She ignores that, too rapt in the scent of fresh meat, the racing pulse beneath his skin, to roll her eyes. Were she thinking clearly, the way he's responding to this would call into question her assumption that he's still angry, that she's forfeit any chance she still had. But, of course, she isn't; Cameron isn't thinking anything, lips searching along his shoulder, fingertips and short, well-kept nails digging into his sides, having worked her way to the last of the buttons.

And at last, starved and sick with anticipation, she bites down on his shoulder, the thick muscle above his collarbone caught up in her jaw as fully as she can manage.