20 Chapter 20

Life Lessons According to Camryn:

Stress is when you wake up screaming before you've fallen asleep.

Troy let himself back into the house and set the shopping bags on the kitchen counter. He'd been able to find just about everything he needed in town.

Paris. He shook his head. He hoped one day she'd make it there for real but, for now, his fake Paris would have to do. It would also keep her in their room resting without too much argument. He hoped. If it was one thing Camryn did best, it was fight him. Stubborn woman.

Grinning, he climbed the stairs to check up on her. Upon entering their bedroom, the bathroom door was closed. He'd been gone almost two hours.

Worried, he knocked. "Cam, you okay in there?"

"Um, yes." Splashing. "I must have fallen asleep. I'll be out in a second."

Good, she'd rested. At least she'd listened to him on that account. He glanced at the bed. The orange juice and toast were still on her tray. She'd finished the coffee. Well, hopefully she was hungry now.

"Actually," he said through the door, "take your time. I'll call you out when I'm ready."

Pause. "Ready for what?"

He rolled his eyes. She couldn't leave things be or sit back and enjoy life. She had to know everything, control everything. Which gave him an idea for his list.

"I have supplies for an Amazon mating ritual."

"Excuse me?" The door whizzed open, steam billowing out.

She stood there in a black robe, eyes popping from her sockets. Her cinnamon hair was pinned up in a high ponytail, damp and curling at the ends. She smelled like the rose-scented bath salts he'd left for her instead of her usual lemongrass. Pity. He liked the lemongrass better. Suited her.

"I'm joking," he said. "No mating ritual, I promise. Stay in the bathroom. In fact, stay in your robe. Give me ten minutes to set up and I'll holler for you."

Her eyes narrowed before she complied and shut the door.

Grabbing the breakfast tray, he ran downstairs to fetch the other stuff. He wound up having to make two trips. As fast as possible, so she didn't come out and ruin his surprise, he set up his mock Paris. Not bad for no notice. Nodding, he called her name.

She emerged from the bathroom and halted, staring at the red scarf around his neck and the black beret on his head. Then she laughed, the sound so soothing and rich he wanted to weep. God, he loved her laugh.

"You need one of those thin little mustaches," she said.

She moved into the bathroom and reemerged holding what looked like one of Emily's coloring tools. She drew a thin line under each of his nostrils and stepped back to examine her handiwork, only to laugh again.

Hell, he'd dress like a mime and do parlor tricks if she kept laughing like this.

"Your table awaits, Madame," he said in his best attempt at a French accent. Bowing, he gestured toward the balcony where he'd set up a TV tray and two chairs. It wasn't a cafe table overlooking the Seine, but it would do.

"Oh, that was a terrible French accent." Another laugh. He was on a roll. Her whole face lit up this time. "You mustn't do that again."

An unfamiliar pressure weighed in his chest as he straightened. He'd never seen her like this. Happy. Not concerned over what she said, not censoring her actions or responses. Just Cam. Free.

And he'd been wrong. Back at his house, he'd thought she was cute. Attractive even, in a girl-next-door sort of way. But no. She was way more than that. She was beautiful. How had he not noticed before?

"Here." He handed her another beret. She stared at it, so he placed it on her head.

"What's that out there?" She headed toward the balcony.

He cleared his throat. "Crepes with cherry cream filling, croissants and cheese, and espresso. They didn't have soufflé. Sorry."

She stared at the table. "It looks good. Where did you find all this?"

"There's a bakery in town. My cholesterol skyrocketed just by smelling the pastries. Apparently, cheese is very popular in France."

"It is. There are more than two hundred types of cheese. They're also protected by law, so no one can reproduce them. They have strict quotas placed on how much can be produced yearly in order to prevent the value of a cheese decreasing."

He swore she said this stuff just to make others feel like idiots. It turned him on. "How do you remember all this stuff?"

She shrugged. "I'm a plethora for useless information. I remember most everything I read. Or hear."

"Well, that's just a sharp cheddar cheese. Pretend it's fancy or something."

Smiling, she sat down. He poured them both a cup of espresso from a carafe and stepped inside. He returned with a framed poster of the Eiffel Tower, leaning it against the railing and keeping his other hand behind his back.

She looked at him with raised brows. "Nice."

"Walmart." He shrugged. "They have an excellent poster collection. If you like, I can go back and get a Justin Beiber one."

She laughed, sipping her coffee. "I'll pass."

Bringing his other hand from behind him, he held out a bouquet of flowers. The smile fell from her face as she stared at them. An almost horrified expression froze her features.

Shoot. She didn't like them.

"I didn't know what kind you preferred, so I got a mix."

Slowly, she set her cup down and reached for the bouquet. "You got me flowers?"

"Every woman should get flowers. Even if they stink up the house, as you say."

One corner of her mouth quirked. "I don't have a flower preference."

"Every woman needs a favorite flower, too. Like a favorite color or candy. It's a must."

"I don't have a favorite color either. These are beautiful. Thank you."

"You're welcome. One more thing." He ran in, then back out, holding DVDs. "You have your choice between Forget Paris with Billy Crystal, Midnight in Paris by Woody Allen, or Beauty and the Beast."

She looked at the Disney movie. "Beauty and the Beast?"

He shrugged. "It's set in France. Emily made me watch it three times when I babysat."

Ah, there was the smile again.

"I'm not a Woody Allen fan. Forget Paris, I guess." She took a bite of the crepe and threw her head back, moaning. "This is fantastic."

He grew hard instantly. He sat down so she wouldn't notice. "Better than sex?"

"Oh, most definitely."

He grinned. "Then you're doing it wrong." The smile disappeared again. Realizing what he'd said and how she'd probably interpreted the comment, he called her name so she'd look at him. "Then they were doing it wrong," he corrected.

Acknowledging him with a nod, she broke off a piece of croissant and nibbled. "I used to feel sorry for your girlfriends, with you having so many, or how fast you go through them. But I'm rethinking that. Do you do this sort of thing for all your women?"

No. Flowers, yes. Nice dinner, yes. Planning a whole afternoon to transport them to a European city just for the hell of it? Never. "First, I only date one woman at a time, and she gets my sole attention. And two, we're fake dating. The rules don't apply here." Though he spoke the truth, that last part felt like a lie. He wasn't even sure if he'd said it for her benefit or his. Something was changing between them.

She studied him, the croissant in hand halfway to her lips. His gaze dropped to that mouth, remembering just how well she used it for something other than trivia knowledge. If he kissed her now, he'd taste the signature of her, mixed with the buttery croissant.

After several elongated minutes, she looked away. "Well, either way, this was very thoughtful. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She pulled the beret off her head and set it on the table, then picked up a napkin. She leaned over and wiped the fake mustache off his lip. Having her that close again made him want to grab her wrist and yank her into his lap. He'd show her what Paris was really known for.

It wouldn't stop at a kiss.

They were getting into dangerous territory here. At least, he was. If this kept up, he wouldn't be able to control this desire any longer. Then all hell would break loose.

He took a croissant and bit into it, just to have something to do with his mouth besides kiss her. And damn it, kissing her was much more preferable.

She finished her crepe, moan-free this time, and sipped her coffee. "I'm wondering how you expect me to sit through a movie after drinking espresso."

"They make decaffeinated. Seems pointless to me. It's essentially a strong decaf brew slapped with the name espresso."

She stared into her cup. "I didn't know that. It tastes the same."

"Well, there you go. You don't know everything, smartypants."