Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(14)

This was epic news.

Epically good to his cock. Epically bad to his head, which quickly reviewed every sensible reason he shouldn’t become involved with her right now.

“Is that right?”

She lowered her eyes demurely, shrugging one shoulder. “We’re dating, but, well, I haven’t invited him out to Newtown yet. I just . . . I don’t know. He’s more of a beer drinker, and I . . . Well, Shane’s a wonderful person, but I spend my weekends out at The Five Sisters and . . .”

“ . . . and you’re not quite that exclusive yet,” Cameron repeated in a low rumble, taking two steps closer to her and placing his palm near hers on the smooth marble counter.

Wetting her lips, she raised her head and nailed him with her big, brown eyes. “No. We’re not.”

“I’d love to see it sometime.”

“The Five Sisters?”

He nodded, still looking deeply into her eyes. If he had chanced upon this softer, relaxed, more playful Margaret in her apartment, he could only imagine the version of her he’d find in the country, at her vineyard, where she was most happy. He clenched his jaw, his thumb reaching out to touch hers, to trail softly, slowly, down the length of hers, the brief, butterfly-wing-like contact more erotic than he would have guessed.

“I’d like that,” she murmured, straightening her neck and back, which thrust her breasts forward.

The sound of the front door opening made them both start, and Cameron stepped back from her.

“Mister? You need me to stick around or what?”

“Uh, yes,” called Cameron. “Coming.” He turned back to Margaret. “Thanks for the wine.”

She was breathless when she answered. “You didn’t drink it.”

“But I will,” he promised, his voice low and determined. “Another time.”

***

Margaret raced back to her apartment on Saturday night after spending Friday night and Saturday at The Five Sisters, but the traffic was heavier than she’d expected, so she arrived home late and had to dress quickly for dinner. She chose a smart, comfortable navy pants suit with an ice-blue silk tank top, and twisted her hair into a simple bun. Fastening her favorite sapphire studs into her earlobes with one hand, she rifled around in her jewelry box with the other for the matching sapphire tennis bracelet, then sprinted to the door just as Shane rang her doorbell.

“Shane!” she exclaimed, a little out of breath. “Come in.”

“Hello, Margaret,” he answered, his voice cooler than usual as he lingered in the hallway, head bent over his phone instead of smiling at her in greeting. “I would, but there isn’t time. We’re cutting it close as it is.”

She glanced at the grandfather clock behind her. He was right. It was six thirty, and cocktails started promptly at seven. Douglas Story was a stickler for punctuality.

“You’re right, of course. I’ll just get my wrap.”

When she returned with her pashmina wrapped around her shoulders, she pulled the door closed behind her, walking next to Shane down the hallway to the elevator. He was silent as they stood side by side waiting for the door to open, and Margaret peeked up at him. Was he clenching his teeth? His face seemed tense and troubled.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“It’s fine,” he answered tightly, ushering her onto the elevator.

In all the weeks she’d been dating Shane, he’d never behaved this way, his words clipped and short, refusing to meet her eyes. Had something happened? She was completely in the dark if it had.

“I can tell something’s wrong, so you may as well just tell me.”

He turned to look at her as they descended, his blue eyes wounded and cautious. “I called you earlier today. Quite early this morning, in fact, to see if you wanted to spend the day together.”

“Oh? I was out of town.”

His eyes narrowed like he didn’t believe her. “Really.”

“Shane! I was out of town.”

“Okay. Then who was the man in your apartment? The man who answered the phone when I called?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Please don’t deny it. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Shane, truly I don’t . . .” And then it occurred to her. Geraldo. He had started the demolition work this morning. “Did he have an accent?”

“You know he did,” answered Shane sourly.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, if you’d come into my apartment for a moment instead of pouting in the hallway, you’d have noticed that my kitchen is ripped to shreds because I’m having it renovated.” She raised her eyebrows disapprovingly. “The man you spoke with was my contractor, Geraldo, who really shouldn’t be answering my phone when I’m not there. I’ll need to have a word with him.”

Margaret stepped out of the elevator and Shane grabbed her elbow, turning her to face him. “Margaret, I’m sorry. I’m an ass.”

“No argument there.”

“I had no right to accuse you of anything, darling.”

She pulled her elbow away gently, bristling at the endearment. She wasn’t his darling. Frankly, after spending all day mooning over Cameron Winslow and wondering when he’d ask her again about visiting The Five Sisters, she really didn’t want to be Shane’s . . . anything.