed the mud and sand from his body, stepped from the shower, and stilled with the towel in his hands.
Miguel Ramirez needed to visit Gemini. Miguel Ramirez should creep into her room and wake her with his head between her legs. Without thought to the consequences, Camilo Canto crawled into bed.
He rolled to his side and watched the sun slowly illuminate the dormant olive trees. His thoughts drifted to Evan. In this vortex of turmoil, he calmed. Taking a moment to mourn what could have been, Cam resigned himself to his fate, comforted by the memory of their one and only night together. He recalled her courage as she peeled the shirt from her breasts, her innocence as he showed her what her body could do, her trust as she gave a virtual stranger her most precious gift. Maybe it was the pot smoke drifting into the room or the imminent threat of the men who drank and fought just a few yards away, but he didn’t think so.
He squeezed his eyes shut. God, he had wanted to strip them both naked and plunge bare into her depths. But he couldn’t. He could never let Miguel defile her, and he could never let Cam reveal himself to make love to her. So he had simply pleasured her, giving her what he could without robbing her of her dignity, without tainting the act. There was something there, between them, a bond that went beyond words, beyond circumstance. In that moment, he, Cam, had felt their connection. Had she felt it with Miguel Ramirez? Or had she somehow seen past his impenetrable facade?
He succumbed to sleep with the silk of her skin on his fingers and the blossoms of her scent in his nose. He drifted, listening to the melody of their encounter—half conscious, half in love.