FOURTEEN: Denialsville Population 1

2:03PM

10/21/2010 Logan, Maine

Cam avoided Jon as much as possible over the next few days. It was easy with four men taking over her living space. Danny and Bruce traded time in the house and she'd learned that a new bodyguard had been added to the mix, even if she hadn't spoken more than three words to him.

Darius aka Tank, was a huge black man with more muscles than she'd ever seen in her life. Linebacker wide, dark as onyx and just as hard looking. Wide white teeth split his stony face when he talked to Jon. Evidently they both adored football. Surprise, surprise. She puttered, she organized, she painted--but all the while there was this overwhelming ugency to everything she was doing.

Shredding through four canvasses in two days was certainly a testament to that. But it made her agent happy and the fact that Bruce actually answered her phone instead of letting it go to voice mail made her face that fact as well. At least she was getting good material out of her dark mood. Lonely seascapes off the bay and a few closeups of one of the trawlers she'd taken pictures of a few weeks ago consumed her.

All the while everyone was on edge waiting for Lucas to make a move. This part was Lucas's favorite--the wait, and the hunt. How many times had she escaped him only to find out he'd known where she was the entire time? He got a sick, twisted pleasure out of letting her think she was free.

And each night she had to face the fact that Jon wouldn't leave her side. Oh, he left her alone during the day. He was busy with his own plans. Running his band like a little corporate shark. He knew how to manipulate, how to cajole, and how to wheel and deal. And all the while he sounded like Lucas, making her shudder even more. How many ways could they overlap and be different people? She knew he wasn't like Lucas, knew it in her heart, but each time he turned on his PR voice, her belly clenched.

Another album release and bevvy of television and award shows would take up most of his November. At least she knew that he'd be out of her hair by then. And if Lucas didn't kill her by then she could push her feelings for him back in that safe little box where he belonged.

She tore an extra big chunk out of her newsprint collage and swore. Hands came down on her shoulders and she jumped.

"Cam," he said softly. "Why don't you come over here and relax. I made a fresh pot of coffee--decaf."

"I need to work," she said without turning around. God, not right now. Her skin burned where he'd touched her. It didn't matter that she had three layers on to combat the icy storm that had blown in. Two nights of laying next to him in her bed, knowing that all she had to do was curl in and take the comfort he was offering. She was going insane--period.

He sighed, but backed off. He'd taken to playing his guitar through the afternoons and she enjoyed the mindless background noise. Soothing sometimes, strumming intricate patters other times. His fingers seemed as reckless as she felt. And in the end, their emotions collided and the tone of her paintings mirrored his frenzy, or his complicated picking.

Today he was calm and she fed off it, trying to ease the ache and the itchy skin that pricked at her like fireants. Bruce had gone out for supplies and Tank was doing another one of his rounds that would take hours. Careful. Everyone was so incredibly careful around her. She built up charcoal and paint until she'd stacked the muddy greys into white. The fishing boat she was working on came alive as it dipped into the heavy summer squall she'd caught on film. Trying to make it come alive in media was always her challenge.

She'd fallen so completely in love with Maine. With its wicked moods, with the people that fed off the water and the rocky coast that created hardships that even a complete economic recovery would never touch. She liked that it was hard to live here--loved that it made her feel alive.

And she hated that Lucas could so easily take this from her.

She dug into the homemade canvas, the tip of her exacto blade snapping. "Dammit," she muttered and went over to her workdesk looking for another. The reliefs were becoming her signature style. The corner of Jon's portrait caught her attention. She whipped it back, his startling bone structure leapt off the page, but his eyes still weren't quite right. Disgusted, she flipped the sheet back over it.

"Cam, you can't hide in your work forever."

"Damn skippy, I can."

He laughed, but the grumbly sound held no pleasure. "I've been hiding in work and normalcy for two years, believe me it doesn't work."

She gripped the edge of her battered desk, looking down at the fifty pack of blades. She relaxed her hold and slid one out, determined to ignore him. With a quick twist, she opened the chamber and fit a new blade in, tightening it down until it was at the exact angle she liked.

"Please look at me."

She shook her head and went back to her canvass. She jumped as the door opened and Bruce dropped a few boxes of food and a heavy silver case. When he flipped it open and she saw more gadgets to analyze Lucas's whereabouts, she stalked to her room and turned to shut the door. Jon's eyes tried to meet hers, but she refused.

Fear wrapped around confusion with a sprinkle of lust on top.

She so wasn't interested in the clusterfuck of feelings that sundae held.

When his only reply was a lifted brow, she slammed the door. Dammit, she wasn't.