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Camille didn’t need any more alcohol that evening, content as she was to sit back and drink in the joy she felt at all being together again. She watched as Richard’s grumpy mood lifted bit by bit, charmed as he was by the efforts the team had gone to to welcome him back.
She made the most of her lack of inebriation when, as the evening drew to a close, she offered the inspector a ride home. The DI accepted with some measure of relief. The commissioner had left the celebrations much earlier on, and he was grateful not to have to take a cab. The fact that they would be alone to talk had no bearing on his decision, he told himself.
Camille felt unexpected nerves brewing in her stomach as they waved goodbye to the remaining crowd and headed off by themselves. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it felt like something had shifted between them. The silence as she drove was filled with both comfort and anticipation. Although she was using all her willpower to tramp the butterflies out, they kept on multiplying. The need to keep her eyes on the road prevented her from analysing Richard to see if he was having the same struggle, despite the side glances she gave him every now and again.
When he exited the car, he stopped with a hand on the door. “Do you… want to come in?” he asked, somewhat hesitantly. Smiling, Camille turned the car off and slipped out the other side.
“I would like that.”
Seeing as he didn’t have many clothes to unpack, Richard deposited his briefcase on the table and sat heavily on the sofa. He wriggled to pull his jacket off and undo his tie, throwing both over the back cushion, before undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. Camille watched him undress with astonishment. It was perhaps the first time she had seen him in anything other than buttoned up pyjamas or a full suit.
When he didn’t make any further moves, Camille took it as her turn to sit down. She brought one leg up onto the seat and faced him sideways, eyes roaming over his face. “So… how was your trip?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“Good—It was… good,” Richard responded, nodding. He paused, considering his next words. Finally, he broached: “You really believed I wouldn’t come back, didn’t you?”
Taken slightly aback at being read so well, Camille blanched a little. She looked down, then away to the ocean in the distance. “I don’t know.” She tugged at a thread on her dress. “Dwayne, certainly, thought you’d get back to England and want to stay. Fidel was sure you’d return.”
“And you?” Feeling his eyes boring into her, Camille once again looked up.
“I didn’t know,” she admitted. “I hoped….”
Richard’s face contorted into confusion “But I told you I’d be back,” he protested, befuddled.
“I know. But you must have considered it, didn’t you? Especially when you got there.” She paused. “And… I don’t know. I suppose I have a history of people not returning.” The thread she had been pulling at had grown in size, and she began to roll it between her fingers instead.
“What do you mean?”
Camille looked up at him, gauging how honestly to respond to his seemingly genuine curiosity. She sighed. “Well… my father left Maman and me when I was little. My high school sweetheart went off to Antigua with another girl when I went to university in Paris. My next boyfriend went on a work trip to Canada after we’d been dating for a year and decided to move there permanently without telling me anything until it was decided. Then I went undercover for years where everything is temporary. I guess I’m not… not used to people coming back.” Inwardly, Camille cursed at how weakly the last words had left her mouth and what she may have implied by comparing Richard to her previous beaus.
On his part, Richard didn’t know what to say to this admission, so chose instead to focus on her earlier question. “I suppose I thought about it,” he admitted: “thought about what it would be like, anyway. To stay. But after living here… it wasn’t the same as when I left it. I never had a team there—at least, not one that didn’t make fun of me behind my back, or even to my face.” He glanced up at her, embarrassed now himself. He cleared his throat. “The temperature was nicer, yes…. But it was dull and miserable and impersonal. Like me, I suppose. But maybe I don’t want that to be me anymore. I don’t know.” Turning his gaze back to the woman in front of him, he swallowed. He winced at how strained the next words came out: “And… I missed you.” Camille felt her heart beating out of her chest, her eyes widening. “All of you, I mean…. Well. Maybe you especially.” He paused, waiting for her to laugh at him, but it never came. He gathered the courage to continue. “Above all, I have no interest in going back to England because… you aren’t there. I finally got what I had wanted for the past two years, only to realise that Saint Marie is my home.”
Camille bit her lip, hardly daring to hope his meaning was what she was imagining. “You missed me,” she repeated simply. “As a colleague, or a friend, or…” The question hung in the air.
“Yes,” Richard whispered eventually, too afraid to bite the bullet and verbalise his feelings outright.
“Well, then.” Inching closer, Camille placed a hand on his chest, watching with bated breath as he raised his to where it lay. She let out a shaky sigh when instead of pushing her away, he covered her hand with his own and gave it a gentle squeeze. Their eyes locked, each daring the other to make the next move until neither could hold it any longer and they both leaned forward together.
Kisses that began light and fleeting grew deeper as Camille migrated to the detective’s lap, encouraged by his hands pulling her hips towards him. She straddled his legs, his face in her hands. Any butterflies had been replaced by pools of desire that elicited a deep moan from her throat. But Richard’s response to this was the opposite of what she wanted: instead of continuing to move things further along, he pushed her back gently, bringing her forehead to rest against his. “Camille,” he whispered almost reverently, unable to tear his eyes away.
“What?” Camille asked with no small amount of frustration at being interrupted mid-kiss. He cleared his throat and pulled back completely.
“Before we go any further, I think we should, um, talk… about what this would change between us.”
“Things have already changed, Richard,” Camille pointed out with a shake of her head. Knowing that her feelings were reciprocated, she couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the way things were before.
“I know, I know they have.” Richard’s eyes dropped to her lips once again before he forced himself to look off to the side. “It’s just, it’s not so much how we would change, but our jobs, our lives…”
“Shhh,” Camille demanded, placing a finger on his lips. The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Stop being so English. Hasn’t the island taught you anything? You don’t need to have everything planned out twenty steps ahead. Sometimes, it’s enough to just go for what you want.”
“But that’s not me,” Richard began. He was swiftly cut off:
“I know it’s not. But—”
“Camille,” he said firmly, and she quieted, disheartened. He looked down at where his hands rested on her hips and sighed. “I’ve never been the spontaneous type, and I’ve never ignored the possible consequences. I don’t want to do that now. I think… no, I know, that I… I care about you too much to do that. This is too important. I don’t want to jeopardise your career or your chance at happiness with someone much… younger, and—and more confident, more… fun than myself. I couldn’t bear for you to feel like you were ever settling for less than you deserve.”
When he finally met her eyes again, he found a mixture of anger and sadness staring back at him. This was as he had been expecting. “If that’s your opinion, why did you say anything in the first place?” This took him by surprise. After opening and closing his mouth a few times, he had gathered enough of his thoughts to give her an answer.
“Selfishness?” he sighed dejectedly, releasing her hips and flexing his fingers. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry, I’m just making this worse.” Camille crossed her arms and let the silence stretch out between them, making no movements to leave his lap. “I—I—I couldn’t….” He flailed for a moment before gathering himself. “Look. You are the most incredible, wonderful woman I have ever met, and I know I pale in comparison, but I want this with every… every fibre of my being. For some strange reason that is entirely beyond me, it appears you might feel the same, but I want to make sure before we do anything else that you won’t regret it, because I would completely understand if you thought that someone else might have something better to offer, or if you were worried about how things would go at work, and if you’re not absolutely sure you could be happy with me—truly happy—, I’d rather not go any further because I don’t know if I could bear to lose you once—”
His rambling was cut off by Camille’s lips as she pressed firmly against him, cradling his face between her hands. Her kiss was gentle yet insistent, encouraging Richard to relax. It didn’t take long for him to respond; his hands stroked up Camille’s back and into her hair, making her shudder. She moved her mouth to his ear. “I love you,” she whispered, “and I want you. I’m very, very sure. Now, will you please take me to bed?”