Words and Music by Cameron David

Words and Music by Cameron David

David Family Saga

Bayou Billionaires

by

Gina

Watson

Copyright © 2014 by Gina Watson

Whiskey Cove Publishing

ISBN-13: 978-1-941059-22-7

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Table of Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

Epilogue

About the Author

Other books

The Teachings of Maximilian David excerpt

Chapter 1

             
“Crap!” Megan Price huffed as she pulled a paring knife from the magnetic bar above the sink in her apartment. Desperate to open a bottle of pinot grigio given to her by her ex-boyfriend and co-anchor at
Baton Rouge Thirty Nine
, she poked at the dried out cork with the sharp utensil. Cutting away the cork proved easy, as it had become shriveled, exactly like their relationship.

             
“Oh,” she gasped. The cork had dislodged and now floated in the bottle. Pouring a glass she noticed bits of cork drifting in the light liquid like tiny passengers crying for rescue. Hmm…cork can’t kill you if you ingest it.
Can it?
Thinking a good idea for a story would be various ways to open a wine bottle
without
a corkscrew, Megan carried her glass over to her computer on the coffee table. She sipped from her glass while the contraption booted up.

             
Once the computer was up and running, the annoying little red flag on her email program bobbed up and down like an apple in a tub of water at a carnival. “All right. Geez.” She opened her email and read:

              Ms. Price,

             
We’ve received your application for the nighttime anchor position and are very interested in speaking with you. Please contact Suzie Goetz in human resources to schedule an interview date and time. Additionally, she will be able to secure flight, hotel, and transport. We look forward to seeing you.

             
Tom Case

             
Director of News

             
Toronto News Twelve, catch it before it’s gone.

             
Oh my God! She brought her hands up and cupped her face. She was being granted an interview at
Toronto News Twelve
! Smiling and almost crying, she hit reply and thanked Mr. Case for the opportunity. Then she searched the Toronto news website for Suzie Goetz’s email address and made contact. When she was finished she shut down her computer and searched for the remote to her television, locating and unearthing it from between the couch cushions.

             
Tuning to her Pandora station, she was just in time to catch Jay Z and Alicia Keys singing about bright lights, dreams, and feeling brand new. Of course, that was an ode to New York, but in her mind Toronto was the new Big Apple, and she hoped it was where her future resided.

             
Once the song ended, she refilled her wine glass and tuned in to catch the start of SNL. She was determined to keep her mind off what she was missing tonight. Besides, most of her friends were in attendance and would be more than anxious to fill her in on the antics of one Cameron David. She sighed. As her luck would have it, a rerun was playing. Cameron Diaz and Bruno Mars. At least it was a solid lineup worth sitting through a second time.

             
Her eyelids heavily scratched and burned with each blink. On the couch she closed her eyes, the remote falling from her fingers and thumping onto the floor. Her dreams were filled with images of chestnut hair, thick and messy, and piercing green eyes. When she woke, the television screen displayed the cast of SNL as they hugged and made their goodbyes. Megan turned the television off and walked her empty wine glass to the kitchen.

             
Boom. Boom. Boom.

             
Rinsing her glass in the kitchen sink she muttered,
“What the hell?”

             
Boom. Boom. Boom.

             
Grabbing the rag she wiped her hands as she made her way to the front door of her apartment. Looking through the peephole, she gasped and backed away.
Shit!
She huffed. She popped the towel into a drawer on the entry table and checked her hair in the mirror that graced the wall above.
Flock of Seagulls
had reunited in her entryway. She furiously smoothed the curls down on one side of her head and finger teased the other to add balance and volume. Once she felt sufficiently evened out she shook out her mane and manually pressed her white tailored shirt with the flat of her palms. Clearing her throat, she unlocked and opened the door, revealing the lean six-foot-two frame of Cameron David.

             
Leaning against her doorway, looking like the rock god he was, he simply said, “You’re alive.”
             
Cam stood in black distressed denim, studded leather belt, and a snug black T-shirt, irresistible in his bad boy get-up. Tattoo sleeves of various images that were familiar to her wound around his arms. Crawling up his neck from beneath his shirt was a vine of black roses. Sitting just below his Adam’s apple a black bat’s face emerged from the center of one of the flowers, the creature’s golden eyes on the same level as hers.

             
“Yes. I’m alive. What are you doing here?” Her voice sounded breathy and a little too high in pitch.

             
“You weren’t at my show…you’ve never missed a Baton Rouge show, Meg.”

             
No, she hadn’t, but this was Meg 2.0—no longer was she going to receive google alerts or stalk other social media for his whereabouts. And yet, seeing him standing in her doorway in all of his bad boy glory she felt the pull deep in her sex. Shaking it off she stepped aside, gesturing him in. He passed closely, his left arm skimming her chest and she smelled the liquor on his breath. Presented with his back, her thoughts enacted x-ray vision as she recalled the large tattoo of angel wings whose wingtips spanned shoulder to shoulder. The wings belonged to his mother, and she held an image of his father in her arms.

             
“Would you like a beer?”

             
“No, thanks. I’ve had enough.”

             
He sat on the couch and she joined him, leaving plenty of space between them. His hands fiddled with the necklace he wore which was made up of washers and various other pieces of the truck that his mother died in. When he was in high school his brothers had all decided it was time to have the truck destroyed, but he’d wanted to keep the wreckage. As a compromise, he’d had some small pieces made into an industrial looking necklace. The parts were bisected by a silver cross, which he currently pressed into the tip of his pillowy lips. She knew those lips…knew how soft and supple, yet demanding they could be.

