to her empty motel room. The television murmured quietly in the background. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah, sure.” She turned away, leaving him to follow.
When she sank onto the bed, he had a moment’s indecision. Should he sit next to her? Stand? For a man who always knew where he was going and what he was doing, it was a less than impressive feeling.
He glanced around. It was a typical motel room—a bed, a table and chair, a dresser. He crossed the worn beige carpet, pulled out the chair and sat down. He didn’t trust himself to get too close to her—the room smelled like her and he could feel his body responding, despite the numerous warnings he’d given himself on the way over.
Judging from the look on Camille’s face, he figured anything she viewed as an advance on his part would be met with solid resistance. Not to mention a kick in the ass.
Not that he wanted to put the moves on her, he assured himself and his unruly erection. He’d given up on that stupidity a few weeks before, when he’d finally figured out that she wasn’t going to come back. He’d resigned himself, then, to the fact that he would never be with her again.
Too bad his body didn’t feel the same way.
Silence seethed between them. With each second that passed he could see Camille getting more agitated, her eyes darting between him, the TV and the Ben & Jerry’s container in a pattern that would have been funny if he wasn’t so damned strung out himself.
Maybe he should have mercy on her—she looked as shell-shocked as he felt. But as he watched her, Matt realized he was still too raw to feel very merciful. Her abandonment had really done a number on him—more so than he’d ever expected.
So, instead of breaking the uncomfortable quiet, he just watched and waited. Finally, when her spoon scraped the bottom of the ice cream container—and she had nothing else to hold her attention—she murmured softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your date.”
Who was this woman and what had she done with the Camille he’d known? That Camille had never apologized once in the time they were together. So what had changed?
The difference made him uncomfortable, as if the ground beneath him was shifting with each step he took. Because of it, his voice was harsher than he’d intended when he asked, “You think my date was more important than talking to the mother of my child? What the hell do you think of me?”
“I didn’t mean that.” She shoved up from the bed, then tossed the empty ice cream container in the trash before crossing to him. There was a shadow of anger in her own eyes and he couldn’t help being relieved. This was the Camille he knew—fiery and strong. He preferred her to the cold, fragile woman who’d opened the motel-room door.
“So what did you mean?”
“I know this is a shock—and my timing couldn’t have been worse.”
“It’s no big deal. Ariane understood.”
“Good.”
The silence was back, yawning between them like an underground cavern waiting to be explored. This time, he was the first to break it.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to keep it.”
“You said that earlier. I meant, what are you going to do when the baby comes?”
“I don’t know. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea that there is a baby.”
He glanced at her still-flat stomach, knowing exactly what she meant. He felt like he’d been pulled up short, run over by a steamroller. Pulled into a swirling abyss of emotions and decisions he was in no way ready for.
“I want to help.” The words came out stilted, cool, and she stiffened in response.
“Look, I didn’t come here to hit you up for money.”
“Still, I want to help. And I don’t just mean financially. That’s my kid, too.”
“Well, that wasn’t the reaction I’d anticipated.” The careless, mocking tone he knew so well was back, and he couldn’t help being relieved. He knew how to deal with this Camille.
“So what did you anticipate? You fly halfway around the world and show up on my doorstep with no warning—you must have been expecting something.”
“You didn’t even ask me if the baby was yours.”
His stomach churned acid at her words, until all he could think of was Camille in the arms of another man. Other men. How many had there been since she’d left him, anyway? He shoved the uncomfortable images away—regret wouldn’t change anything.
“I figured if you made the effort to tell me, you had to be pretty sure…”
“You’re the father.”
He released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “All right, then. So what do we do now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you seen a doctor? Figured out where you want to live? Thought about getting a job? You don’t have to work right now, if you don’t want to. I make enough money to—”
“Whoa, Matt.” It was the first time she’d said his name since she’d come back, and warmth curled through him. At least until her next words hit him. “I’ve barely begun to think things through. I came back because I figured I owed it to you to tell you about the baby face-to-face. But nothing says I’m going to stay here.”
“Excuse me?”
“Austin isn’t exactly my dream spot, you know.” She glanced around the generic motel room. “I never planned to settle here.”
“But my business is here. My life is here.”
“That doesn’t mean mine has to be.”
Ice skated down his spine. “What are you saying, Camille? That you don’t want me to be a part of this baby’s life?”
“Are you saying you really want to be a part of its life?” She looked him up and down skeptically. “You don’t exactly come across as a family man.”
Her words came at him from left field. Sure, when they’d been together, he hadn’t talked about wanting to get married and have a family. He hadn’t wanted to spook her. But he’d always anticipated having a wife and kids someday—just because his parents’ marriage hadn’t worked out didn’t mean he didn’t believe in the institution.
The thought gave him pause, made him wonder if this thing with Camille would ruin all his plans for the future. He’d always planned to do things the normal way—wife first, then kids. Having a kid first—with a woman who had no feelings for him and no plans to stick around—hadn’t been part of the agenda.
Would a woman like Ariane—smart, savvy, driven—accept his ties to another woman, accept the fact that he’d had a child out of wedlock? Or would his lack of formal relationship with Camille make her suspicious about his ability to commit?
With a sigh, he let the worries go—things were what they were and there was nothing he could do but to make new plans, plans that included his baby and its commitment-phobic mother.
“I find it hard to believe that you think you can criticize me on my lifestyle. When you can’t even hold a job for more than a month at a time.”
“I choose not to hold a job. There’s a huge difference.”
“Yeah—and the distinction’s not a particularly flattering one to you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she drawled. “I think footloose and fancy-free is a lot better than buttoned-up and bitter as hell.”
“For the second time, I am not bitter.”
“Now,