Wicked in Love

Chapter 29 - everything and more

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonour others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
1 Corinthians 13:4-7

Kara

The interior of Cameron's cabin was as cold as the outdoors.

I was freezing and dripping wet from the storm. With great care, Cameron placed me down on his bed, soaking his sheets instantly. He knelt in front of me, placing my trembling hands between his and rubbing warmth back in them.

"Kara," he said with urgency, "we need to get you out of these wet clothes."

I was going to crack a dirty joke, hoping to lighten the heavy load in my chest, but I was shivering so badly I couldn't get a word out. At my nod, he helped me remove my dress. There was a loud plopping sound as it landed on the floor.

My teeth chattered as I carefully toed off my shoes. My ankle was barely sore and didn't hurt as much as I had feared. If he hadn't come for me and I trudged my way to his cabin on my own, I probably would have sprained it. Or worse.

Cameron reached for the duvet, wrapped it around me, and rose. I could feel his desperate effort to get me warm in the speed of his movements.

"W-where are you going?"

"I'll be right back," he said and went out the door.

Where the hell is he going in this storm? I tried to get up and go after him, but my legs felt frozen and useless. Before I could try and stand again, he was back.

The furious sound of the storm entered the cabin as the door shot open and Cameron stepped inside. It slammed closed behind him from the force of the wind.

His boots made a thwacking sound on the floor as he crossed the room. He was carrying a few logs of firewood. His floor was a mess, but his sole concentration was in his task. Crouching in front of the stone fireplace, he went to work, reaching for a small axe propped beside the fireplace and chopping a log into small pieces for kindling. Soon the smell and crackle of fire invaded my senses as it came to life under his skilful hands.

Cameron went to the kitchen, filled the electric kettle with water and turned it on. I watched as he struggled to pull off his wet shirt that seemed to want to cling to his body, letting out a soft grunt when he finally removed it, then he disappeared in the bathroom.

He came out immediately. Shirtless, barefoot, and in jeans, he carried a fresh towel, my pajama bottoms I left here, and his white shirt that was three times my size. The white shirt was always the one I wore whenever I slept over in his cabin. The sight of it made my throat tight with emotion.

He knelt in front of me.

"Let's get you warm," he said. He patted down my hair with the towel, pressing the strands between the cloth quickly but gently.

He handed the white shirt to me and turned his head away to give me privacy. I shrugged the duvet off my shoulders and was trembling so badly I could barely raise my arms to put the shirt on.

"Here," he whispered thickly.

He reached for the shirt and helped me put it on. I held my breath as he leaned forward, his hands going behind my back and inside my shirt to unclasp my bra. My heart pounded against my chest at the intimacy of it all. He smelled of rain, of the woods, and of memories of the man who had taken my heart and would never let go of it.

He let out a heavy breath as he pulled away, sliding the straps off my arms. Then his hands went under my shirt again, his fingertips pressing on my hips before pulling my panties down my legs. My face felt hot.