             
As he fidgeted with his necklace, she worried the birthstone ring on her right hand—rubbing the garnet back and forth.  

             
“I just”—he dropped the cross and feathered his fingers through his hair, his skull ring twinkling as it caught the low lamplight. “It was different without you there.”

             
She pressed her lips together, analyzing his admission. “You do shows all over the South without me there. How’s this any different?”

             
“I don’t know, Meg…it was just the one thing I could always count on…you being there.” He said the last three words on a whisper. He’d always been fidgety and hyper, but he seemed extremely agitated now as his booted heel bounced up and down and his fingers repeatedly snapped and unsnapped the leather cuff he wore on his wrist. When finally he stopped his head jerked toward her, his green eyes almost pushing her into the couch. “You seem distant. What’s up?”

             
She stood, pacing. Sighing she said, “I can’t go to any more of your shows.” God, looking into his electric green eyes was enough to make her lose focus on the thing she wanted most…the Toronto news gig.

             
“You can’t go to any more of my shows?” His voice was gravel-like.

             
“I’m sorry.”

             
“Do you want to tell me why or am I supposed to try and guess?” He huffed out a heavy breath and shook his head.

             
She sat on the edge of the coffee table and placed her hands on his knees. She realized that was a big mistake when she felt his tensing thigh muscles quake beneath her fingers. Her eyes followed the long, sinewy muscles of his arms—he’d had thick veins for as long as she could remember. He’d said it was from playing guitar. “Every time you come to town we connect, and then you’re gone again.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m left holding the reins, but I’ve got no horse.” She looked away from his laser-like stare. “It hurts.”

             
“Are you saying you want a commitment from me?”

             
“No, of course not. I know you can’t do that.” And she couldn’t either. His facial stubble beckoned to her and she longed to run her cheek across it.

             
He held his arms out, sacrificially. “What then, Meg? You’re my oldest friend in the world. I need you.”

             
She grasped his hands and squeezed, pulling his arms down. “We will always be friends, Cam. I just can’t watch you sing.” His thick lips thinned. “Hey…it’s only for a little while. Until I figure out how to be around your music without succumbing to your charms.” She smiled, lowering her chin until she connected with his gaze.

             
He grinned. “My charms.”

             
“Yes…you’re like a snake charmer with your guitar. Every time I hear you sing I fall for you all over again.”

             
“You fall for me?” A chestnut colored brow arched at her.

             
“You know what I mean.”

             
“You mean you get horny.”

             
“I was trying to be G-rated.”

             
“We won’t ever be G-rated, Nutmeg. Please…tell me we won’t.”

             
“No, we probably won’t. And don’t call me that, you know I don’t like it.”

             
“I prefer us X-rated. And okay.”

             
“I know you do. So do I, but that has to stop.”

             
He cocked his head suggestively at her. “You sure? Together we make beautiful music.”

             
“I’m trying to be sure, but you’re making it damn hard.”

             
“So are you?” His hand cupped between his thighs and she abruptly stood. 

               
Her tingly skin burned red hot at the image of him with his hand on his penis.

             
“Are you hungry? I could make your favorite…grilled cheese.”

             
“I’m hungry, but not for food.”
 His raspy voice was lazy and burdened with need.           

             
No, no, no. In the kitchen she filled a glass to the brim with ice, and then poured water from the tap. She drank it quickly over the sink, trying to cool her overheated body. From her position in front of the sink she had a clear shot of him and he of her. He watched with a smirk on his face, casually leaning against the back of the couch, his booted foot resting on his opposite knee.

             
“What’s wrong, Nutmeg? Hot?”

             
She slammed the empty glass down on the counter and wiped her chin. Her breathing heavy she said, “I’m trying to drink sixty-four ounces of water a day.”

             
His head shot violently back, resting on the couch as he laughed loudly at her ridiculous statement. “Okay, Meg. Whatever you say. I guess I’ll be sleeping on the couch.”

             
“I’ll get you a pillow.”

             
With his hand splayed on his chest he said, “I’d be much obliged. Preferably one that smells of you.” She moved to walk away, but he grasped her by the wrist, pulling her to him. “Hey, can I get a friendly hug? I miss you.” They embraced, his chin resting on her head. When her arms slid up the long plains of his back, she yearned for him to consume her. She wanted him between her legs so badly that a moan escaped from deep within. His smell and feel were home to her. Memories of hot days spent picking and eating blackberries from the vine assaulted her senses. Closing her eyes tight, she held back the tears stemming from the loss of the last place she’d felt love and security. The last place she’d felt wanted, needed, and like a part of the family…at the plantation with his mom, dad, and brothers.

             
“Hey”—he pulled her back from his body so that he could see her face. “What’s wrong?”

             
“Nothing.” She rubbed at her eye, more from wetness than tiredness. “I’m just tired.”

             
“It’s good to be near you. I’ve missed you,
friend
.”
             
“I’ve missed you too. Let me get you that pillow.” She walked to the linen closet, her body adrift, floating from their encounter. She’d always been thrown off center by his closeness. Surely that wasn’t a desirable thing.
Was it?
Shaking her head, she focused on retrieving the linens.