My cheeks twitch as I try to stifle the laugh threatening to escape. I manage to hold it back for a few seconds before it bubbles out of me, sending me into a fit of laughter.
“I’m glad you find this so amusing,” Camden snaps, his lips pressed into a thin line. His tone sends me into hysterics, making me bend at my waist as tears form in my eyes.
“Oh my god,” I wheeze, trying to bring air into my lungs. “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.” Reaching into my pocket, I pull my phone from my jeans. “I’ve got to get a picture to post on the internet.”
In the blink of an eye, Camden is across the tack room and ripping my phone from my grasp.
“Hey!” I yell, attempting to snatch it back from him. “Give me my phone back.”
Camden clicks his tongue. I’m incredibly uncomfortable watching him swipe through my camera roll, clearly having no boundaries at all.
“I’ll give it back when I’m out of this awful outfit and back in clothing that is actually tailored to fit my body.”
I almost bust my ass when I attempt to jump up and snag my phone from his grip again. He’s too quick for me, holding it above his head so it’s way out of reach. His thumb continues to swipe through my camera roll, and he’s getting dangerously close to seeing photos on there that weren’t meant for his eyes. So far, we’re in the safe zone, and he’s mostly seeing photos I’ve taken of cakes and other pastries to upload to all of Wake and Bake’s socials. But if he keeps going…
I lunge one final time, hoping to catch him by surprise. It doesn’t work. He pushes against my chest just enough to allow him more room to invade my privacy while he swipes away with his other hand.
Groaning, I take a step back, running right into a saddle stand. I rub at my hip, pinning him with a glare. My only hope is if I stop trying to grab it from him, maybe he’ll stop going through my pictures as payback for trying to blackmail him.
When he doesn’t stop, I grow anxious. “Okay, fun is over. You can keep my phone until you’re back in your rich-guy clothing and not slumming it in my brother’s hand-me-downs.”
I hate to admit it, but he looks damn good in the outfit, even if the clothes don’t fit him as well as his typical clothing does. He’s got maybe an inch or two on Cade, making the old pair of Levi’s a tad too short on him. His foot was two sizes too big to wear any of Cade’s cowboy boots, but we found a pair an old ranch hand used to wear that worked. It’s really something to see Camden in a pair of cowboy boots. He looks so out of place I almost laugh all over again at the sight.
He drew a hard line at the cowboy hat, despite my efforts to tell him it was part of the day.
I’d spent too long ogling him that I hadn’t realized he never responded to me. I notice his thumb is no longer swiping across my phone screen, but something has still caught his attention by the way he brings the screen closer to his face, staring down at it.
Oh no.
“Camden,” I start, my breath hitching. Thank god my brother had to run out to help my dad with a broken fence, or I’d be even more mortified to have him bear witness to this.
Camden’s icy-blue eyes find mine. His entire face is stoic, his back ramrod straight as he turns my phone to face me. “Who the hell are you sending this to?” His voice is tight, and even from a few feet away, I can see the muscles along his jaw ticking away angrily.
My stomach drops when I see the picture of me standing in front of the full-length mirror in my closet. “No one,” I answer, hating the way my cheeks flush knowing he’s seen the photo. I want to say I’m embarrassed, but I don’t know if the blood rushing to my cheeks is from embarrassment or excitement—and I think I might like it.
“Pippa.” He takes a long, angry breath, air hissing through his nostrils. I always thought the stables were loud and full of life, but as we face each other in the tack room, nothing can be heard but our labored breaths. “Who. Did. You. Send. This. To?”
“That’s none of your business. Let’s go.”
Camden’s nostrils flare. It’s the only thing that gives his jealousy away, aside from the angry tick of his jaw.
Our angry glares don’t falter. Time passes by as we stare at one another. Or maybe it isn’t anger in our eyes. It’s full of tension, but I don’t know what kind, and I know that I need to get out of this room before I do something dumb. Right now, I want to do something foolish and ask him if he liked what he saw.
“You have one more chance to tell me who you sent this photo to before I go through every single one of your text messages to find out.”
“That’s childish. You hate me, remember? Why does it matter who I’m sending pictures of myself to?”
“Because you’re wearing nothing but scraps of fucking lace.”
He isn’t wrong. I’d found a new website to order lingerie from. I wanted to see how it fit. The lingerie fit perfectly, and I love to do my own little photoshoots when I feel sexy. The pictures weren’t taken for anyone but myself. I love the body I have. Strong in some places and soft in others. I liked that this lingerie accentuated my favorite parts of my body. It lay high on the hips, bringing attention to the narrow of my waist. It cut low on my breasts, giving them a needed lift without pushing them up to my chin in a way that is completely unnatural and incredibly uncomfortable. The bra makes my average-sized breasts seem bigger than they actually are, something I really liked about it.
I get so lost in my mind that I don’t realize he’s closed the distance between us. He’s cornered me, the edge of the saddle stand digging into my back. I hardly notice the sting of it because I’m too lost in the way his eyes have darkened.
“One last chance, shortcake. Tell me who you’re sending them to.”
“Why? So you can laugh with them?”
“No, so I can tell them to lose your fucking number.”
My mouth snaps shut. What the hell is happening?
He takes a step forward, fully pressing the fronts of our bodies together. He’s warmer than I was expecting, so different from his typical cold personality. He stands over a head taller than me, but the way he crouches down puts us almost nose to nose.
“Camden.” My voice betrays me. Gone is the snarky tone I reserve for him and only him. In its place is a breathy tone…and maybe a little lust after feeling his hard body pressed against mine.
He holds the phone in front of me, angling it so both of us can see the screen. He focuses on the dirty picture of me for a few seconds before closing out of it and going to my home screen. The moment he clicks on my text messages, the lust-filled bubble pops, and I’m left with anger.
“You’re crossing so many boundaries,” I lash out.
His eyes scan over all the text threads I have. “I don’t see you trying to stop me.”
I frown. Maybe he has a point. “You aren’t going to find who I sent the picture to.”
His breath tickles my cheeks when he looks back to me. “And why’s that? You deleted the conversation?”
“No.” I look at where our bodies touch. I should push him away, but even though fury courses through my veins at the way he’s unapologetically crossed so many lines, I can’t do it. I don’t want to. I’m too lost in the angry fog in his eyes. The way he clenches his jaw so hard that I’m worried he’ll chip the teeth his parents clearly spent thousands to perfect. “I took the picture for me.”
His head cocks to the side. It seems childish, but I want to reach out and tousle his gelled hair. To make him a little less perfect as revenge for violating my privacy. “Explain,” he growls.
Sighing, I finally get in my right mind and push at his chest. It’s only haphazardly. He lets me do it, though, only backing up as far as I pushed him—which wasn’t far to begin with.
“Yes. For me. Why can’t a woman take sexy pictures of herself and keep them just for herself? On days when I’m tired or I’m covered in flour and in a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt, I like to look back at pictures like this and remember the times I felt beautiful and sexy.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple slowly moving along his throat. “No one else has this?”
I shake my head. Not that he deserves to know the information in the slightest.
“You’re always…” His words drift off. He decides against saying whatever he was going to say as he backs away a few steps, keeping my phone in his grip.
Awkward silence fills the room. He sets the phone down on a shelf before barreling out of the tack room. “Lead me to the beast you’re insisting I ride,” he clips before disappearing.
Now that I’m alone, I finally take my first deep breath in a while. I grab my phone, noticing that the screen is still illuminated. My entire body flushes when I see a brand-new text thread created, with only one text in it.
The picture we were just looking at. I don’t have to ask to know he just sent that picture to himself—and now I’ll spend the entire day wondering why.
