then at her. His gaze went to her bare skin where she could feel the water droplets sliding over her neck, her décolletage, and pooling between her breasts. Camden looked away and when he spoke, his voice was gritty. “Can we please go somewhere where we can both get dried off? I have a hotel room up the street.”
She paused, considering. She had so many questions and he seemed prepared to answer them. Yes, she was still deeply distrustful of him, but as she pictured the way he’d held the baby bird with such reverent gentleness, the way he made beautiful, impossible art with extraordinarily patient fingers and a simple blade of grass, she was filled with the certainty that he wouldn’t hurt her—at least not physically. She could ask him to go back to Merrilee’s, but it wasn’t her home, and she didn’t feel taking a stranger there was appropriate. “All right. Let’s go. But if you give me some stupid double-talk, Camden West, I’m leaving.”
Although his eyes remained grave, his lips twitched minutely before he turned, signaling her to follow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Camden rubbed the towel through his hair one last time, flinging it over the shower stall and then leaning his head forward so it touched the glass. He stood that way for a moment, collecting himself before leaving the bathroom.
Scarlett sat on the patio, clad in his T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, folded over several times at the waist. She sipped from a bottle of water he’d taken from the mini fridge. He took a minute to stare at her, letting out a slow, controlled breath.
Jesus, he was nervous. He’d never confided in anyone other than Mason and Georgia before. With everything at stake, he knew this was a risk. But . . . God, he felt her goodness. He wanted to trust himself with that. If he couldn’t, what else did he have? A life of bitterness and revenge? Constantly feeding that voracious dark wolf inside? No, he wanted to protect this woman who’d unknowingly found herself tangled up in this unholy mess.
Scarlett stood, turning toward him, and for a moment they simply stared at each other, the cloudy LA night sky behind her, the brightest stars somehow managing to peek through the gloom.
He was tempted to look away. Camden had a hard time looking at her the same way he’d always had a hard time staring at anything beautiful. It overwhelmed him, made him want to understand its allure—its layers—so he could somehow carry it with him. And when it was taken away, he’d know it, and in this way, it could still be his. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he liked beautiful things—they always made him feel slightly desperate.
Better not to want much. Better not to yearn for things that would never be his.
He’d had to figure out a way to toughen his skin so that it didn’t sting each time he encountered something sharp. And yet, he’d only managed one thin layer. Even all these years later, the longing for things he’d been denied still tore at that insufficient protection over a wound he’d realized would never heal. Abandonment.
She came toward him, stepping over the ledge and entering the hotel room. Camden swallowed. There was wariness in her gaze and he wished he could wipe it away, but he understood why it was there. He’d fouled this up. God, he’d made a mess out of everything. “Should we sit inside?” she asked, nodding to the small sofa near the window. He turned, pulling the chair from the desk forward and taking a seat on it while she sat on the couch, pulling her legs beneath her. The room had seemed big when he’d first entered it. Now? Now it felt small and enclosed. Somehow this delicate-boned woman took up the entire space, filling it with her presence, overwhelming him.
He sat back. “I’m going to start with the Religious Guild. But before I tell you about the Guild, you have to know how it was formed. You have to understand the way Farrow operates, the way it always has.”
“All right.”
Camden took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Hubert Bancroft formed the Religious Guild in Farrow. It consisted of men from the thirteen original families. I told you about what they did to the natives. You read about it firsthand.”
“Taluta,” she whispered almost reverently.
“Yes, Taluta,” he confirmed. “Taluta and her people.” Camden allowed his eyes to search her face. He saw the empathy there,